“Personal history.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“The first victim was abducted four weeks ago, which is when you stopped talking with me,” he said. “Then another woman vanished, then another. You got so wrapped up in your investigation, that you shut out the real world. You didn’t talk to me, or your sister, or your niece. Total tunnel vision. Am I right?”
“Yes, you are. I get wrapped up in my cases, and stop talking to people. I was going to call you once I was done. I enjoyed our dates.”
“So did I. The people behind these abductions have done this before, haven’t they?”
Her jaw tightened. “Who told you that?”
“You just did.”
“Why, what did I say?”
“You confirmed that you started working the case at the beginning. The first victim was a Hispanic woman from Miami in her late forties. Your specialty is finding missing kids, not middle-aged women. The Miami abduction must have matched an abduction that took place somewhere else, where a juvenile was taken.”
“You don’t miss much. The Miami abduction matched a case in Jacksonville where a teenage girl disappeared three months ago. I worked the Jacksonville case, so my boss gave me the assignment.”
“What made the cases similar?”
A driver in the left lane needed to move over. She let the vehicle cut in front of her, then said, “I can’t tell you that. It’s against bureau rules.”
“Can I guess?”
“Fire away.”
“Were there demonic symbols left at the crime scenes?”
“Who the hell told you that?”
“My brother had a 666 tattoo on his neck, and there was a 666 spray-painted on the victim’s driveway in Lakeland. Sorry, cat’s out of the bag.”
“Please don’t go around repeating that. We don’t need wild stories about devil worshippers splashed across every newspaper in the country.”
“The sheriff in Polk County already leaked it to the media.”
“He’s a fucking idiot. No one’s going to believe him.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Thank you.”
“If you want my opinion, the guys who are behind these crimes aren’t really devil worshippers. It’s a smoke screen. You should ignore the demonic symbols.”
“If they’re not devil worshippers, then what are they?”
“They’re criminals. While in prison, my brother was recruited into a gang whose leader is named Cano. Logan said that Cano would cast spells over the guards, and get them to secretly bring laptops and cell phones into the prison. Logan made it sound like Cano was a witch doctor who could track people with his spells.”
“You think it’s a bunch of bull?”
“Of course it’s bull. Cano is from Colombia. When I was a SEAL, I did several rescue missions in Colombia, and got to know the country pretty well. There’s an indigenous tree called the borrachero that produces beautiful white-and-yellow trumpet flowers. When those flowers are ground up, they become a drug called scopolamine, which the locals call Devil’s Breath. Blow some in a person’s face, or slip it into their drink, and they turn into a zombie. My guess is, Cano got some Devil’s Breath smuggled into the prison, and is drugging the guards.”
“So Cano’s a fake.”
“Absolutely. If Cano can perform black magic and cast spells, what does he need laptops and cell phones for?”
“Good point.”
Tampa International Airport abutted the highway they were driving on. A jumbo jet flew directly over their vehicle with its landing wheels down, the sound making conversation impossible. Daniels exited onto Interstate 275 north, and soon they were driving past Tampa’s jagged skyline of office buildings and new construction.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“I have one more thing to share. Call it a suspicion,” he said. “I think the gang behind these abductions is in the Tampa Bay area.” He paused. “Am I warm?”
“That’s the assumption we’re working off. How did you know?”
“Two things tipped me off. Dexter Hudson murdered Elsie Tanner and took her granddaughter. Last night, he murdered my brother. Dexter could have taken off between murders, but that’s unlikely. I’m guessing he’s hiding out in this area.”
“One guy doesn’t mean the whole gang is here.”
“I said there were two things.”
“Yes, you did. What’s the second?”
“Tampa is ground zero for the FBI’s investigation. You’re camped out at the Marriott on State Road 54, and are taking people there to be questioned. You’re also butting heads with the sheriff’s department, which tells me you have a lot of agents sniffing around. There could be only one reason for that.”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Are we making our presence that obvious?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you have a choice. This gang is here, and you need to find them. Hiding your presence won’t accomplish anything. May I ask you a question?”
“What’s that?”
“What led you here?”
“We had a report in Miami of a guy with a Fu Manchu and sideburns in the neighborhood where the first abduction took place. He showed up again in Orlando, then was spotted in Keystone. He got spotted several more times in Tampa after that, leading us to believe he’s camped out here with his gang. Everything you’ve told me confirms that.”
“So the key to solving this is Dexter.”
“It certainly seems that way.”
A few minutes later she pulled into the Jayhawk’s parking lot. It looked worse in the daylight, the sidewalks cracked and buckled from the relentless heat. All that remained of last night’s shooting was a chalk outline on the pavement where Logan had fallen and died. It still wasn’t sinking in that Logan was gone, and he wondered if it ever would. When this was over, he planned to bury his brother next to his parents at the cemetery in Fort Lauderdale. Maybe then he could achieve some kind of closure.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Not really,” he admitted.
The office door opened, and Skip came outside. Seeing Lancaster, he tipped his head and gave him a two-finger salute. It was not a mocking gesture, but a way of saying thanks for hiding the bag of dope that Lancaster had found on the desk.
Skip went back inside. Lancaster undid his seat belt and turned to face her.
“I can solve this thing,” he said.
Her eyes went wide. “Your brother told you how to find Dexter, didn’t he?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, and it shouldn’t take me very long. Once I find Dexter, you can put his feet to the fire, and get him to tell us where the victims are. Case solved.”
“You’ve got this whole thing figured out, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I can’t do it alone. We need to team up. You need to let me join the FBI’s investigation.”
“I’d get fired if I did that.”
“Ask your boss for permission. If he says yes, you’re in the clear.”
“What if my boss says no?”
“Then I’ll round up my old SEAL buddies, and find Dexter myself.”
“My boss is going to want to know what your brother told you. Are you going to tell me what he said?”
Lancaster shook his head. Daniels exploded and grabbed his arm.
“God damn it, Jon! You agreed to answer my questions,” she said angrily.
“I changed my mind. Either we solve this as a team, or I’ll do it on my own. Take it or leave it.”
A long moment passed. She was still holding his arm. They’d hugged and kissed on their dates, and he’d enjoyed the intimacy, but this was different; if she didn’t let go, whatever thing they’d shared would be destroyed.
“Call me when you’ve made up your mind,” he said.
She let go of him, her lips moving in silent rage. He climbed out of the car and slammed the door. His own vehicle was where he’d parked it last night, the roof covered in bird droppings. He backed out and tried to leave. He couldn’t get past Daniels’s vehicle and had to drive over the chalk outline. An unearthly chill passed through his body, and he turned onto Nebraska and hit the gas.