Midnight Rambler: A Novel of Suspense

The manager nodded.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Erase it. What else?”

“Can I see it?”

Before he could answer, I stuck my head out my window, and nearly crawled through the take-out window. On the manager's computer screen was a matrix with four black-and-white photographs. Three of them showed me and Buster taken a few moments before. In one, Buster was licking his privates. Another showed me making a face at the order box. The fourth was a rear shot of the Legend that captured my license plate. I pulled back, and the manager looked relieved.

“I've got one more question,” I said.

The manager had run out of patience and didn't reply.

“How many McDonald's use this service? I own a restaurant myself. I'd like to try it out.”

“Most of them,” the manager said.

“In Orlando?”

“In the state.”

Parked in front of the restaurant, I sipped my coffee while watching the rain distort my windshield. I'd given Buster both our meals, and he'd spread the food onto the passenger seat. Normally I cared when he made a mess, but right now I didn't care at all. I'd found the fourth man in Skell's group, the blond-haired guy I'd decided was the information gatherer and profiler.

I'd found him.

The blond-haired guy operated a call center for McDonald's restaurants in Florida. Every day, his operators spoke with thousands of people as they placed orders for food. Because these people didn't know they were being spied upon, they let their guards down, just as I had minutes earlier. They said and did things they'd never do if they thought someone was watching them.

But someone was watching them. The blond-haired guy. He sat in the privacy of his office in front of his computer, studying electronic snapshots while eavesdropping on conversations. He told his employees it was for quality control, and no one argued with him because he was the boss. But in reality, he was hunting for victims.

But not just any victims. Like any other predator, he stalked the weak and defenseless. And when he found a young woman that matched his profile, he sent her information and license plate to the other members of the gang, who tracked her down and abducted her.

I thought about Carmella Lopez. She and her sister had gone to a McDonald's the morning of her disappearance, and I wondered what Carmella had done in her car that was a tip-off. Perhaps she'd made a call on her cell and booked a “massage” with a client. Or maybe she'd told Julie something in confidence. Whatever it was, Carmella didn't mean for anyone else to hear. But someone had, and now she was dead.

I cleaned up Buster's mess and tossed it into the bag. Then I drove around the restaurant and entered the drive-through. There were no other cars, and I pulled up to the order box and lowered my window.

“Welcome to McDonald's,” a girl with a squeaky voice said. “Would you like to try our dinner combo?”

“Just give me a large coffee,” I said.

“Would you like an ice cream sundae with that?”

“No thanks. Can I ask you a question?”

The girl hesitated. “Is this personal?”

“No, it's business related,” I said.

“Oh. Well go ahead.”

“I own a couple of fast-food restaurants in Tampa, and I want to hire a company like yours to process my orders.”

“No kidding?” she said. “I grew up in Tampa. Which restaurants do you own?”

I had to think fast. I didn't want to name any fast-food restaurants her company might already be doing business with. Near my wife's apartment was a hamburger joint that I'd only seen in Tampa, and I said, “Checkers.”

“Really? I love their spicy french fries. They're the best.”

“Thanks. So, can I hire you?”

The girl giggled. “You'll have to ask the boss.”

“Who's that?”

“Paul Coffen. He owns the company.”

“Is that who you report to?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is your company big?”

“Well, there's eighty order takers and Paul.”

I hesitated. I wanted to be absolutely certain I had the right person, and said, “You know, I think I met your boss at a fast-food convention. Is he in his early fifties, has blond hair, and likes expensive jewelry?”

“That's him,” she said.

“Great. When's a good time to speak with him?”

“Paul usually works really late, but today he went home early.”

My skin turned ice cold. It had never occurred to me that her boss might be at work, watching me at this very moment.

“What's your company name?”

“Trojan Communications.”

“Where are you located?”

“Fort Lauderdale. Are you really going to hire us? Paul will give me a bonus. He loves it when we bring him new business.”

I'll bet he does, I nearly said.

“What's your name?”

“Sherry Collins.”

“I'll make sure I mention your name, Sherry.”

Sherry gave me the company's phone number and street address, and I scribbled both down on a piece of paper. Trojan Communications was located in downtown Fort Lauderdale, a block away from ritzy Las Olas Boulevard. As rents went, it was one of the more pricey areas of town, which told me that Coffen's company did well. It was another piece of the puzzle that up until now I hadn't understood. Criminal operations were expensive to run, and I'd been wondering who was financing this one. Now I knew.

I thanked Sherry and pulled the Legend up to the take-out window. The night manager was there, and he shot me a suspicious look.

“Back so soon?” he asked.

I handed him my money.

“It's the coffee,” I said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I left the McDonald's and drove east through the pouring rain until I reached the entrance for the Florida Turnpike. There was a tollbooth, and I stopped in the median in front of it and threw my car into park.

I sipped my coffee, my mind racing. For the first time since starting my investigation of the Midnight Rambler killings, I had the name and address of someone who'd been involved besides Simon Skell, and I was going to take advantage of it.

I decided to call Ken Linderman and tell him what I'd learned. He was the one law enforcement person I could trust with the information. Linderman had moved to Florida because he believed that Skell was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, and he had as much at stake in bringing Skell's gang to justice as I did. I pulled out his business card and called his cell number. He answered on the first ring.