Midnight Rambler: A Novel of Suspense

Swimming away from the lemon shark, I picked another spot and started paddling my flippers. The silt lifted to reveal more garbage littering the ocean floor. The stuff was a distraction and made my task of finding the transmitter that much harder.

I repeated my routine several more times, then found myself growing frustrated. At this rate, it would take hours or even days to find the transmitter. There was even a chance I might never find it at all.

Then I had an idea. No one had seen the transmitter but me. The fact that I didn't have it anymore didn't matter. I'd get another transmitter, scuff it up, and present it to Russo as the original. It was the kind of crap dirty cops pulled all the time. Being desperate, I was willing to give it a try.

A pair of lemon sharks popped out from behind a coral ledge and began circling me. Sharks become aggressive only when antagonized, and I decided to wait them out. By conserving my movements, I could stretch the oxygen left in my lungs.

Soon more lemon sharks appeared. They continued to circle me, and I felt as if I were watching an underwater ballet. Seeing so many in one place was unusual, and I wondered what they were doing here. Had the water's warm temperature attracted them, or was it the ocean's salinity? Perhaps the females were in season, emitting strong chemical signals to their male suitors. Or maybe they'd been investigating tasty sacks of garbage dumped from a pleasure boat, and I'd spoiled their fun.

After a minute my lungs were aching, and I had no choice but to kick my legs and head up. To my great relief, the lemon sharks did not touch me. Moments before breaking the surface, I looked down and saw that they'd dispersed.

I threw on fresh clothes and drove to Tugboat Louie's. Sticking Buster in my office, I walked down to Kumar's office and knocked on the door. He bid me enter, and I poked my head in. Kumar and the couple with the missing child were waiting for me.

“Jack, Jack, we've been expecting you,” Kumar said.

Whenever I've annoyed people, they tend to say my name twice. I proffered a lame apology and entered. I was wearing frayed cargo pants and a Tommy Bahama shirt minus two buttons, and my hair was uncombed. The couple eyed me suspiciously.

Kumar introduced them. Amrita and Sanji Kahn. I put her age at forty, his over fifty. She was pretty, with nutmeg skin and clear amber eyes; he was overweight and brooding, with capped teeth that clashed with his jet-black turban. They both wore expensive country club clothes and matching platinum watches. Opening her purse, Amrita removed a snapshot and handed it to me. I knew it was of their missing daughter without having to look.

But I did look. Their daughter was sixteen going on twenty-five, with multiple rings in each ear, bee-stung lips, and a dazzling smile. She was as dark-skinned as her parents, but the sparkle in her eyes said all-American girl. I let the appropriate amount of time pass before handing the photograph back.

“Her name is Katrina,” her mother said.

“She's a very attractive young lady. How long has she been missing?”

“Three days,” her father said.

“Have either of you spoken to her?”

“I have,” Amrita said.

“Recently?”

“Last night. Actually, we didn't talk. My daughter posted a message for me on the National Runaway Hotline, and I responded and posted one for her.”

“So she wasn't abducted,” I said.

“Oh, no, this is nothing like that,” her father said.

“Her life is not endangered in any way?”

Both parents shook their heads.

“Did either of you ask her to leave?”

“No,” they said at the same time.

“Where is she staying? With friends?”

“She's staying at a hotel,” her mother said.

That told me a lot. Hotels don't take cash, only credit cards, which meant Katrina was staying on her parent's nickel. They could have forced their daughter's hand by cancelling the card and getting her thrown out, but they seemed divided on how to be handling this. I glanced at Kumar. He was sitting behind his desk with his hands steepled in front of his face. I gave him a look that said we needed some privacy.

“If you'll excuse me, I must go downstairs and check up on some things,” Kumar said.

The door clicked behind him. I pulled my chair closer to the parents. Waiting three days to take action was a serious mistake and could lead to more trouble. I didn't want to divide them by pointing fingers, so I tried a different tack.

“Did you consider calling the police?” I asked the father.

Sanji's eyes locked on to my face. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I asked him not to,” his wife said.

“Why?”

“I assumed our daughter would return home.”

Sanji sat with his hands on his slacks, exposing his fingers. They were long and the nails were manicured, but without gloss. I pegged him as a surgeon.

“And when she didn't, you decided to get outside help,” I said.