and a stack of novels written by Ayn Rand, Norman Mailer, and Saul Bellow. It was heavy reading, and no doubt part of her American literature class. Yet her nursing books, which was her major, were nowhere to be found.
I combed through the report. If I remembered correctly, the police had searched Dunn’s car, an old Mazda that she parked outside her apartment. Perhaps her nursing books had been found inside the trunk.
The car’s items were buried in the back of the file. The police had found five items in the trunk. Two beach blankets, a tube of suntan lotion, a straw hat, and a portable radio. Dunn’s nursing books weren’t there either.
I slapped the file shut and cursed. I’d been looking at Dunn’s file for eighteen years, yet somehow I’d failed to see the discrepancy. Dunn’s abductors had taken her nursing books, just like they’d taken Sara’s nursing books.
I’m sorry, Naomi.
Linderman materialized beside my car. He’d undone the knot in his tie, and giant drops of sweat dotted his brow. The look on his face was anything but happy.
I lowered my window. “What’s up?”
“Good news, and bad news,” Linderman said.
“Why don’t you climb in? It’s nice and cool.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
I made Buster get into the back, and Linderman took his place. I let him enjoy the cool air for a few moments, then said, “What’s the good news?”
“TirePrint just made the vehicle. Sara’s abductors are driving a 2006 Jeep Cherokee with Goodrich tires. I called the Miami and Broward cops to see if any Jeep Cherokees have been stolen in the past week, and none have been reported.”
“Do you think it’s their car?”
“Yes. I’m guessing they kept it parked here, and used stolen vehicles to move around town. I’ve alerted the police and Highway Patrol to be on the lookout for the vehicle, not that I think they’re going to find it.”
“Is that the bad news?”
“Yes. Jeep Cherokees are one of the most popular makes on the road. There are literally thousands of them. Since we don’t know the color of the Cherokee they’re driving, our chances of spotting them are slim.”
I stared at the file lying in my lap, my mind racing.
“I think I know how to find these guys,” I said.
Linderman’s head snapped, and he stared at me.
“Then what the hell are we sitting here for?”
CHAPTER 24
I needed a computer. Since my office in Dania was closer than Linderman’s office in North Miami Beach, we’d caravan there. Linderman opened the door and started to get out of my car. I stopped him.
“I’ve figured out what these guys’ motivation is.” I tapped the file. “The evidence is right here.”
Linderman pulled his leg back in and shut the door. He was sweating profusely, even though the car’s temperature was comfortable.
“Go ahead,” the FBI agent said.
“They’re abducting nursing students.”
His face clouded. He shifted his gaze and stared out the windshield.
“My daughter was a nursing student,” he said quietly.
“I remember you telling me that.”
Linderman looked back at me. The pain had disappeared from his face. I’d seen this happen before. One minute he was a grieving parent, the next an unflappable FBI agent. I didn’t know how he did it. I know I couldn’t.
“Time’s a-wasting,” Linderman said. “Let’s go.”
– – I drove to my office with Linderman riding my bumper. I ran my business above a restaurant called Tugboat Louie’s in Dania. Louie’s boasted a good-time bar, dockside dining, and a busy marina. Not many respectable businesses would operate out of a place where drunkenness and all-night partying were considered appropriate behavior, but I wasn’t one of them. Louie’s owner, my friend Kumar, didn’t charge me rent, and that made the place perfect in my book.
The Rolling Stones’ “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking?” was blaring out of Louie’s outdoor loudspeakers as Linderman and I entered the building. Kumar sat on a stool by the front door, wearing his traditional white Egyptian cotton shirt and oversized black bow tie. Next to him was a blackboard with the day’s lunch specials. Cheeseburger, grouper sandwich, conch fritters, Key lime pie. I’d been frequenting Louie’s for years, and the specials never changed. Seeing me, Kumar exclaimed “Hello, Jack! Hello, Buster! Hello, Jack’s friend!” He clapped his hands. “There is always excitement when you’re around, Jack. How about some lunch? I can heartily recommend the cheeseburgers. They are very good!”
“Sure. I’ll take a cheeseburger, medium rare,” I said.
“Well done,” Linderman said.
“And Buster?” Kumar asked.
“He would like the usual,” I said.
Kumar hopped off his stool. “Coming right up, gentlemen.”
I entered the restaurant and walked behind the noisy bar. Unhooking the chain in front of a narrow stairwell, I climbed the stairs to my office, Linderman behind me.
The second floor contained two offices: mine and Kumar’s. My office was long and narrow, and contained a desk, an ancient PC, two folding chairs, a rusted file cabinet picked up at a yard sale, and a wall containing the photographs of a dozen missing children I looked for but never found. Sitting at my desk, I booted up my computer and opened my e-mail.
Typing with two fingers, I composed a letter that I planned to send to every law enforcement agency in the state, asking them to search their databases for young women who’d gone missing in the past eighteen years who were nursing students.
Linderman stood behind my chair as I typed, staring at the computer. In the screen’s reflection I saw him shake his head.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“How many police departments are there in Florida? Sixty-six?” he asked.
“Sixty-seven,” I said.
“How many of them are going to drop whatever they’re doing to help you? Based upon my experience, they’ll pass the request down the line, and it will end up in the hands of a secretary, who may or may not look through the files.”
“Do you want to write it?”
“I won’t get any better response. The FBI isn’t liked by most cops.”
Our food came. Two cheeseburgers swimming in french fries, and a bowl of ground beef for Buster. Linderman pulled up one of the folding chairs, and we ate our lunches.
I couldn’t taste the food. Sometimes that happened to me when I was on a search. My appetite disappeared and nothing tasted particularly good. I had lost weight since leaving the force, and didn’t want to lose any more.
I forced the food down, then got up from my chair and went to the window. Parting the blind with my finger, I stared down at Louie’s dock and watched a teenage girl wait on a table of drunk guys with sunburns and loud shirts. The waitress didn’t look like she was more than sixteen years old. Staring at her gave me a thought.
“I’ll talk the Broward cops into helping us,” I said. “They can get the cops in the other counties to respond to my request.”
Linderman put his burger down. “And how would the Broward PD do that?”
“Fort Lauderdale is a magnet for teenage runaways. I can’t name a county that hasn’t had to send a cop down here and retrieve a kid who’s run away from home. The Broward cops always treat the visiting cops nice, and
