“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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In my next life, I want to be a dog. Not just any dog, but my dog. Pulling into the security parking area, I checked on Buster and found him lying on the backseat of the Legend cutting zzzs, his hind legs running in place as he chased an imaginary car.
Sally took me to the basement interrogation room. On the other side of the one-way mirror I saw Mom sitting in a plastic chair. She was talking out loud, threatening to sue the park for false arrest, her true character on full display.
Still handcuffed, Dad was dragged into the room and made to sit in another chair. His shirt and pants were covered in dirt, and his face was dripping with sweat. The guards left and shut the door behind them.
A standard procedure in interrogating suspects was to put them together and listen to them talk. Most of the time, nothing of value was gained. But every once in a while, a pearl of information slipped out of someone's mouth.
We watched Mom and Dad for several minutes but didn't learn much. There was a knock on the door. A guard entered our viewing room and handed Sally the couple's driver's licenses. Sally read them both, then passed them to me.
Their names were Cecil Cooper and Bonnie Sizemore. Cecil lived in Jacksonville on the east coast, while Bonnie resided in Lakeland, a sleepy town about thirty minutes away. Sally addressed the guard.
“Either one of them say anything during the drive over?”
“The woman cussed up a storm,” the guard said. “The guy demanded that we let him call some hotshot lawyer in Miami.”