The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [61]
I had followed the Kingman case closely at the time. What I remembered most was how little information the Escambia police had given to the media. Withholding information was common with active investigations, but not when cases went cold. I would have to call the Escambia police, and ask them if they would now be willing to share the information they had.
I spread the photos already lying on the table, and placed Victoria Seppi’s photo between Naomi Dunn and Cindee Hartman’s. Then, I inserted Karen Kingman’s photo between Hartman’s and Sara Long’s.
“I need a map of Florida,” I said.
Webster found a road map of Florida. I placed it on the table next to the five victims’ photos. Using a red Magic Marker, I circled the five cities where the victims had disappeared, and below the circles, wrote the dates of each disappearance. Then I took a step back.
“There’s been one abduction every four to five years,” Webster said. “What do you think they’re doing with them?”
It was obvious to me what was going on here: These young women were fulfilling a need, with each one replacing the last. Sara Long was the latest victim, and would later be replaced by another college student studying nursing.
“They’re keeping them until they stop being useful,” I said.
“God,” Webster muttered under her breath.
I continued to stare at the map. Something important was right in front of me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
My eyes settled on Naomi Dunn’s photograph. She was smiling in it. I had looked at that photograph so many times I felt as if I knew her.
Then I saw what I’d been missing. Naomi was first.
My hand slapped the table in anger. I had missed clues before, but never one this obvious.
“What’s wrong?” Webster asked.
I pointed at the circle on the map I’d drawn to signify Dunn’s abduction.
“Serial abductors are like serial killers,” I said. “They start out timid and weak, and grow strong. Their first abduction is always committed near where they live.”
“A safe zone.”
“That’s right. Fort Lauderdale was these guys’ safe zone. They were living here when they abducted Naomi Dunn.”
I took the stairs to Burrell’s office with my footsteps ringing in my ears. Her door was wide open, and I stuck my head in.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
Burrell sat at her desk facing her computer, her face illuminated by the faint images on the screen.
“I’m watching Howdy Doody,” Burrell replied.
Howdy Doody was cop speak for hardcore porn. It was not the kind of stuff that I expected Burrell to watch, and I came around her desk. Playing on her computer was a grainy video of a heterosexual couple having sex, the woman bouncing atop a man on a bed. The woman had bleached blond hair and enormous breasts that defied gravity. Her partner was a huge guy, his upper torso covered in garish tattoos.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“The guy is Tyrone Biggs, Sara Long’s boyfriend,” Burrell replied. “The bimbo is named Sky. She’s an exotic dancer at a strip club called Showstoppers. Sky tried to sell this video to the TV stations. The stations thought it was too sleazy, and turned it down, so Sky sold it to a tabloid news show. Deborah Bodden at Fox sent it to me as a favor.”
“Why is this tape important?”
“Take a look at what’s playing in the background.”
I brought my face up to the computer screen. A boxy TV sat on a dresser behind the bed. A women’s basketball game was playing on it.
“It’s the Lady Seminole’s game from two nights ago,” Burrell explained. “Sky had sex with Biggs while he watched his girlfriend play basketball. The tape lasts for about an hour, and proves that Biggs didn’t abduct Sara Long.”
Burrell shut off her computer. The screen went blank, and for a long moment she did not speak. I put my hand