James Swain - The King Tides

“Melanie, I want you to see this,” Pearl said.

She moved to her husband’s side. Lancaster placed his laptop on the desk so its screen faced his hosts. Then he opened the Traccar app, and the map of Melbourne appeared, the red dots converged around a single spot.

“What are we looking at?” she asked.

“A cocktail waitress named Janey MacKenzie went missing three nights ago,” he said. “The local sheriff thinks Janey’s shacking up with a guy, and will show up in a few days. Her grandmother is convinced she was abducted, and hired me to find her.”

“Is the grandmother right?”

“Yes.” He pointed at the red dots. “These are a pack of bloodhounds with GPS trackers attached to their collars. They picked up Janey’s scent on a street between the cocktail lounge where Janey worked and her grandmother’s house, then the trail stopped. Here’s what I think happened. Janey was walking home after work and was approached by a patron offering to give her a lift. She accepted, and got into his car. He knocked her out and took her home. That’s my guess, anyway.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

He shook his head. Janey’s abductor coveted her. Unless Janey angered him, he’d keep her alive until she no longer satisfied his perverse cravings, which might be several days or longer. Knowing that a patron was the culprit thinned the pool of suspects. But the bar was popular and had several dozen regulars.

He minimized the Traccar app and went into his video library. A black-and-white surveillance video taken of the Slip Slide’s parking lot appeared on his screen. The video was time-stamped and had been taken three nights ago. He had an idea and hit the Play icon.

“This is the cocktail lounge’s parking lot, taken the night Janey went missing,” he said. “Unfortunately, the light’s poor and it’s hard to make much out.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” Melanie asked.

“I want to determine the makes of cars that were at the bar. Most of the patrons live in town. Some walk to the bar after work, others ride motorcycles. Only a few drive cars. If I can learn the makes, I’ll contact the bartender on duty that night, and see if he can identify the owners. That should narrow down our pool of suspects.”

“Got it.”

The video continued to play. After a minute a door to the bar opened and a patron came outside. Light from inside the bar flooded the parking lot, and Lancaster froze the frame. Four vehicles were parked in the lot, but he was unable to determine the makes.

“Do you have a magnifying glass?” he asked.

Pearl produced a magnifying glass from his desk. Lancaster used it to study the frame and was able to make out two pickup trucks, a Mustang, and a vintage Corvette. He borrowed a pad and pen, and wrote down the makes along with any identifying dents or bumper stickers. He started to shut down the video, then had another idea, and sped the video up so the time stamp said 12:00 a.m.

“What are you doing now?” Melanie asked.

“Janey MacKenzie got off work at midnight and walked home. I want to see if any of the vehicles left right after her. That may very well be our suspect.”

“Got it.”

The video played for several minutes. It was too dark to see much of anything, and he waited for another patron to leave the bar. At 12:10 a.m., a man stumbled out, flooding the parking lot in light. Lancaster again froze the frame and studied it with the magnifying glass. The Pearls leaned in as well, their breath tingling the back of his neck.

“I see four cars,” Melanie Pearl said.

“So do I,” her husband said. “Could you be wrong about this, Jon?”

Lancaster heard his own sharp intake of breath. He was wrong. Janey’s abductor hadn’t used a car, he’d been on foot, and had intercepted Janey during her walk home. Janey was petite, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Light enough for a big man to throw over his shoulder and carry home down a darkened street. That was why the trail had gone cold. He called Shorty.

“She’s in the neighborhood. Fan out, and start looking,” he said.

Lancaster leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Carrying a one-hundred-pound woman on your back was tough, even for a man in great shape. To become a SEAL, he had been required to run a mile and a half in nine minutes. Then in training camp, he had to run the same time wearing boots and long pants. It had been brutal, and he could only imagine how challenging carrying a person on his back would be. He couldn’t see Janey’s abductor traveling more than half a mile before growing exhausted.

He used Google to check traffic to Melbourne. Interstate 95 was still a parking lot. It was more important that he stay connected to Shorty’s bloodhounds on his laptop, which he couldn’t do while stuck behind the wheel of his car. He needed to stay put for a while.

He turned around in his chair. His hosts hadn’t moved, and were so quiet that you would have thought they were in an operating room watching open-heart surgery.

“I hate to impose, but can I stay here? We’re close to finding her.”

“Can you really find a missing person on your computer?” Melanie Pearl asked.

“Yes. With the right help.”

“Of course you can stay. Would you like a drink? I just made some iced tea.”

“Please. Spike it with rat killer.”

She raised her eyebrows, his humor lost on her.

“Artificial sweetener, if you have it. It makes me think better.”

“You have a strange sense of humor,” she said.

Movement caught his eye. The red dots were all over his laptop’s screen, the bloodhounds fanning out. In the old days, it would take a search party to find a missing person. Now, just a few dogs and the right software program. It was like playing a video game with life-and-death consequences.

A cold nose touched his wrist. The guard dog had snuck in and was checking him out. Nicki Pearl trailed behind it, her eyes glued on their guest. A nasty bruise on her forehead was the only sign of her recent brush with darkness. Her father motioned her closer. Nicki ignored him and kept her distance.

“Who is this?”

“This is Mr. Lancaster, the man who saved you this afternoon.”

Lancaster petted the dog’s head and smiled. Nicki’s fear ebbed, and she stepped forward and offered her hand. South Florida was a tough place to raise kids with all the bad influences and sick degenerates running around. Nicki exuded a rare innocence, and he wondered how long her parents would be able to keep her this way.

“Thank you, Mr. Lancaster,” Nicki said. “Are you a policeman?”

“Call me Jon. I was once. I work for myself now, helping people like you.”

“I’m taking a CSI course at school. It’s really cool.”

“They teach CSI at your school? That’s great.”

“It’s part of the biology curriculum. What do those red dots on your laptop mean? Are you working a case?”

“Those red dots are a pack of bloodhounds wearing GPS collars that are helping me find a missing girl in Melbourne.”

“Wow. Can I watch?”

“That’s up to your parents.”

Nicki looked to her father for permission. Pearl glanced at his wife, who’d returned with a tray of iced teas. Melanie nodded, and Pearl said, “Of course, honey.”

The teenager pulled up a chair next to Lancaster and stared at the screen.

“A young woman named Janey MacKenzie went missing three nights ago while walking home from the cocktail lounge where she works,” he said. “I’m pretty certain that a customer abducted her, so I hired a tracker to use his bloodhounds to find her.”

“Why are the dogs wearing GPS collars? How does that help?”