The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [9]
I hopped over the restraining gate, and started moving around the court toward the basket. The game was winding down, the eyes of everyone in the stands on the players. When I was a few feet away from the stalker, I stopped. A plastic reporters’ pass hung around his neck, the ID portion turned around. I didn’t think that was a coincidence.
“Hey buddy, don’t I know you?” I asked.
It was a line I’d used often as a cop. It tended to scare the crap out of bad guys.
The stalker lowered his camera. His chin was covered in gray stubble, and his teeth hadn’t seen a dentist in years.
“I don’t think so,” the stalker said.
I grabbed the ID, and flipped it over. It was blank.
“Where’s your press pass?” I asked.
“I must have left it in my car.”
I pointed at the exit. “Let’s go.”
“You a cop?”
“Used to be.”
His shoulders sagged. Body language could tell you a lot about a person’s intentions. This guy was guilty as charged.
A roar shook the arena, and I looked at the court. Jessie had stolen the ball out of an opponent’s hands. She dribbled effortlessly down the court, planted her feet and took a shot, the ball arcing perfectly through the basket.
“That a girl,” I shouted.
Something hard hit me in the chest. Losing my balance, I fell backward, and hit the floor on my backside. It took a moment for me to get my wits. The stalker’s video camera lay beside me. Looking up, I saw him sprinting toward the exit.
I jumped to my feet. In my experience, only guys who were wanted by the police ever ran away.
I’d hooked a live one.
CHAPTER 6
he temperature dropped ten degrees as I ran into the parking lot. It was a perfect night, with a soft breeze blowing off the ocean and a pale full moon. I lived in paradise, although it often got spoiled by guys like this.
The stalker had vanished. I climbed onto the bumper of a pickup truck, and tried to find him. When that didn’t work, I shut my eyes, hoping to hear where he’d gone. The hiss of traffic on the Sawgrass Expressway sounded like steam escaping out of a pipe, and drowned out all sound.
I hopped off the pickup and trotted up and down the aisles. I was guessing my stalker had jumped into a car and was hiding from me. A maroon Ford minivan with fast-food wrappers lying by the driver’s door caught my eye. Something told me that the scumbag with the video camera had dropped them there. As I approached the vehicle, my cell phone rang. Caller ID said JESSIE.
“Hey honey,” I said.
“Where are you?” my daughter asked.
“I had to run outside. Did you win?”
“We beat them by eight points. One of the fathers said you were chasing somebody. Did you find the stalker I told you about?”
“Yes, but he gave me the slip. Let me call you right back.”
“We’re heading back to the motel. Call me if you find him, will you?”
“You bet.”
I closed my phone and slipped it into my pocket. Then I approached the minivan, and stuck my face to the tinted windshield. I couldn’t see inside, and I went around to the back and tried to look through the back window. It was covered in duct tape. I considered peeling the tape back, then decided I was overstepping whatever rights I had as a pissed-off father. I dialed the sheriff’s department on my cell phone and heard an operator pick up.
“This is Jack Carpenter. Who’s this?”
“Hey Jack, it’s Gloria,” the operator said. “How you been? I heard you were working solo these days.”
“That’s right. Who’s on duty tonight?”
Gloria passed along the names of the cops working the night shift. One was a detective named Bob Smith who’d worked for me in Missing Persons, and who knew how to get things done. I asked to speak to him, and Gloria patched me through.
“This is Detective Smith,” he answered.
“Jack Carpenter here.”
“Hey, pal, what’s up?”
“I need for you to run a license through the system.”
“I can do that.”
I started to read the