The Night Monster

by James Swain

  I stuck my head into the kitchen. The linoleum floor and counter-tops were coated with dust, which lifted eerily into the air whenever I exhaled.

  In the back of the house were two small bedrooms. The first bedroom looked like a man cave, and contained a pair of twin beds, a boxy TV sitting on an upturned orange crate, several unopened crates of beer, and a pile of adult men’s magazines.

  The second bedroom was more feminine. It had a queen-size bed, a dresser, and a vanity. Rifling the dresser drawers, I discovered an assortment of women’s clothes, including a see-through nightgown and several pieces of filmy lingerie.

  From outside the house I heard a noise. A vehicle had pulled in, and I heard the CSI team get out of the van. I wanted to be there when the CSI team exhumed Bolger’s grave, and decided to leave.

  I headed back to the front of the house. Buster had trapped a rat beneath the dining room table. I hooked my finger in his collar.

  “Enough of that,” I said.

  I noticed a stack of yellowing Polaroids lying on the table. Blowing away the dust, I picked up the photos by the corners. The photographs were so old, the subjects were starting to fade away. I placed them in a row on the table. The deeper the photograph lay in the stack, the sharper the subjects became.

  The last photo was the clearest. It was of Lonnie and a young woman, whom he held lovingly against his chest. Lonnie was much younger, and had a full head of dark hair. I studied the woman’s face. She was smiling through clenched teeth. A fake smile, probably done for the camera. Her eyes told another story. I had seen that look in the faces of abducted children I’d rescued who’d thought they were never going to be found. It was the look of hopelessness, of dread. Taking Kathi Bolger’s license from my pocket, I compared it to the photo.

  It was the same person.

  CHAPTER 37

  walked outside the house. Officer Riski stood beneath the shade of a tree, talking with the driver of the CSI van. I handed Riski the stack of Polaroids I’d found.

  “I told you not to touch anything,” Riski said.

  “They jumped into my hand,” I said. “May I have your permission to watch the CSI team exhume the body?”

  “Promise me you won’t get in the way,” Riski said.

  “I won’t get in the way,” I said.

  “You’re a lousy liar,” Riski said.

  Soon I was sitting on a tree stump in the forest, watching the exhumation. The CSI team consisted of three men and one woman. Each member wore a plastic Tyvek suit that tied around their necks, goggles, a paper mask, and rubber gloves. Tyvek suits were the newest thing in preventing crime scene contamination, and reminded me of homemade Halloween costumes that kids used to wear.

  Bolger’s grave had been marked off with white string. Using hand shovels, the CSI team dug up the earth and dropped it into a metal sifter. When something of interest was found, it was cleaned, put in an evidence bag, and tagged. It was tedious work, but I was determined to see it out. The way a killer disposes of a victim can tell an investigator many things, and I wanted to see Bolger’s body when it came out of the ground.

  Three hours later, I got my wish.

  A shovel hit bone. The team got on their knees, and removed the remaining dirt with their hands. Bolger’s body slowly became visible. It had been wrapped in plastic garbage bags, the tops tied together with wire. The team lifted Bolger out of the ground, and laid her gently down on blankets a few feet away.

  The team’s captain was a soft-spoken detective named Christine Jowdy, who I’d worked with when I was on the force. Jowdy pulled a bottle of cheap cologne from her pocket and unscrewed the top.

  “Who wants some?” Jowdy asked.

  The other members of the team removed their surgical masks. Jowdy sprinkled cologne into each of the masks, then glanced up at me.

  “Want to rub some over your lip?” Jowdy asked.

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “This could smell pretty bad.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  Jowdy shrugged and put the cologne away. She took a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and delicately cut away the plastic. To everyone’s surprise, Bolger’s body was swathed in blankets, and resembled an Egyptian mummy.

  Bolger was photographed from a variety of different angles. It was starting to get late, and someone suggested getting lights to illuminate the grave area.

  “If we move fast, we can beat the darkness,” Jowdy said.

  Jowdy began to carefully cut away the blankets, which tore like paper. Bolger’s white shoes were the first thing I saw; then the skinless bones of her ankles; then her dress. White shoes. I inched closer as the rest became visible.

  “You need to back up,” Jowdy said.

  I was standing directly behind Jowdy, my feet glued to the ground.

  “Did you hear what I just said?” Jowdy asked.

  “Just let me see the rest,” I said quietly.

  She glanced up at me, pissed. “What if I say no?”

  “Come on. I found her.”

  Jowdy let out an exasperated breath and cut away the remaining blankets. Bolger’s skeleton stared up at me. I tried to avoid looking at her face. She’d been buried in a white, ankle-length dress, and had her arms crossed in front of her chest. A plastic name tag was pinned to her shirt pocket. It said Daybreak Nurse.

  Riski gave me a ride back to my Legend. He was one of the good guys, and went out of his way to call the police in the neighboring counties to see if the getaway vehicle had been spotted. So far, nothing.

  Soon I was driving on 595 in my Legend. It was growing dark, and rush hour was starting to wane. The police department parking lot was empty as I pulled in.

  I parked below Burrell’s office. The light was still on. Candy was like me in that regard. She lived the job. I called her on my cell.

  “I was starting to worry about you,” Burrell said.

  “It’s been a shitty day. I heard you scored a major drug bust.”

  “We stepped in horseshit on that one. Any luck finding Sara Long?”

  “I got close, but no cigar. I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “I don’t want to ask you this over the phone.”

  “Where then?”

  “I’m parked just outside.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Sixty seconds later, Burrell emerged from the police station and slipped into my car. Her clothes were starting to look like she’d slept in them. I rolled up the windows.

  “Why the secrecy?” Burrell asked.

  “I want you to weasel your way into the police department stockade. There’s a section that houses the department records archive. Each year has its own box of records. Take out the box for 1990.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “A file on a mental health facility called Daybreak.”

  “Why do you want to see that?”

  “The two guys who abducted Sara Long were patients there. The giant is named Lonnie. He’s six-foot-ten, and one of the scariest people I’ve ever seen. Yet somehow no one I spoke to would admit to knowing him.”

  “Why would they lie?” Burrell asked.

  “I’m guessing a superior told them to.”

  “You make that sound routine.”

  “That sort of thing used to be routine. My rookie year, the chief sent out a ‘No one dies during spring break’ memo. He ordered the cops and the coroner not to report any student deaths to the media until after spring break was over. And we didn’t.”

  “Did any kids die?”

  “A couple did. They got drunk and fell off hotel balconies.”

  Burrell stared at the empty building and didn’t speak for a while. She came from a family of cops, and liked to think that cops were different.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll go to the stockade, and get the box. You want to come by, and look through the files with me?”

  “I have to go to Broward General and check up on Karl Long,�
�� I said. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Maybe we can hook up then.”

  “Dinner’s on you,” she said.

  CHAPTER 38

  entered Broward General Hospital through the main lobby. I had visited here enough times to be on a first-name basis with most of the staff and doctors. The receptionist was a tanned woman in her late-thirties named Dextra.

  “Hello, Detective Carpenter, how have you been?” Dextra asked.

  It had been a long time since anyone had called me detective. I didn’t see any point in correcting her. “I’ve been fine. I’m here to see a patient named Karl Long. He was flown in by chopper a few hours ago.”

  Dextra tapped her keyboard and stared at her computer screen. “Let’s see. He’s not showing up on the new patient registry. Do you know what happened to him?”

  “Gunshot wound.”

  “Oh. Did you nail another bad guy?”

  “I didn’t shoot him. Really.”

  Dextra gave me a sly wink, and made a call on her phone. I drummed my fingers on the countertop and avoided her stare. Flirting with Dextra was the last thing I wanted to be doing right now. Hanging up, she said, “Karl Long is still down in the emergency room. You can go see him, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you. Take care.”

  I started to back away, and Dextra held up a manicured finger.

  “I get off at eight,” she said. “Maybe we could go out, get something to eat.”

  I swallowed the rising lump in my throat.

  “Or maybe you could invite me over to your place,” she said.

  I could tell that Dextra liked to fantasize about cops. I’d met women like her over the years. I’d never understood what the attraction was, and I decided to level with her. “I don’t have a place. I got thrown off the police force last year, and I just got evicted from my apartment. All I’ve got is my fifteen-year-old car, a mean dog, and a trunk full of old clothes. Still interested in going out with me?”

  Dextra shrank in her chair, her bubble burst.

  “No thanks,” she managed to say.

  “Have a nice night.”

  I found Karl Long lying on a bed in the emergency ward. He was hooked up to every machine in the place, plus an IV drip. A cutie a few years older than his daughter sat in a chair beside his bed, holding his hand. The glazed look in Long’s eyes told me that the nurses had given him a strong narcotic to ease the pain of his wound.

  “Jack …” he muttered.

  I knelt down so our faces were a foot apart. I had thought about Long flying back in the chopper, knowing he’d let his daughter down. It had to have ripped him apart.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Great since they shot me up with painkillers. This is my friend Heidi.”

  Heidi and I exchanged nods. She had waist-length blond hair and fake tits. Young enough to be his daughter and old enough to know that was why she was here.

  “Jack and I need to talk,” Long said.

  “I’ll go to the cafeteria and get a drink,” Heidi said. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

  Heidi left. I took her chair and leaned on the arm rail of Long’s bed.

  “Any luck finding those guys?” Long whispered.

  I shook my head.

  “I heard you yelling at my pilot. We lost our chance, didn’t we?”

  I nearly said yes, but bit my tongue instead. The pilot had made his choice, and talking about it was not going to change anything.

  “We’ll get another,” I said optimistically.

  Long nodded and shut his eyes. He looked asleep, and I considered leaving. Then his eyes snapped open, and he placed his hand on my arm. “There’s something I need to tell you about Sara,” he said. “I think it’s important.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When Sara was a little girl, a man tried to kidnap her from a school playground. Sara bit him on the arm, and got away. She’s always been like that. Once my daughter sees an opportunity to get away from these guys, she’ll take it.”

  I felt a sharp stabbing in my gut. Lonnie and Mouse weren’t playground perverts. They were sociopaths, and would kill Sara if she tried to escape. I needed to step up my search before that happened.

  “That’s good to know,” I said.

  Long eventually shut his eyes and fell asleep. Going outside to the parking lot, I took Buster for a walk on Andrews Avenue when my cell phone started to ring. It was my old pal, Sonny. Our last conversation hadn’t been friendly, and I wondered what he wanted.

  “What’s up,” I answered.

  “You want your room above the bar back?” Sonny asked.

  I stopped walking. That was exactly what I wanted; a familiar place to rest my head, and have a burger and a beer with people that I knew. The skeptic in me held back.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. I talked to Ralph about it this afternoon, and he agreed.”

  “What about Buster?”

  “Buster, too.”

  “What about the subpoena?”

  “Ralph made it go away.”

  Cars whizzed past me on the street. I should have been happy to get my old place back, but it didn’t feel right.

  “You still haven’t told me what the deal is,” I said.

  “We got held up this afternoon,” Sonny said. “A Hispanic junkie came in, and stuck a gun in my face. Made me clean out the till and give him my jewelry and then the little prick robbed the guys sitting at the bar. Then he grabbed a bottle of Jameson’s off the bar and waltzed out.”

  “I’m sorry. You okay?”

  “I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Went to the hospital, and they got me calmed down. Then I called Ralph, and told him what happened. I reminded him that as part of your rent, you used to sit at the bar when it got busy, and make sure the place didn’t get robbed. I told him that if he didn’t hire you back, I was going to quit.”

  “And he said yes?”

  “What the fuck else was he going to say? You want your room, or not?”

  Buster got excited when I pulled into the Sunset’s parking lot. I popped the trunk and took my stuff back up to my room. Then I found a washed-up stick by the shoreline, and engaged in some serious quality time with my dog.

  The Sunset was quiet when I entered. The Seven Dwarfs sat at the bar, nursing their drinks. Sonny sat behind the bar on a stool, channel surfing. He made eye contact with me, and nodded without speaking. He looked shook up. So did the Dwarfs.

  “What are you having?” Sonny asked.

  “The usual. What did this guy take besides the cash?” I asked.

  Sonny pulled down the neck of his T-shirt. An ugly red line circled his throat. Sonny’s father had died when he was young, and Sonny had taken his father’s dog tags from Vietnam, and gotten them gold-plated. The junkie who’d robbed the place had ripped those tags right off Sonny’s neck.

  “What about you guys?” I asked.

  The Dwarfs rattled off their losses. Four gold wedding bands, three watches, a black onyx ring, and several gold class rings. Their social security checks had just come in the mail, and they’d lost all their money as well.

  “I can’t do anything about the cash, but I can get your jewelry back,” I said.

  Sonny nearly came over the bar. “You can?” he said.

  “Yes. Write it all down so I don’t forget anything.”

  The Dwarfs made a list of the stolen items on a cocktail napkin. Sonny plopped a foaming draft beer down in front of me. I raised it to my lips, and saw the Dwarfs lift their glasses in a toast.

  “Here’s to Jack getting our things back,” one of them proclaimed.

  “Here’s to Jack,” the others chorused.

  I drove to Hollywood, and took Sonny with me. There was a pawnshop on the main drag whose owner was doing five years in the state pen for fencing stolen goods. Not long after his arrest, the owner’s son had gone down for the same crime. A second son had taken over the business, and was cut from the
same cloth. I went there first.

  A bell rang as we entered. The shop was jammed with electronic equipment and wide-screen TVs. Electric guitars hung from the ceiling that looked like throwbacks to the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Behind a glass-topped counter filled with Rolex watches and glittering diamond rings sat son #2. His name was Burton, and he was eating a big wet sandwich wrapped in wax paper. His sleeveless shirt was unbuttoned to his naval, and was dotted with mustard and bits of cabbage.

  “What can I do for you gents?” Burton asked.

  “We’re looking for some jewelry,” I replied.

  Burton spread his arms to indicate the assortment of items for sale. Sonny stuck his face to the glass in search of his father’s dog tags. Burton couldn’t watch us at the same time, and I turned around, and stared at the surveillance camera above the door.

  “Something wrong?” Burton asked.

  “Your surveillance camera is unplugged.” I turned back around.

  “Learn that trick from your old man? Or did your brother teach you?”

  Burton put his hand under the counter. “You want trouble? I’ll give you trouble.”

  “Your father used to keep a Smith and Wesson back there. Ever have it cleaned?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  I drew my Colt and aimed it at his chest. He quickly brought his hand up.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” Burton said.

  I put my Colt away. “A junkie came in here and pawned some jewelry he stole from my friends. By law, you’re supposed to record all sales on a video camera. You get around the law by unplugging the camera whenever you want to fence something.”

  “You want the stuff back?” Burton asked.

  “Yes. Then we can all go back to being friends.”

  Burton opened the store safe. From it, a black felt bag was produced, its contents poured on the counter. “That’s all of it,” he said. I took out the napkin, and checked off the stolen items. Everything that had been stolen from the Sunset was accounted for, except Sonny’s father’s dog tags.

  “Where are the dog tags?” I asked.

  “I threw them out. They were garbage.”

  Sonny leapt over the counter and laid a punch on Burton’s chin.