James Swain - The Night Monster

“Are you sure?”

I retrieved the file from the trunk, and got back into the car. I removed Seppi’s missing person report from the file, and passed it to him.

Linderman read the report with a flashlight so as not to illuminate my car’s interior. He clicked off the light when he was done.

“We need to nab her and find out what’s going on,” Linderman said. “Her case is still open. She’s committed a crime by not contacting the police. I have every right to detain her.”

His voice was strained, and I could tell he wanted to get to the truth as much as I did.

I called information, and got The Sweet Lowdown’s number. Then I called the restaurant. Victoria Seppi picked up, and I asked her how late they stayed open.

“Kitchen stops serving at eleven o’clock,” Seppi said.

I thanked her and hung up. We had several hours to kill.

Driving to the outskirts of town, I parked behind an abandoned factory that had once manufactured cardboard boxes, and let Buster run loose. I leaned against my car, and tried to calm down. Knowing that Sara Long was somewhere nearby did not help my mood. Nor did the fact that Chatham was filled with people who might try to kill us if we tried. If we didn’t handle this right, it was going to blow up in our faces.

At a few minutes before eleven we drove back to Chatham. The town’s streets had cleared out, the restaurants and bars closing up for the night. I parked two blocks away from The Sweet Lowdown, and killed my headlights.

We watched the restaurant’s employees leave through the front door, then saw the neon sign go off. Finally, two figures emerged. Gabe, the owner, and Seppi. Gabe locked the front door and went to his car, while Seppi walked around the building.

Linderman reach into his coat, and removed his wallet. He took out his FBI badge and pinned it to his windbreaker. “Follow her,” he said.

I turned on my headlights and drove down the street toward the restaurant. Gabe drove past me, his eyes half shut. I punched the gas once his vehicle was out of sight.

“Hurry,” Linderman said. “I don’t want Seppi getting into her car.”

I took the corner with a squeal of rubber, my headlights catching Seppi as she entered the metered parking lot behind the restaurant. She turned instinctively, and looked directly at us. Fear shone in her eyes. She fumbled with her purse, and its contents spewed out onto the ground. She cursed and began to run.

I pulled up alongside her, and Linderman rolled down his window.

“Victoria Seppi. I’m with the FBI. I order you to stop,” Linderman said.

Seppi looked sideways at us. The fear in her eyes had turned to desperation. Instead of slowing down, she kicked off her shoes, and tried to outrun us.

“Hit your brakes,” Linderman said.

I did as told. Linderman jumped out of the car, and gave chase. Seppi was fast, but Linderman was faster. He quickly caught up, and grabbed Seppi from behind by the waist. They both went down to the ground.

I pulled the car up alongside them. Buster was standing up in the backseat, barking furiously. I calmed him down and jumped out.

Linderman and Seppi were still on the ground. Seppi struggled helplessly beneath Linderman’s weight. Not a sound came out of her mouth. I had seen that with victims of abductions before. The screaming was only on the inside.

“Do you want me to handcuff you?” Linderman asked.

“No,” Seppi said through clenched teeth.

“Then cut the nonsense. We just want to talk with you.”

“They’re going to kill me,” Seppi said. “Do you understand that? They’re going to kill me, and my mother, and then they’ll kill both of you.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” I said.

Seppi looked up at me for the first time. She must have seen something in my face that told her I was one of the good guys. She stopped struggling, and almost at once began to cry. Linderman climbed off of her.

“Here. Let me help you,” I said.

I pulled Seppi to her feet. Her hostess uniform was covered with dirt, as were her face and hands. She looked terribly vulnerable, and I felt sorry for her. She glanced up and down the street, and I saw something resembling anger flash across her face.

“Don’t tell me you came here by yourselves,” Seppi said.

I nodded, and so did Linderman.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she said.

The three of us piled into my car. Linderman sat in the backseat with a shotgun lying across his lap, while Seppi sat in the passenger seat next to me. When I told her to fasten her seat belt, she let out a nervous laugh.

“You’re funny,” she said without humor.

I turned my Legend around, and drove back to the town’s main drag. I stopped at the intersection, and looked both ways. The streets and the sidewalks were deserted, the stores shut down for the night. I glanced in my mirror at Linderman.

“Which way?” I asked.

“What’s the closet city?” Linderman asked.

“Daytona Beach. It’s about a thirty-mile drive.”

“We’ll go there. I’ll call my counterpart at the FBI’s Jacksonville office, and have him meet us.”

I pointed my car east. A part of me wanted to floor the accelerator, but I knew that it was better not to run when you weren’t being chased. We reached the edge of town without any problems, and I felt myself relax.

“We’re not going to make it out of here,” Seppi suddenly said. “Sheriff Morcroft comes by my house every night to make sure I’m home. If he doesn’t see my car in the driveway, he’ll know something’s wrong, and he’ll come looking.”

“What times does he usually come by?” Linderman asked.

“Twelve-fifteen on the nose. Sometimes he even knocks on the door, and makes me come outside.”

“How long has he been doing that?” Linderman asked.

Seppi started to answer, but the words wouldn’t come out. Her hand wiped away the tears running down her cheeks. The questions were tearing her apart, but we needed to know.

“Since you escaped from Lonnie and Mouse?” I asked.

Her head snapped. “Who told you about them?”

“We’ve known about Lonnie and Mouse for several days,” I said. “They recently kidnapped a young woman in Fort Lauderdale, and brought her back here. She was a nursing student, just like you were.”

Seppi’s chin fell on her chest, and she fought back a sob. I stared at the darkened road in front of me. An uneasy silence fell over the car. For a few minutes, no one said anything. Buster stuck his head between the seats. Seppi broke out of her funk, and started to pet him.

“I wanted to tell someone about them-I swear to God, I did,” Seppi said. “But Sheriff Morcroft threatened me. He said that if I contacted the police and told them about Lonnie and Mouse, he was going to the nursing home where my mother lives, and put a pillow over her face. I couldn’t let him do that. Do you understand? I couldn’t.”

“How long did they hold you prisoner?” I asked.

“Two and a half years,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You want to know something? It felt like ten.”

I had a dozen more questions I wanted to ask Victoria Seppi, and I’m sure Linderman did as well. But I never got the chance to. Five miles outside of town, I spotted the outline of a car parked behind some pine trees by the side of the road. It could have been an abandoned vehicle or a pair of lovers, but my gut told me it wasn’t. Moments later, a pair of headlights appeared in my mirror, and I knew it was trouble.

“We’ve got company,” I said.

Linderman turned around in his seat and looked behind us.

“Pickup truck. Could be anybody,” he said.