He lifted the photograph, counting the beers left in the six-pack.
"Heck. I know where this was taken," he said.
"You do?"
"Yessir. On the drive-through at McD"s."
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-huh. You know the expression "Your first beer is your best beer"? Well, my first beer this morning was sitting on line at McD"s drive-through, waiting for my grub. I placed my order, popped a brewski, and got a buzz on."
Tram impressed me as a guy who would remember something like this, and I stared deeply into the fire. Julie and Carmella Lopez had gone to a McDonald"s restaurant in Fort Lauderdale the morning that Carmella disappeared. I"d found another link.
"They must"ve been listening to me inside the restaurant," Tram went on. "I called my sister on my cell and told her what we were doing today."
"You think someone inside the restaurant was listening through the order box," I said.
"Yessir," Tram said. "I bet they photographed me through that thing, and listened to me as well. That must be how they knew all that stuff."
I continued to stare into the flames. There was something wrong with Tram"s explanation. I"d seen the order stations inside McDonald"s restaurants, and they were right by the kitchens. An employee couldn"t spy on cars in the drive-through without other employees noticing. I was still missing a piece of my puzzle, but I suspected that a trip to the local McDonald"s would answer my questions.
"Thanks. You"ve been really helpful," I said.
"No problem," Tram said.
I handed him the brochure. "Does your daughter know about this?"
"Heck, yeah. She found them all. Bet you didn"t see the one in front of us."
I shook my head, and Tram pointed at the protective metal screen covering the fireplace. A hidden silhouette of Mickey Mouse was carved into it. Mickey was waving to us, and I found myself nodding. If I"d learned anything as a cop, it was that you had to search for the good and bad in this world. It was all out there, if you knew where to look.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.
Tram walked me to the lodge"s entrance. I asked him the location of the McDonald"s where he"d bought breakfast, and he said it was in Kissimmee. When he described the landmarks, I realized it was a stone"s throw from Sleep & Save. I started to leave.
"I need to ask you something," Tram said.
I stopped in the doorway and waited for him to finish.
"I never got your last name," he said. "Folks back home in Douglas are gonna want to know who you are when I tell them this story."
The idea that this kid was going to be telling stories about me made me smile.
"It"s Carpenter," I said.
"That works."
I hesitated, unsure of what he meant.
"Carpenters fix things," he said.
I smiled at him. I"d come to the conclusion that he wasn"t a criminal, just a young guy p.r.o.ne to making dumb decisions, and I hoped that this experience had taught him a lesson. Then I went outside.
A wet kiss on my wrist turned my head to the sky. Another storm had rolled in, and I reached my car just as the downpour began. Buster sat on the pa.s.senger seat, looking ready to call it a day.
I found the weather on the radio. A storm front was parked in the Gulf, and heavy rain was predicted for several days. It was the price you paid for living in the tropics. I left Disney unable to see twenty feet in front of my car.
Pulling into the Kissimmee McDonald"s twenty minutes later, I was shocked to see it closing for the night. I entered to find a black kid wearing a hairnet mopping the floors. He shot me an annoyed look, and I stood on the mat with water dripping off my hair.
"We"re closed," the kid said.
"The sign says "Open 24 hours.""
"I have to mop up," he explained. "Don"t want customers coming in and slipping on the wet floor. Then we"ll get sued."
"When will you reopen?"
"Once the night manager gets here."
"When will that be?"
The kid smirked, leaving me to believe the night manager would show up whenever he pleased.
"I need your help," I said.
The kid rested his chin on the end of his mop and gazed at me reflectively. He looked seventeen but had the eyes of a much older man. His name tag said Jerome.
"What"s this about?" Jerome asked.
"I need to ask you a couple of questions. I"m doing some work for Disney. It"s concerning a little girl who was abducted in the Magic Kingdom theme park earlier today."
Jerome looked me up and down. He would have made a h.e.l.luva poker player, because I couldn"t read what he was thinking.
"No offense, but are you really really working for Disney?" he asked. working for Disney?" he asked.
It took me a moment to catch his drift. Disney didn"t allow long hair or scruffy clothes on anyone in their ranks, and I had both. I extracted a dog-eared Broward County Sheriff"s Department business card from my wallet and shoved it into Jerome"s hand. His facial expression didn"t change, so I showed him my driver"s license. He studied the names on each, then handed both back.
"Ask away," he said.
"I need to see the computer that takes orders from customers in your drive-through," I said.
"Sure. You mind taking off your sandals? I don"t feel like mopping the floor again."
I kicked off my sandals. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest the way it did when I ran track. The finish line was in sight, my marathon almost over.
I followed Jerome around the counter to a workstation beside the take-out window. The station was small and contained a computer, a flat touch-screen, and a microphone used to talk to customers outside. Something was wrong with the picture, and I felt myself shudder.
"Where"s the printer?" I asked.
"There isn"t one," Jerome said.
"How do you print the customer"s orders?"
"We don"t," Jerome said matter-of-factly. "Everything"s computerized and appears on the screen. Only thing that gets printed is the customer"s receipt."
In a panic, I pulled the photos of Tram from my pocket. Jerome examined each one, his demeanor of someone sincerely trying to help. Which is why the next words out of his mouth crushed me.
"Sorry, but these photographs didn"t come from here," he said.
"But they were taken of someone sitting in your drive-through," I said.
"Maybe so, but there"s nothing to print them in the restaurant. Even if there was, none of the managers would allow it. Now, if you don"t mind, I need to finish mopping the floor."
The game was over. I had run out of road.
I sat in the suffocating darkness of my car and listened to the rain. Out in the road, a pair of police cruisers and an ambulance were attending to a collision at an intersection, their flashing bubble lights turning the night a sad pink. People were hurt, with medics attending to the drivers of both vehicles. I would have gone out and helped if I"d thought it would do some good. But I"d have only been in the way, making a bad situation worse.
Buster rested his head in my lap and began to snore. I decided to get back on the Florida Turnpike and head north to Starke. I needed to be there when Skell was released. I wanted him to know that he hadn"t won. Being there was the only way I knew to tell him this.
My cell phone rang. I wanted it to be Ken Linderman or Scott Saunders calling with some piece of good news. Grabbing the phone off the dash, I stared at its face. It was Melinda. I said h.e.l.lo so loudly that Buster was jostled from his slumber.
There was no reply.
"Melinda, are you there?"
In the background, Mick Jagger was singing the chorus from the live version of "Midnight Rambler:" "Don"t you do that. Oh, don"t do that!"
"Jack," Melinda whispered. Melinda whispered.
"I"m here," I said.
"Help me."
There was a cloudburst directly over my car. I pressed the cell phone to my face.
"Tell me where you are, and I"ll come and help you."
"I"m hanging in the closet of some f.u.c.king Cuban guy"s house. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse with my toes. You gotta help me."
"Is that why you didn"t want me calling you back?"
"Yeah."
"Did this Cuban guy kidnap you from your apartment?"
"Yeah. There were two of them."
"What does the Cuban guy look like?"
"I don"t f.u.c.king know."
"Think hard. Does he have a scar running down the side of his face?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know where the house is?"
"Somewhere in western Broward. You gotta find me, Jack."
"I"m trying to. Do whatever he tells you to do. Okay?"
"I"m sorry for what I said on the radio. He made me. I yelled out a couple of times, but somehow it got bleeped out."
"It"s okay, Melinda. It"s okay."
"You sure?"
"Of course I"m sure."
"This guy said he"s going to kill me."
"He told you that?"
"Yeah. But he said he was going to wait."
"Did he say why?"
"He said he"s waiting for Skell to come back. Skell wants to be there when I die."
I realized what this meant. Melinda would be kept alive by her captors until Skell was out of prison and back in Fort Lauderdale. I could still save her.
"Do you have any idea where you"re being kept?"