The Night Monster

CHAPTER 11

I drove to the Bank Atlantic Center where my daughter’s team was practicing. Entering through a service entrance, I walked to the arena without seeing a single cop or security guard. Had I still been running Missing Persons, I would have assigned a pair of cops to every practice until Sara Long was found.

I stood beneath a basket and canvassed the arena. The Lady Seminoles were at the far end of the court, practicing their jump shots. I waved to my daughter and also to her coach, who I owed a dinner. Then I looked in the stands to see if any suspicious characters were hanging around.

Satisfied that Jessie and her teammates were safe, I went to the lobby and tagged a maintenance man mopping the floor. Maintenance men were good sources of information, and had helped me many times during investigations. I handed him my business card, which identified me as a retired detective with the Broward County police.

“My name’s Jack Carpenter,” I said. “I was wondering if you were working the basketball game last night.”

The maintenance man studied my card. He was pushing sixty, with snow-white hair worn in a buzz cut, and bloodshot eyes that said he was no stranger to the bottle. Stitched in red above his shirt pocket was the name Frank.

“Is this about the girl that was abducted?” Frank asked.

“That’s right. I was wondering if anyone found a video camera courtside last night, and turned it in. It’s linked to the case.”

“Didn’t hear about any video camera getting turned in,” Frank said.

“Do you have a lost and found?”

“Yeah. We keep stuff we find in a locked room in the back.”

“Who runs the lost and found?”

“I do.”

“Would you check to see if the camera is there?”

Frank leaned on his mop and gave me a hard look. I felt a confrontation coming on, and pulled a crisp twenty from my wallet. I tucked the money into his shirt pocket.

“I’d really appreciate it,” I said.

Frank went to look for the missing video camera. He returned empty-handed and with whiskey on his breath. I had expected more for my money.

“The camera’s not in lost and found,” he said.

“Was it ever?” I asked.

Frank gave me a look and shrugged.

“Did you pawn it?” I asked.

He winced like I’d slapped him in the face. I’d made a study of body language, and everything about Frank’s body had told me that he was lying through his teeth. I decided to vent my anger on him.

“I could get you in a lot of trouble,” I said.

“I didn’t-”

“Withholding evidence is a serious crime.”

“You can’t prove-”

“You could go to jail. Ever been to jail before? It’s murder on old guys. They make you clean the toilets and mop the floors.”

His chest sunk and his mouth dropped open. He whispered the word shit.

“Tell me where the camera is,” I said.

Frank blinked. Then he blinked again. Being busted was like being in a car wreck, with everything turning to slow motion. Frank was in slow motion right now. When he spoke, his words were barely a whisper. “There’s a fence in my neighborhood. I dropped by his place this morning, and sold him the camera. He moves the stuff fast.”

“Any chance of retrieving it?” I asked.

Frank shook his head.

“Did you watch the film on the camera before you fenced it?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember any of it?”

“It was of Sara Long and another girl on the team. I didn’t know that the Long girl had been abducted until I picked up the paper at lunch. By then it was too late to get the camera back.”

“Would you have tried to?”

“Of course. I’m just trying to make ends meet.”

“Who was the other girl on the tape?”

“One of the forwards. About five-ten, wore her hair in a ponytail. On the film she was practicing shooting three-pointers. She had a sweet shot.”

An icy finger ran down the length of my spine.

“Was she wearing number sixteen?” I asked.

Frank closed his eyes and plumbed his memory.

“I think so,” he said.

The other girl on the tape was Jessie. Sara Long’s abductors had been profiling two members of the Lady Seminoles, and had picked Sara over my kid.

God had spared me.

I returned to the arena. The Lady Seminoles were working on their layups, their exertion echoing across the hardwood floor. Their coach was pushing them hard, trying to make them forget the loss the team had suffered. More than once I saw a player go to the sidelines to cry into a towel, then go back to the floor, and resume practicing.

A voice snapped my head. A man sat in the bleachers, talking on a cell phone. The one and only Karl Long, Sara’s father.

Karl Long was a well-known real estate developer with a penchant for ruthless deals and expensive toys. He was pushing fifty, a tall, good-looking guy with a hundred-dollar haircut and perfect teeth. He never sat with the other fathers during the games, but sequestered himself in a private box. I waved to him and climbed the bleachers.

“Jack Carpenter,” I said.

I offered my hand. Long snapped his phone shut and glared at me.

“I know who you are,” Long said. “You were at the Days Inn when Sara was abducted last night.”

There was a hint of accusation in his voice. It was common for parents of missing kids to take out their grief on the people around them. It was part of coping, and I’d experienced it many times working cases.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am,” I said. “I know how hard this must be for you.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he replied.

It was rare for me to be speechless. This was one of those times.

“You’re an ex-detective,” Long went on. “You carry a gun. You were right there in the parking lot when it happened. Why didn’t you stop that son-of-a-bitch from taking my daughter? What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

I wanted to ask Long where he’d gotten his information, since the victim’s families were often the last to know the details. Instead, I tried to calm him down.

“I didn’t want to risk shooting Sara,” I said. “Then I got knocked out. I would have saved her if I could have. You have to believe that.”

“You should have done more.”

“I spent the night in the hospital.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“I’m sorry, Karl. I truly am.”

“Don’t take that personal tone with me.”

Long gave me a murderous look. Behind the icy demeanor was real pain. He had everything money could buy, and now someone had taken from him the one thing his money couldn’t buy back. His baby.

“I want to help,” I said.

“How do you propose doing that?”

“I’m an expert at finding missing kids. It’s how I make my living.”

“I’ve hired the best detective agency in town to find Sara. They’re wired into the police and also the criminal underground. They’re professionals, which is more than I can say about you.”

Private detective agencies were good at staking out motel rooms and digging up dirt, and little else. Long had probably paid the agency a big retainer, and in return, gotten a lot of promises. The agency had also probably told him some unpleasant things about me. I was the bad guy in all this, just like I’d been the bad guy for saving Bobby Monroe’s life.

But none of that fazed me. I guess you could say I was used to it. Taking out my wallet, I removed my business card. Long acted astonished when I gave it to him.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said.

“Take it,” I said.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do. These guys are pros.”

Long tore my business card in two and let the pieces flutter from his hands.

“Get lost,” he said.

I walked down the bleachers toward the arena. The Lady Seminoles had taken a break, and I spotted Jessie standing by the sidelines, waving to me. There was a pleading look in her eyes that told me she had something important to tell me.

I put Karl Long out of my mind and hurried toward her.