Midnight Rambler (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A
Disney security guard drove us inside the Magic Kingdom in a golf cart. I sat behind Tram and watched him jerk his head at every infant we passed. He was crazy with worry and called out his daughter's name several times.

The guard parked near the “It's a Small World” exhibit, and we hopped out. This had been my daughter's favorite ride when she was little. If prompted, Jessie would sing the entire song from memory, although it had been years since I'd asked. I hummed the chorus and saw Tram stiffen.

“You trying to be funny?” he asked.

“No, just trying to stay calm. Mind my asking you a question?”

Tram didn't answer me.

“What are you on?” I asked.

Tram swallowed his Adam's apple.

“I ain't on nothing.”

“Stick to telling the truth. You're better at it.”

“I am telling the truth,” he said defensively.

I was close enough to him to smell his breath. It was mint flavored with a hint of something acidic: The smell was one I'd encountered countless times before. He'd been drinking, and I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

“Stop lying to me, you stupid little son of a bitch,” I said. “You've been hitting the sauce, haven't you?”

His defiant attitude melted away. “I had a couple of beers for breakfast, that's all.”

“Then what was the bullshit line about you quitting?”

“I slipped.”

“How many is a couple?”

“A six-pack.”

“Does your wife know that?”

Tram shook his head.

“So you were drunk when your daughter got snatched.”

Tram's face twisted with agony. With many missing children cases, there was often another crime behind the abduction. Sometimes the crime was excusable, like a parent bowing to a child's demand to go inside a store alone. Other times, the crime was so damning that it could never be excused. In this case, Tram Dockery was not a fit parent, and didn't deserve the second chance the world had given him.

“God damn you, son,” I said.

I made Tram take me to the last place he'd seen Shannon. The guard tagged along and stood dutifully to one side. He was an older black man with wispy hair and watery eyes. His expression said he'd seen many like Tram before.

“Shannon was right here the last time I saw her,” Tram said.

We were standing by an enormous bush carved to look like Mickey Mouse. Tram pointed at a concession stand thirty feet away.

“Peggy Sue was over there carrying two cardboard trays, and I went to help her,” he said. “When I came back, my baby was gone.”

I did a three-sixty revolution and looked for places where a person could have taken Shannon without being spotted. I was suspicious about the fact that Shannon wasn't heard during her abduction, until the doors to the “It's a Small World” exhibit opened. Then, five hundred noisy kids and their parents poured out, and I realized that Shannon could have been screaming her head off and not been heard.

“What's your name?” I asked the guard.

“Vernon,” the guard replied. “People call me Vern.”

“Vern, where's the closest restroom?”

“There are several,” he said.

“Do they all have family restrooms?”

“No, only the restroom around the corner has that.”

“Show me,” I said.

Vern led us to a small redbrick building right off the main drag. It had three doors—His, Hers, and Family—and was a perfect place to bring a child to. I banged on the door for Family. Getting no answer, I went inside.

Like everything at Disney, the bathroom's interior was spotlessly clean. In the corner sat a metal trash can, and I dragged it outside onto the grass. Pulling off the top, I rummaged through the smelly diapers and other garbage stuffed inside.

“What you doing?” Tram asked.

“Looking for your daughter's clothes.”

“You think they changed her, huh?”

“Yes, I do.”

Tram started to help. His face was milk white, and he was sucking down air. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was having an epiphany and going through a life-altering experience. But more than likely, it was all the beer he'd drunk burning through his system. I held up a child's ripped T-shirt.

“This look familiar?”

Tram squinted at the piece of clothing and shook his head.

“No, that ain't hers.”

We kept searching. Vern was a step ahead of us and pulled trash containers out of the two other lavatories, dumping their contents onto the grass as well. By the time we were done, garbage was strewn everywhere. Vern made a call on his walkie-talkie and told someone to send people to clean up our mess.

“There's another place we should check,” Vern said.

“Lead the way,” I told him.

We followed Vern a hundred feet down a path. He stopped at a trash container designed to look like a Chinese pagoda. Yanking open a metal door, Vern removed an enormous garbage bag and dumped the contents onto the walkway. We started to sift through the pile.

Mostly it contained wrappers with half-eaten food or juice containers. Near the bottom, Tram found a plastic bag with its mouth tied in rabbit ears. Tearing the bag open, he let out a shout. Stuffed inside were a child's pink shorts and matching pink shirt.

“Those are my baby's clothes,” he said tearfully.

“You're sure?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

I examined the clothes and found several long red hairs stuck in the fabric of the shirt. Shannon's abductor had given her a haircut.

“Let me see the bag,” I said.

Tram handed me the bag. I turned it upside down, and a metal can fell out. It made a funny sound as it rolled down the pavement.

Tram ran after the can and snatched it off the ground. He tossed it to me, and I grabbed it out of the air and stared at the label. Blue spray paint.

“They must have changed her hair color,” Tram said.

I continued to stare at the label. Blue hair would have made Shannon stand out like a sore thumb. There was another reason for the spray paint, something as devious as the people behind the abduction, only I didn't have a clue what it was.

I found myself thinking of the little girl who'd disappeared at the theme park in Fort Lauderdale. Her abductors had changed her appearance so that even her parents, who'd been standing by the turnstiles as the crowds left, couldn't identify her. Her clothes and a can of blue spray paint were later found in the trash, yet I was never able to make a connection between them.

I have a maxim that has served me well. I always assume that the criminals I'm chasing are as smart as I am, or smarter. It may not always be true, but it keeps me on my toes. Driving toward the Magic Kingdom's main entrance in the golf cart, I suddenly realized what the can of blue spray paint was for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I
jumped out of the cart as it reached the turnstiles. Catching Sally's eye, I held the can of blue spray paint triumphantly over my head. She hurried over to me.

“Please tell me you have some good news,” she said.

“Shannon's abductors have cut her hair, changed her clothes, and also changed the color of her shoes,” I said. “My guess is, they made her look like a little boy.”

Sally took the can of paint out of my hand.

“Is this the new color of her shoes?”

“Yes. Get me some paper.”

Sally went to her golf cart and removed all the paper from a clipboard on the dash. She handed the paper to me, and I sprayed all the sheets with blue paint and waved them in the air to dry. Then Sally and I approached each pair of guards watching a turnstile and handed them one of the sheets.

“Look at the shoes of each child leaving the park,” I instructed them. “If you see this color, grab the kid and yell for us.”

Sally repeated the instructions, making sure the guards understood. Then we went to where Tram and Peggy Sue stood on the side in the grass. Tram had brought Shannon's clothes out of the park, and Peggy Sue was clutching them against her chest. I gently touched her arm.

“Peggy Sue,” I said.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“You need to pull yourself together. If there's any person your daughter will run to, it's going to be you.”

Peggy Sue swiped at her eyes. “What if she's gone? What if they already took her out of the park? What then?”

I wanted to tell Peggy Sue not to think those dark thoughts, but I bit my tongue instead. There was no greater sin in my line of work than making false promises.

“We're going to find her,” Tram said, sounding strong.

I stood by the turnstiles with Sally and watched families leave the park. Each child passed briefly before my eyes, then was gone forever. More than once I thought I'd spotted Shannon, only to realize I was wrong. Finally Sally spoke up.

“Why are you so jumpy?” she asked.

“Times like this I can't stand still,” I said.

“Why don't you go back inside and see if you can spot her?”

she suggested.

It sounded like a good idea. An elderly couple wearing mouse ears walked past. They were smiling and holding hands like newlyweds. I approached the man and offered to buy the mouse ears from him. The man refused my money and handed the ears to me.

“Have fun,” the man said.

Sally got me back inside the park. Thousands of people were waiting to leave, and I was reminded how incredibly loud small children could be, especially when they were unhappy.

I walked to the rear of the lines, feeling the hot macadam baking through my sandals. Reaching the lines' end, I turned around and started walking back, looking at little kids' shoes without being too obvious. Several irate fathers accused me of trying to cut in.

“I've lost my family,” I said.

The ruse worked, and let me keep moving forward. It was a slow process, and after ten minutes, I called Sally on my cell to see how things were going.

“No sign of her yet,” she said.

“Keep the faith,” I said.

I slipped the phone into my pocket. I'd reached the middle of the lines and was standing in a sea of unhappy little kids. I reminded myself that Shannon's abductors were playing the roles of parents, and when they reached the turnstiles, they'd be giving star performances. Coming up from behind was the best way to go.

Lowering my head, I continued my search.

Most cops I knew believed in God. I'd always found this strange, considering the amount of human suffering and tragedy that cops were subjected to. Perhaps a religious belief was the best way to cope with these experiences. Or to explain when amazing things happened.

Right now, I was a believer.

I'd spotted Shannon Dockery. She was part of a family of five and was standing a hundred yards from the turnstiles with her thumb stuck in her mouth.

I quickly noted her abductors. The woman pretending to be Shannon's mom was a thirtyish brunette with permed hair and fake fingernails painted in custom-car colors, and the man pretending to be her dad was a bearded truck-driver type who spit out a steady banter of corny jokes. They looked just as ordinary as anyone else.

Then there were Shannon's fake brothers. The oldest boy was tall and string-bean thin and maybe ten years old, while the younger boy was short and round and didn't know how to tie his sneakers. Shannon stood between the boys, holding hands and doing the buddy system, the way kids in the park were supposed to.

The deception Mom and Dad had used to disguise Shannon's identity was extraordinary. Many families that visited Disney wore color-coordinated or themed clothing. They did it for fun and because it made it easier for parents to watch the kids. Shannon's fake mom and dad were also wearing themed clothing. “Support Our Troops!” was splashed across their T-shirts along with pictures of the burning World Trade Center towers, and each of the children wore patriotic colors: the oldest in red, the middle in white, Shannon in blue. Had I not found the can of spray paint in the park, the disguises would have flown right by me.

I called Sally on my cell phone.

“Any luck?” she asked.

“Got her,” I said quietly.

Sally screamed into my ear. “You found her?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Jack, I love you!”

“They're about to come out, second turnstile from your right. It's a family of five, with three little kids dressed in red, white, and blue. Shannon is in blue. I'm going to come out right behind them.”

“A family? How old are the other kids?”

“They're young.”

“Hold me back if I hurt the parents, Jack.”

Using children to commit crimes sickened even the most jaded law enforcement officers, and I understood Sally's feelings, for they were my own as well.

“I'll call you once they come out,” I said. Soon Shannon's false family reached the turnstiles. I watched Dad shoot a furtive glance at Mom. Together, they put their hands on their children's backs and pushed them ahead. They were going to exit as a group, making it harder for the guards to get a clear look at Shannon. It was another clever tactic to avoid detection, and my gut told me that they'd done this before. I called Sally back.

“Here we go,” I said.

Private security forces were not bound to the same rules as the police. They did not have to identify themselves to suspected criminals, nor act with the same restraint that the law required of cops. As the family exited the turnstiles I threw my arms in the air and jumped up and down. Moments later, Disney security hit the family hard.

Three burly guards surrounded Dad, who immediately began pushing and shoving. In a flurry of flailing arms and legs, the guards wrestled him face-first to the ground. Dad was as slippery as an eel, and while two of the guards held his arms, the third sat on his back and pinned him down.

At the same time, a pair of female guards pinched Mom and led her away from the turnstiles. Mom did not go quietly. First she yelled at the top of her lungs. Then she tried to break free, forcing one of the guards to twist her arm behind her back. When Mom continued to resist, they cuffed her.

Individual security guards confronted the two boys, who seemed baffled by what was happening. The guards hustled them off as well.

Coming up from behind, I scooped young Shannon into my arms. She was light as a feather, and her eyes looked mildly sedated.

“Hi, Shannon,” I said.

“Hi,” she said.

“How you doing?”

“I'm good! We're going to get ice cream.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate swirl.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“Yes!”

Sally had pulled Shannon's parents away from the turnstiles to avoid a free-for-all.

Holding their daughter in my arms, I walked over to them. Seeing a look of disbelief in Tram's and Peggy Sue's faces, I realized they didn't recognize their own daughter.

But they did recognize me, and I flashed my best smile. Slowly their worried looks disappeared. Peggy Sue knelt down and spread her arms wide.

“Shannon, baby, come to me!”

I put Shannon down and let the little girl run into her mother's arms. Peggy Sue hugged her child while mouthing a silent prayer. Then she looked at me. In her face I saw a promise. She was never letting this child out of her sight again.

Tram came up to me. He wanted to say something, but the words had escaped him. Instead, he gave me a bear hug, the top of his head barely reaching my chin.

“You like barbecue?” he asked.

“Love it,” I said.

“Good, because I'm sending you barbecue for the rest of my life.”

I said good-bye to the Dockerys and went looking for Sally. With the crisis averted, families were being allowed to exit the park normally, and I became engulfed in the loud boisterous crowd. I found Sally standing by the golf carts talking on her cell phone.

“You know, you look cute with those mouse ears on,” she said.

“I need to talk to you,” I said.

“Go ahead. The Orange County Sheriff's Department has me on hold.”

“Hang up on them.”

Sally shot me a concerned look. “Why should I do that, Jack?”

“Because I want to talk with these two slimeballs without the police or lawyers in the room,” I said.

Her face turned ice cold. “Jack, I'm in charge here, remember?”

“Didn't I just drop everything I was doing, run over here from Tampa, and save your ass?”

“Jack, what's come over you?”

“Didn't I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I just want to question them without some goddamn lawyers in the room or some cops reading them their rights.”

“You going to beat them up?”

She had struck a nerve, and I nearly told her to go to hell.

“They've done this before,” I said instead. “Look at the preparation they went through, dressing the boys in red and white clothing so they could make Shannon fit in by dressing her in blue. I'm convinced this couple used the same trick to snatch a little girl out of a park in Fort Lauderdale. Let me talk with them, Sally.”

Sally chewed on a fingernail and considered my request.

“You sure about this, Jack?”

I had no proof of what I'd just said, just what my gut told me.

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

She closed the phone and slipped it into her pocket. “I'll give you one hour with them, but you have to promise me you won't lay a finger on either one.”

“I won't touch them.”

“Is that a promise?”

I again suppressed the urge to curse her. I'd pushed her but tons plenty of times when she'd worked for me, and now she was pushing mine.

“Yes, it's a promise.”

“Okay, they're yours.”

We got into a golf cart, and Sally drove down a winding concrete path that led to the security building. Halfway there, we came upon another golf cart that contained three security guards and Dad. Dad was handcuffed and riding shotgun, with two guards sitting behind him while the third guard drove. The cart wasn't moving too fast, and Sally beeped her electric horn.

“Everything okay?” she called out.

The driver slowed even more and turned to look at us.

“Just a little problem with the brakes,” he said.

“Need some help?”

“No, we'll be fine.”

“Nice job back there,” Sally said.

“Thank you, Ms. McDermitt,” the driver replied.

As the cart pulled away, Dad jerked his head around and looked our way. His face was flushed, and he was sweating as if he were going to the electric chair. Our eyes locked, and I sensed he was trying to place me. For the hell of it, I removed the mouse ears. Cold hard fear spread across his face.

“Jesus,” Sally said. “He knows you.”

“Yes, I believe he does,” I said.