Midnight Rambler

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

God blinked.

My five-year-old daughter stood before me, wearing a pink polka-dot bikini and clutching a plastic bucket. We were visiting friends on Hutchinson Island for the weekend, and Jessie wanted to go shell hunting on the beach with the older kids.

“Please, Daddy, I want to go,” she pleaded.

The beer bottle in my hand was empty, and I was craving another. Outside the screened porch stood the other children, waiting expectantly. I did not like letting Jessie out of my sight. Seeing my hesitation, Jessie stomped her foot.

“Please, Daddy!”

I sensed a tantrum coming on and felt myself start to cave.

“Promise me you won't bother the turtles we saw last night,” I said.

Jessie began to pout. Last night, under a full moon, our family had watched giant loggerhead turtles that had swum all the way from South Africa lay dozens of perfectly round white eggs in nests they'd dug on the beach. Jessie hadn't stopped talking about it.

“But I wanna see them,” she said.

“I'll take you later,” I said.

“You will?”

“Yes. Now promise me you'll stay away from them.”

She stared at the floor. “Okay.”

“Good. Now go have fun.”

I watched her leave, then went to the kitchen for a fresh beer. On the way I was besieged with orders from my friends.

“Hey Jack, how about another cold one?”

“Jack, I could use more wine.”

Jack, Jack, Jack.

We'd been partying all day long, and no one was feeling any pain. In the kitchen I fixed the drinks and put them on a tray, then returned to my friends. I served Rose, and she kissed me. Then I served my friends, and they tried to kiss me, too.

I returned to my chair. Something didn't feel right. Rising, I went to the screened window and stared at the sand dunes behind the house. The kids were having a blast and making plenty of noise. Finally I realized what was wrong. I didn't hear Jessie. Opening the screen door, I called her name.

No answer.

The dreadful void of silence was a sound worse than any cry or scream. Stepping outside, I went to where the older kids were playing in the dunes, half expecting to have my daughter jump up and yell “Boo!”

But she didn't.

“Where's Jessie?” I asked them. “Where is she?”

The older kids gave me blank stares. Then one pointed down the beach. I ran to the next dune and found Jessie's bucket. There were three sand dollars in it.

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was a cop. I should know better.

“Daddy!”

I ran to the sound of her voice. Twenty yards away, Jessie sat in the tall grass, crying and clutching herself. I gathered her into my arms.

“Make him go away,” she sobbed. “Make him go away!”

“Who, honey? Make who go away?”

“The man in the grass!”

“What man?”

“The naked man! He said he wanted to play with me. Make him go away!”

I clutched my daughter against my chest. My heart was pounding out of control, and I could not stop blaming myself for what had happened. Rose appeared, looking shaken, and I handed my daughter to her.

“Don't let her out of your sight,” I said.

Then I ran down the beach as fast as my legs would carry me and searched for the man who'd tried to molest my daughter.