The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [60]
I felt swallowed up in black as I drove away from the landfill. It was a feeling that I had to shake, and I drove due east until I reached the ocean. The beach was filled with people, and I stripped off my shirt, and jumped into the water. I splashed around until I got my sanity back, then lay on the beach for a few minutes and let my pants dry. Then I put my shirt back on, and went looking for something to eat.
I found a McDonald’s and bought breakfast. As I was sitting in my car unwrapping an egg biscuit, my cell phone rang. Caller ID said it was Sally Haskell, my former colleague who now ran security for the Walt Disney World Corporation in Orlando. I tossed Buster my food.
“Hey Sally,” I answered.
“Hey, Jack. How’s it going?” Sally replied.
“I’m working a case, and need your help.”
“I know. I got an e-mail from Candy Burrell. I’ve been trying to reach her with no luck, so I figured I’d give you a try. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for a little boy named Sampson Grimes. He’s being held by a couple of drug enforcers in Fort Lauderdale. I got my hands on a photo of the kid taken inside a hotel room. One of your employees once helped me identify a hotel room from a photo, and I was hoping to use him again.”
“That was Tim Small, our resident interior designer,” Sally said.
“Is he available?”
“I’d like to help you, Jack, but Tim is dying of pancreatic cancer. He’s in home hospice.”
I leaned back in my seat. Ever since I’d started searching for Sampson, I’d been surrounded by the dead and dying. “How bad is he?” I asked.
“I spoke to his nurse a few days ago. He’s got a week at best.”
“Will you call him, anyway?”
Sally let out a gasp. “Jack, the man’s at death’s door. I’m not going to intrude on him at a time like this.”
“Please.”
“Jack! For God’s sake, what’s come over you?”
Buster was eyeing the hash browns sitting in my lap. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and gave them to him. “The little boy I’m searching for is in mortal danger. If I don’t find this kid soon, I’m afraid I never will.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t make the call. Tim’s in horrible shape. I can’t put this kind of strain on him.”
I took a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“If you knew you were about to die, and someone came to you, and begged you to help save a little kid’s life before you checked out, would you do it?”
“Jack, don’t do this…”
“Would you?”
“Jack!”
“I sure as hell would. Instead of making the decision for Tim Small, why don’t you let him make the decision himself?”
Sally went silent. We’d butted heads many times when we’d worked together, and it had been like fighting with my sister, with lots of verbal pushing and shoving, and one of us usually getting our feelings bruised. But in the end we’d remained friends, and Sally knew that I wouldn’t push her unless there was good reason.
“All right, Jack, I’ll call him, but I can’t make any promises,” Sally said.
“Thanks, Sally,” I said.
I drove up and down A1A smelling the salty ocean breezes while playing with the radio. I ended up listening to a talk show whose sponsor was a local moving company. It made me think of Mary McClary’s father, whom I’d spoken to so many times. He’d been a decent man and a loving father, and I wondered if the Broward cops had contacted him with the tragic news about his daughter. Or would he hear about it the way so many families of the missing did, from the TV?
I decided to call him myself, and spare him any unnecessary grief. Pulling off A1A, I got the number for McClary Moving & Storage in West Palm Beach from information, and dialed it. A receptionist answered, and patched me through to the boss’s office. McClary picked up on the first ring.
“This is Frank McClary,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. McClary,” I said. “This is Jack Carpenter.”
Light jazz was playing in the background. Frank McClary killed the music, then in a tentative voice said, “You’re calling with news about Mary, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid it’s not good,” I said. “A woman