by James Swain
“This is the cocktail lounge’s parking lot, taken the night Janey went missing,” he said. “Unfortunately, the light’s poor and it’s hard to make much out.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” Melanie asked.
“I want to determine the makes of cars that were at the bar. Most of the patrons live in town. Some walk to the bar after work, others ride motorcycles. Only a few drive cars. If I can learn the makes, I’ll contact the bartender on duty that night, and see if he can identify the owners. That should narrow down our pool of suspects.”
“Got it.”
The video continued to play. After a minute a door to the bar opened and a patron came outside. Light from inside the bar flooded the parking lot, and Lancaster froze the frame. Four vehicles were parked in the lot, but he was unable to determine the makes.
“Do you have a magnifying glass?” he asked.
Pearl produced a magnifying glass from his desk. Lancaster used it to study the frame and was able to make out two pickup trucks, a Mustang, and a vintage Corvette. He borrowed a pad and pen, and wrote down the makes along with any identifying dents or bumper stickers. He started to shut down the video, then had another idea, and sped the video up so the time stamp said 12:00 a.m.
“What are you doing now?” Melanie asked.
“Janey MacKenzie got off work at midnight and walked home. I want to see if any of the vehicles left right after her. That may very well be our suspect.”
“Got it.”
The video played for several minutes. It was too dark to see much of anything, and he waited for another patron to leave the bar. At 12:10 a.m., a man stumbled out, flooding the parking lot in light. Lancaster again froze the frame and studied it with the magnifying glass. The Pearls leaned in as well, their breath tingling the back of his neck.
“I see four cars,” Melanie Pearl said.
“So do I,” her husband said. “Could you be wrong about this, Jon?”
Lancaster heard his own sharp intake of breath. He was wrong. Janey’s abductor hadn’t used a car, he’d been on foot, and had intercepted Janey during her walk home. Janey was petite, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Light enough for a big man to throw over his shoulder and carry home down a darkened street. That was why the trail had gone cold. He called Shorty.
“She’s in the neighborhood. Fan out, and start looking,” he said.
CHAPTER 5
NIMBS
Lancaster leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Carrying a one-hundred-pound woman on your back was tough, even for a man in great shape. To become a SEAL, he had been required to run a mile and a half in nine minutes. Then in training camp, he had to run the same time wearing boots and long pants. It had been brutal, and he could only imagine how challenging carrying a person on his back would be. He couldn’t see Janey’s abductor traveling more than half a mile before growing exhausted.
He used Google to check traffic to Melbourne. Interstate 95 was still a parking lot. It was more important that he stay connected to Shorty’s bloodhounds on his laptop, which he couldn’t do while stuck behind the wheel of his car. He needed to stay put for a while.
He turned around in his chair. His hosts hadn’t moved, and were so quiet that you would have thought they were in an operating room watching open-heart surgery.
“I hate to impose, but can I stay here? We’re close to finding her.”
“Can you really find a missing person on your computer?” Melanie Pearl asked.
“Yes. With the right help.”
“Of course you can stay. Would you like a drink? I just made some iced tea.”
“Please. Spike it with rat killer.”
She raised her eyebrows, his humor lost on her.
“Artificial sweetener, if you have it. It makes me think better.”
“You have a strange sense of humor,” she said.
Movement caught his eye. The red dots were all over his laptop’s screen, the bloodhounds fanning out. In the old days, it would take a search party to find a missing person. Now, just a few dogs and the right software program. It was like playing a video game with life-and-death consequences.
A cold nose touched his wrist. The guard dog had snuck in and was checking him out. Nicki Pearl trailed behind it, her eyes glued on their guest. A nasty bruise on her forehead was the only sign of her recent brush with darkness. Her father motioned her closer. Nicki ignored him and kept her distance.
“Who is this?”
“This is Mr. Lancaster, the man who saved you this afternoon.”
Lancaster petted the dog’s head and smiled. Nicki’s fear ebbed, and she stepped forward and offered her hand. South Florida was a tough place to raise kids with all the bad influences and sick degenerates running around. Nicki exuded a rare innocence, and he wondered how long her parents would be able to keep her this way.
“Thank you, Mr. Lancaster,” Nicki said. “Are you a policeman?”
“Call me Jon. I was once. I work for myself now, helping people like you.”
“I’m taking a CSI course at school. It’s really cool.”
“They teach CSI at your school? That’s great.”
“It’s part of the biology curriculum. What do those red dots on your laptop mean? Are you working a case?”
“Those red dots are a pack of bloodhounds wearing GPS collars that are helping me find a missing girl in Melbourne.”
“Wow. Can I watch?”
“That’s up to your parents.”
Nicki looked to her father for permission. Pearl glanced at his wife, who’d returned with a tray of iced teas. Melanie nodded, and Pearl said, “Of course, honey.”
The teenager pulled up a chair next to Lancaster and stared at the screen.
“A young woman named Janey MacKenzie went missing three nights ago while walking home from the cocktail lounge where she works,” he said. “I’m pretty certain that a customer abducted her, so I hired a tracker to use his bloodhounds to find her.”
“Why are the dogs wearing GPS collars? How does that help?”
The kid was sharp. The GPS collars didn’t help Shorty, but they did help him. Leaving the Traccar app running, he opened the Collector Application software program and began adding data overlays to the map of Melbourne on the screen. Each overlay was a different color that visually illuminated the screen. “This is a software mapping tool that lets me add layers of data to my search map. Do you know what the biggest problem finding a missing person is? Too much information. If the searcher can’t bring all his information together, he’ll miss valuable clues. Make sense?”
“Like putting all the pieces of a puzzle together,” Nicki said.
“Exactly. The first overlay in yellow shows the areas where the police searched the night Janey went missing, so we can eliminate those. The second overlay in blue shows the addresses of registered sexual offenders in Melbourne. Each time the bloodhounds pick up Janey’s scent, we’ll be able to see if it’s near any bad guy who might have hurt a young woman before.”
“You mean a pervert,” Nicki said.
“Correct. The third overlay in pink shows the locations where people have been abducted and killed in Melbourne in the past. If we find a match with that overlay, it might mean that we’re dealing with a serial killer.”
Nicki squirmed in her chair. “Do you think a serial killer did this?”
“No, I don’t. There haven’t been any abductions in Melbourne in over a decade, so the chances are slim that this is the work of a serial killer. But you can never be too careful, so I always include it.”
The overlays softened the red hue of the dots so they were barely visible. Nicki pointed at the dot on the left side of the screen, on the western side of downtown.
“That one’s stopped moving,” she said. “Is that significant?”
Lack of movement could mean many things. A hit, or perhaps one of the dogs had stopped to relieve himself. “Let’s check,” he said. His cell phone lay facedown on the
desk so he would not be distracted by incoming emails or news alerts. He turned the cell phone over to see if he’d gotten a text. As he did, it lit up. Shorty was calling him.
“We got a hit from a garbage can in an alley,” the tracker said.
The breath caught in his throat. Had he been wrong? Had Janey been knocked over the head, killed, and thrown away? He’d been wrong on cases before, but this time it was different; he’d connected with the grandmother on an emotional level, and breaking the news to her that Janey had perished would hurt him deeply as well.
“You see a body?” he asked.
“Lid’s off. I’m shining my flashlight in it. I see women’s clothes.”
The air in his lungs escaped. “Describe them.”
“Black jeans, red halter top, a pair of pink Keds.”
“Any sign of blood?”
“Not that I can see. No.”
“Don’t touch anything. The same for your son and his friend.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, Jon.”
“No harm in reminding you. You said the can was in an alley. Any idea which house it might belong to?”
“It belongs to 1249 Rachel Court. It’s spray-painted on the side.”
“Beautiful. I’ll call you right back.”
He ended the call. Missing-persons cases were like roller-coaster rides that were filled with emotional highs and lows that came at you without warning. The low had become a high, and he planned to keep it that way. Janey’s abductor had stripped away her clothes, knowing she was less likely to run away while naked. She had been turned into a sex slave, was his guess. Based upon everything her grandmother had said, Janey would play along until an opportunity to summon help presented itself.
“Is she still alive?” Nicki asked tentatively.
“I think so. Now we have to save her.” His fingers typed the address into Google. A reverse directory site named Spokeo came up with the desired information. 1249 Rachel Court was a one-bedroom dwelling with a single-car garage with an appraised value of $85,550. The owner was named Ryan Wayne Nimbs.
“Is he the bad guy?” Nicki asked.
“Could be. Let’s check the sexual offender overlay.”
He single-finger-typed a command. Tiny stars appeared on the pink sexual offender overlay on the screen. Each star represented a current resident of Melbourne who’d been arrested for a sexual offense at some point during their life. There were enough of them to start a support group. None lived on Rachel Court.
“He’s not there,” Nicki said. “Maybe it isn’t him.”
Or maybe the sexual offender registry had missed Nimbs. The Sunshine State, home of endless sandy beaches and amusement parks, was also a breeding ground for sexual predators, and the state didn’t have the resources to track all of them. He minimized the screen, got on the internet, and pulled up mugshots.com. If Nimbs had been arrested for sexual assault or kidnapping, a record of it would be here. He typed in his suspect’s full name and hit “Enter.”
“Wow, there he is,” Nicki said breathlessly.
Nimbs’s mug shot filled the screen. Spiked hair and a face like a blunt instrument with a Neanderthal slant. A hideous neck tattoo of a skull with a dragon’s mouth spitting out a serpent. Thirty-four years old, six foot three, 230 pounds. One arrest for false imprisonment and rape, which had led to a stretch in prison. Additional arrests for lewd and lascivious behavior and assault. A really bad hombre.
“He must be your abductor,” Pearl said, breaking his silence. “Are you going to alert the police, and have him arrested?”
Lancaster closed his laptop and stood up. He would make a call, but not to the police. Nimbs’s absence from the sexual offender registry may have been accidental, or it may have been deliberately omitted by someone in the Melbourne Police Department who knew Nimbs or was related to him. Melbourne was a backwater town, and those things happened. He had friends at the Florida Department of Law Enforcement office in West Palm Beach. He’d call them instead.
“I need to run. Thank you for your hospitality,” he said.
The Pearls followed him into the foyer. Their faces were filled with apprehension, and he thought he knew why. He had won their trust, and now they felt safe. As long as he was in their presence, no harm would come to Nicki. But the moment he left, the fear of Nicki being abducted would return with a vengeance.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Are you going to help me?” Nicki blurted out.
His eyes met Melanie Pearl’s. She had teared up and nodded vigorously.
“Yes, Nicki, I’m going to help you,” he said. “In the meantime, I want you to stay inside the house. No more sunbathing by the pool.” She agreed, and he addressed her parents. “I want you to pull Nicki out of school until this situation gets resolved. One or both of you need to be with her when she’s away from home. Preferably both of you.”
Her parents said yes. It was all he could do for now. He shot Nicki a parting glance. He still had no idea why she was being targeted. Normally, he would have a clue by now. But maybe Nicki did. Maybe she was holding back out of fear that her parents would become angry with her. It was time to press her.
“Nicki, I want you to be honest with me. Why are these men after you?”
Nicki swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I just know that they’re evil.”
Yes, they are, he thought, and said goodnight.
CHAPTER 6
DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR
Pearl bolted the front door after Lancaster was gone. He glanced at his wife and daughter and managed to smile. This crazy situation was going to get worked out, he was sure of it. “What do you say we find a funny movie to watch on Netflix?” he suggested.
“But it’s a school night,” his wife protested.
“Jon said that Nicki needed to stay home until this situation gets resolved. No harm in staying up late if we don’t have to get up in the morning.”
“Aren’t you going to work tomorrow?” his wife asked.
“I’m not scheduled for any surgeries. I’ll ask one of the other neurosurgeons to check up on my patients and make sure everyone’s okay. If there’s a problem, I’ll run over to the hospital and deal with it. Otherwise, I’m staying right here.”
Nicki tugged on his wrist. “Can I pick the movie?”
“You most certainly can. Do you have something in mind?”
“Blind Date IV. I hear it’s really funny.”
Pearl shot his wife a look and saw Melanie roll her eyes. It felt fantastic to be talking about normal things again and not dwelling on the dangers that lurked right outside their door. He said yes, and his daughter squealed with delight.
The doorbell made them jump. Pearl stuck his eye to the peephole. A Latina wearing a tan-colored pantsuit stood on the other side, a detective’s badge pinned to her jacket lapel. Her partner was a Caucasian male with afro-style hair.
“Who is it?” his wife asked.
“Looks like a couple of detectives with the Broward police,” he said. “Maybe they’ve made a break in the case.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“Let me talk to them. You and Nicki have been through enough.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” his wife said. “Come on, Nicki. Let’s go make some popcorn to eat with our movie.”
Pearl waited until they were gone before ushering his visitors inside. The female detective was named Vargas, her partner Gibbons. They were about as friendly as a pair of junkyard dogs, and he got the distinct impression that they would have been happier belting back a stiff drink at a local watering hole than talking with him.
Vargas reeked of cigarettes, the foul smell pouring off her skin and breath. She produced a sheet of copy paper and held it up to Pearl’s face. On it was a photo taken off a surveillance camera that showed Pearl and Lancaster riding in the Donzi.
“Your neighbor called 911 earlier and reported gunshots,” Vargas said. “Same neighbor has a surveillance
camera pointed at her dock, and got a video of you and your friend flying by in your boat. That’s a Donzi, isn’t it?”
Pearl nodded while staring at the photo. It had been taken before Lancaster drew his gun and shot at the kidnappers. “I filed a report with the sheriff’s office about what happened. What does this have to do with it?”
His words carried the hint of accusation. The detectives stiffened.
“We read your statement, Dr. Pearl, and it didn’t mention that you’d hired Jon Lancaster,” Vargas said. “That was a mistake.”
“Who said I hired Jon Lancaster?” Pearl said.
“He was with you in the boat. We assumed you had.”
“Well, you assumed wrong. I’ve spoken to a number of security companies, including Lancaster’s. Jon happened to be in my home when Nicki was abducted, and he jumped in the boat with me. He was actually quite helpful.”
“Then why did you leave Lancaster out of your statement?” Vargas asked.
“I didn’t realize that I had. My apologies.”
“Did he fire his gun at the kidnappers?” Vargas asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“I think you’d remember a gun being fired,” Vargas said.
“The engine on my Donzi is quite loud. If Jon fired a gun, I didn’t hear it.”
The detectives looked stymied. They seemed intent on pinning a charge on Jon when none was warranted. Pearl hid a smile, feeling proud of himself. Jon had mentioned there was a pair of detectives he was on bad terms with, and he guessed this was them. Pearl didn’t know what the dispute was, nor did he care. Jon’s quick thinking had saved his daughter, and Pearl was going to protect him however he could.
“Are we done?” Pearl asked.
“Are you planning to hire Jon?” Vargas asked.
“Why is that any concern of yours?”
“Because hiring Lancaster is a bad idea,” she said. “He’s mentally ill and suffers from a delusional disorder. He thinks he’s the greatest cop that ever lived, and is happy to tell you so. But it’s not true. Lancaster was a terrible policeman, and had to be let go.”
