The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [23]
“Lowman works surveillance?” I asked.
“He runs it,” she said quietly.
“For the love of Christ!” Cheeks said.
“He might be watching us on a surveillance camera right now,” I said.
Smart people can see into the future. The GM’s wasn’t looking terribly bright, and she said, “That’s right, although he’s probably watching the pool or the water slide.”
“Where the kids are,” I said.
She nodded. I looked at the trailer. Lowman had done time for child molestation in Seattle. Even though I had never stepped foot in Washington State, I guessed the treatment he’d received in prison had been the same as it was for child molesters everywhere, and that he’d been routinely bullied and tortured by the other inmates, who’d made his life a living hell. More than likely, he’d taken steps to ensure he never went back to prison, including carrying an illegal handgun, planning an escape route in case of arrest, and having his passport handy.
“Where does Lowman park his car?” I asked.
“In the company lot,” the GM said.
“Would you be able to identify his car from the other employees’ vehicles?”
“Yes. Every employee has a parking pass that they leave on their dashboards. The pass has their name and photograph attached to it.”
“Your security people need to block Lowman’s car from leaving,” I said.
The GM called park security on her walkie-talkie, and told them what she wanted done. Hanging up, she said, “Lowman’s car is being blocked. What else can I do?”
I continued to look at the surveillance trailer. Two grown males walking through a sea of kids would be easy for Lowman to spot. If Cheeks and I weren’t careful, we might end up looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.
“I want you to call Lowman, and divert him until we enter the trailer,” I said. “Think you can do that without tipping him off?”
“Of course,” the GM said.
“Then do it,” Cheeks snapped.
The GM called Lowman as Cheeks and I entered the park.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wet & Wonderful was a slab of concrete filled with water-themed attractions and concession stands. We shouldered our way through a sea of kids in wet bathing suits, and soon were wet as well. Cheeks was breathing heavily by the time we reached the trailer.
“You really should start exercising,” I said.
“Shut up,” Cheeks said.
Cheeks clipped his silver detective’s badge to his lapel and rapped loudly on the trailer door. A voice from within told us to enter.
“Remember to go slow,” I said.
“Right,” Cheeks said.
The trailer’s interior was dark and chilly, the walls lined with high-definition digital monitors showing the action outside. Lonnie Lowman sat at a desk with his back to the monitors, talking to the GM on a walkie-talkie. He said, “Let me call you back,” and hung up, his eyes frozen on Cheeks’s badge.
“Lonnie Lowman?” Cheeks asked.
Lowman nodded stiffly. He’d done a makeover since his mug shot, and now sported a short, conservative haircut, drugstore reading glasses, and a cosmetically altered nose. What hadn’t changed were his eyes; green and almost pretty, they darted back and forth between us like a caged animal’s. The hunter had become the hunted.
“We’d like to talk to you,” I said.
“Am I under arrest?” Lowman asked.
“No,” Cheeks said. “Your name came up during an investigation, that’s all.”
Cheeks leaned against the wall, while I stood across from Lowman’s chair. When I was a cop, I’d carried a pack of gum to break the ice during interrogations. It was a tradition I’d continued, and I offered Lowman a stick. He declined, and I stuck one into my mouth while staring at the monitors. There were twelve in all, displayed in a matrix. Six monitored the deep end of the swimming pool, where a giant slide deposited screaming kids into the water. On one of the monitors a girl came down the slide, and hit the swimming pool. The force of the water pulled the top of her bikini off. She came out of the water laughing, and with her mother’s help, got redressed. It was as innocent as eating a hot