Midnight Rambler

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

I turned off the portable TV and walked to the front of the mattress store. Linderman stood by the windows, gazing out on the parking lot while talking on his cell phone. I could tell by his posture and subdued voice that the police had not found the stolen Nova. I coughed, and he turned to stare at me.

“You need to call Special Agent Saunders,” I said.

He clamped his hand over the receiver.

“I'm on a call,” he said.

“Do as I say, and call him.”

“Just. .”

“Right now,” I said. “Skell is going to make a run for it. I tipped him off.”

Linderman's shoulder twitched, and for a second I thought he was going to punch me in the mouth. He said good-bye and ended the call.

“Why in God's name did you do that?”

“I popped my cork and called Snook on Perez's cell phone,” I said.

“For the love of Christ, Jack.”

Linderman called Special Agent Saunders and explained the situation. Putting his hand over the receiver, he said, “Saunders is sitting with his partner in a surveillance van outside the Executive Suites in Fort Lauderdale. They're watching Skell's motel room and listening through the walls to their conversations. Skell's in there with his wife and attorney. Everything is fine. Skell isn't going anywhere.”

The Executive Suites was located on Military Trail near a busy shopping center. It was a crummy place to be holding news conferences, especially considering the big money Skell was making from his book and movie deals. I guessed Skell had an ulterior motive for staying there, and grabbed the phone out of Linderman's hand.

“Scott, this is Jack Carpenter,” I said into the phone. “I did a dumb thing, and I don't want you to have to pay for it. You need to grab Skell.”

“On what grounds?” Saunders said.

“Make something up,” I said.

“I can't do that.”

“Why not? You're the law.”

“Two reasons. Skell just got released from prison, and his lawyer is with him,” Saunders said. “Arresting him is a one-way ticket to North Dakota.”

North Dakota was where FBI agents got sent as punishment. I handed the phone back to Linderman. He ended the call and folded the phone.

“We need to go over to the Executive Suites,” I said.

“I just told you Jack, everything's under control.”

“No, it's not,” I said.

“You're sure about this?”

“Yes.”

Linderman's shoulder twitched again. Then he pulled his keys out of his pocket, and I followed him out the door.

Traffic in Broward was as unpredictable as the weather. Although the Executive Suites was not far, the drive took twenty minutes. We pulled into the parking lot, cursing.

The FBI's surveillance van was parked in a handicap spot and was painted to look like a dry-cleaning service. Linderman tapped three times on the rear door. The door opened, and Saunders hopped out.

“Skell hasn't gone anywhere,” Saunders said, lighting a cigarette. “His suite is right in view, and there are no back windows he can escape through.”

“Has he had any visitors?” I asked.

“Chase Winters, the movie producer, paid him a visit fifteen minutes ago,” Saunders said. “He's also staying at the hotel.”

“What did he want?” I asked.

“He was bringing some stuff to Skell.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Saunders shook his head.

“Did you film Winters going into Skell's room?”

Saunders nodded while exhaling a large purple plume.

“I need to see it,” I said.

We climbed into the back of the van. The interior was filled with sophisticated electronic monitoring equipment. Saunders's partner sat up front wearing a pair of headphones, and he gave us the thumbs-up.

One wall of the van was nothing but digital monitors. Saunders played the tape of Winters going into Skell's suite. Winters wore loose-fitting designer clothes, a baseball cap, and shades. His diamond earring sparkled as he walked. Clutched to his chest was an open cardboard box containing several bottles of champagne. Dangling from his fingers was a plastic bag from CVS.

Winters used his foot to knock on the door to Skell's suite. The door opened, and Skell stuck his head out. He looked around, then put his arm around Winters's shoulder and ushered him inside.

The tape ended. Saunders hit a button, and the monitor switched back to real time.

“I want to know what's inside that bag from CVS,” I said.

Saunders looked at Linderman as if seeking confirmation.

“I think that's a good idea,” Linderman said.

Saunders called the CVS pharmacy on the corner. A minute later he had an answer.

“Chase Winters made six purchases on his Visa Card,” Saunders said. “Razors, shaving cream, a box of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a package of sewing needles, and a can of black shoe polish.”

Linderman looked at me. “What did he want with that stuff?”

I shook my head. There was no way of knowing what Skell was up to.

“The movie producer is coming out,” Saunders's partner announced.

On the monitor we saw Chase Winters emerge from Skell's suite. He was holding the cardboard box up to his chest, and his baseball cap was pulled down low. His diamond earring continued to sparkle. He walked to his own suite, unlocked the door, and went in.

Something didn't feel right. Without thinking I lifted my head, and banged the roof of the van. The pain made me see the discrepancy.

“Play the tape again,” I said.

Linderman and Saunders stared at me.

“Come on,” I said.

Saunders replayed the tape. I brought my face to the screen and stared at Winters's feet. He was wearing black tennis sneakers. They didn't match his outfit, and I was reminded of Shannon Dockery's abduction at Disney. Her abductors had painted her shoes instead of switching them because shoe sizes were hard to predict.

Then I knew. The man we'd just seen wasn't Chase Winters. It was Skell, wearing Winters's clothes and earring, his sneakers colored with dark shoe polish. He had staged his escape right beneath our noses.

“That's Skell,” I shouted.

The FBI agents beat me out of the van and across the lot.

With weapons drawn, they took down the door to Winters's suite. I waited a few seconds before following them inside. This was their show, not mine.

The living room was empty, save for the cardboard box lying on the floor. I walked into the bedroom and found Saunders and his partner climbing through an open window that led to a courtyard behind the motel. They had checked Skell's suite for escape windows, but not Winters's suite. My nightmare had become reality. Skell was free.

As Saunders and his partner ran across the courtyard in pursuit, Linderman frantically punched numbers into his cell phone and called for backup.

“Where's the other teams?” I asked.

Linderman looked at me, not understanding.

“You said there would be three teams of agents assigned to watch Skell. Where are the other two teams?”

Linderman shook his head. He didn't know. I cursed and started to leave.

“Where are you going?” Linderman asked.

“Next door,” I said. “I want to see what he did to them.”