Midnight Rambler_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 30

"I need to show one of the photographs to Tram. Come on, Sally, don't you want me to crack this thing?"

"You promised me. Isn't your word worth anything, Jack?"

I blew out my cheeks. A little voice inside my head was telling me to s.n.a.t.c.h one of the photographs out of Sally's hand and run for the door. Even if Sally caught up to me, she wasn't strong enough to make me give it back.

Only another little voice-perhaps my conscience-was telling me not to think these dangerous thoughts. Sally was my friend and confidante, and I'd given her my word. Once upon a time, my word had actually meant something.

So what had happened? I guess I'd changed. Now I was willing to make promises that I didn't intend to keep, and do things I've never done before. I'd been pulled to the dark side. Yet, I didn't know what else to do.

"Think about it," I heard myself say. "Shannon Dockery was the perfect perfect victim for an abduction. Someone secretly gathered that information and sent it to Cecil on his computer. A profiler." victim for an abduction. Someone secretly gathered that information and sent it to Cecil on his computer. A profiler."

Sally held the photographs protectively against her chest.

"No," she added for emphasis.

I couldn't be in the same room with Sally anymore. I went to the door, jerked it open, and stepped outside. The sky had blackened with storm clouds, and a stiff wind was shooting garbage around the parking lot. The day my sister died, she looked out her hospital room window at a storm similar to this one and told me how beautiful it looked. I was not born with my sister's optimism, and now I saw only bleakness and despair in the murderous clouds.

Inside the room, I heard Sally call the Orange County Sheriff's Department on her cell and ask for a certain detective by name.

She told the detective everything that had happened in the past two hours, including Cecil's room number at the Sleep & Save. Hanging up, she came outside, and took my hand.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I'll live," I said.

"Are we still friends?"

"I sure hope so."

"You are so pitiful when you pout," she said.

"You think so?"

"Yes. Most men are."

"And I thought I was special."

Sally led me downstairs. At the motel's front desk she sweet-talked the manager into making copies of the photographs on his copier. I hugged her fiercely when we were outside, holding the copies in my hand.

"Now go figure this thing out," she said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

I could not find Tram Dockery. could not find Tram Dockery.

Tram had told me his family was staying at a Disney hotel. I called Disney's main number and got patched into his room. When no one answered, an operator came on the line. I asked her which of Disney's twenty hotels the Dockerys were staying in. She refused to divulge the information.

I decided to wait Tram out. I was banking on his returning to their room, even though there was the chance he'd left without checking out and driven home to Georgia. After a day like he'd had, I wouldn't have blamed him.

I sat in my car in the Sleep & Save's parking lot and watched the storm, which had grown to biblical proportions. Sally was upstairs dealing with the police and had said she'd grab a lift back to her office.

Crashes of lightning and gusts of howling wind shook the ground, and Buster began to whine. Making him stay in the car during a storm was torture, and I went inside the motel's main office.

"I need a room for a few hours," I said.

The manager raised his eyebrows in alarm.

"To wait out the storm," I explained.

The manager cut me a deal, and I paid him up front. Outside, I let Buster out of the car, and we ran to the room dodging raindrops.

The room was a newer version of Cecil's, the fabrics and carpet more alive. I lay on the bed with Buster curled up beside me. It was comforting being in bed during a storm, and before I knew it, I was sound asleep.

A clap of thunder awoke me. The digital clock on the night table said nine o'clock. I grabbed my phone and called the Disney main number. There was still no answer in Tram's room. I weighed leaving a message but wasn't sure how to tell him about the photographs without scaring the h.e.l.l out of him. I hung up in frustration.

I powered up the TV. It had nine channels, just like the good old days. I found CNN, the clipped format exactly what my brain needed. At the top of the broadcast was a story about Skell's impending release from Starke. Leonard Snook stood on the Broward County courthouse steps, looking resplendent in a blue suit and glowing yellow tie. He was talking while triumphantly waving several sheets of paper in his hand. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he'd just sold his first car.

Dressed in black, Lorna Sue Mutter stood beside him. She was content to bask in Snook's oratory and looked at him in a way that only confirmed my earlier suspicions about them sleeping together. I raised the volume with the remote.

"Today, my client, Simon Skell, was exonerated of the charge of murder in the first degree," Snook said into the reporters' bouquet of microphones. "Justice has been served."

"Will your client be suing the police for false imprisonment?" a reporter asked.

"No comment," Snook said.

"How about Detective Jack Carpenter? Will your client sue him?"

"No, he will not," Snook said.

Of course he wasn't suing me. I didn't have any money.

"When will Simon Skell be released from prison?" another reporter asked.

"The orders for my client's release have been sent to the warden at Starke," Snook replied. "Hopefully, he will act swiftly."

"Will Skell be released today?"

Snook frowned. The warden at Starke was a hard-a.s.s named Einbinder. Einbinder knew all about Skell, courtesy of yours truly. My guess was Einbinder would delay Skell's release and give the police extra time to find evidence against him.

"That's out of my hands," Snook said.

A reporter shoved a mike into Lorna Sue's face.

"Have you spoken to your husband recently?" he asked.

Lorna Sue beamed beatifically. "Why yes, I spoke with Simon earlier. He asked me to personally thank everyone who's been praying for him. He looks forward to being a free man very soon."

My sandal hit the screen. Luckily it stayed intact, and I saw something that I hadn't seen before. Standing behind Lorna Sue was a man wearing stylish tinted gla.s.ses and a diamond stud earring. His name was Chase Winters, and he was a Hollywood producer of some repute. I knew Chase because I had nearly sold him my life story when I was desperate for cash. I'd thought he was a straight shooter until he told me over lunch that he needed to take "artistic license" with the facts of the case. When I asked what that meant, Winters explained that he wanted to turn all of the Midnight Rambler's victims into strippers because it would help sell the movie overseas. Instead of punching his lights out, I walked away from the deal. Seeing him with Lorna Sue, I a.s.sumed he'd found someone more willing to bend the truth to his liking.

I killed the TV. Then I called Disney's main number and asked for Tram Dockery's room. To my relief, Tram picked up.

"This is Jack," I said.

"Hey, Jack," Tram said brightly. "How's it going?"

"Not so good. You and I need to talk."

The Dockerys were staying at Disney's Wilderness Lodge. The lodge was situated on several heavily wooded acres, the roads unmarked and poorly lit. I pulled in twenty minutes later and let Buster sniff trees before entering the main building.

Wilderness Lodge was Jessie's favorite hotel growing up, and our family had stayed there many times on vacation. Modeled after the Old Faithful Inn at Yellowstone National Park, the main building was the world's largest man-made log structure, with each ma.s.sive log fitted in place without the use of glue or nails. A woman in cowboy attire greeted me at the front desk.

"Howdy," she said.

"House phones," I said.

She pointed to a stand by the elevators, then handed me a brochure.

"Have a nice evening," she said.

I called Tram's room and asked him to meet me in the lobby. He sounded worried and said he'd be right down.

I made myself comfortable on a sprawling leather couch and leafed through the brochure the receptionist had given me. It was called the Hidden Mickey Hunt and was a special promotion for guests staying at the Lodge. Eight hidden images of Mickey Mouse were carved into the balconies of different rooms, while another eight were hidden around the property in the landscaping. Every guest who found all sixteen won a special prize. I thought of Shannon Dockery and wondered how many she'd found so far.

"Hey," a voice said.

I rose from the couch. Tram had come out of an elevator and was walking toward me. He wore a clean plaid s.h.i.+rt and had a fresh part in his hair. I didn't believe in beating around the bush, so I showed him the photographs from Cecil's room. He gasped.

"Who took these?" Tram asked.

"That was what I was hoping you'd tell me," I said.

He studied the photographs, then shook his head.

"I don't know," he said.

"Did you notice any cars following you this morning?" I asked.

"Not that I remember."

"Before you left the lodge, did someone talk to you in the lobby, or maybe outside when you got your truck? Someone suspicious?"

Tram's eyes were burning a hole in the photographs, and I sensed he was having a hard time remembering. Scaring the living daylights out of people worked wonders on their memory. I led him over to the crackling fireplace in the room's center and put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'd like nothing better than to throw these photographs in the fire, but that won't change things," I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The police have a copy. They're going to want to talk to you."

"s.h.i.+t." He drew the word out as if he was sliding in it. "So my wife's going to find out I was drinking with my daughter in my pickup."

"Yup."

"Oh, man, I'm screwed."

Everyone hates the bearer of bad news, and Tram shot me a mean stare. I felt bad for him. There was no greater shame than letting your kid down.

"I've got an idea," I said.

His eyes turned hopeful.

"Tell your wife you only drank one of the beers," I suggested. "Then you realized you were making a mistake, and tossed the rest out."

Tram gave it some thought.

"Yeah, that will work," he said.

"But you still need to be apologetic."

"And admit I was wrong."

"Yes."

He studied the photographs some more.

"Where did you find these?" he asked.

"In the motel room of the man who s.n.a.t.c.hed Shannon," I said. "Someone sent them to him on his computer, along with a lot of information about you and your wife and daughter."

"How the heck could someone know all that?"

"That's what I want to find out. I want you to reconstruct what you did this morning, from the moment you took your daughter out in your pickup."

The fire's flames illuminated Tram's face as he tried to reconstruct his morning.

"I took Shannon to McDonald's, bought a six-pack of beer, drove around for a while, then came back here and picked up Peggy Sue. No, wait. I bought the six-pack first, then went to McD's."