Madman on a Drum (Mac McKenzie #5)

Madman on a Drum (Mac McKenzie #5) Page 9

“How long have you and the Dunstons been friends?” he said.

“I met Shelby in college when she began dating Bobby. Bobby and I have known each other since the beginning of time. I don’t think we’ve ever gone more than a couple of days without speaking to each other. This house—I practically grew up here alongside him. When my mother died, I was about the same age as Victoria, and Bobby’s mom kind of adopted me, gave me hell same as Bobby when I behaved like a jerk, used to call my father when I did something she thought he should know about. Bobby and I grew up together, went to school together, played ball together, chased girls together, went to the police academy together. I was best man at his wedding and godfather to his girls.”

“That’s why you’re giving him the money.”

“Yep.”

“He didn’t even need to ask.”

“Nope.”

“The kidnapper knows that.”

“It would seem so.”

“How did you come into your money?”

I explained about Teachwell, how I discovered him biding his time in his ex-brother-in-law’s cabin on Lower Red Lake in northern Minnesota, waiting for the chance to escape into Canada and eventually to Rio de Janeiro. I explained how I retired from the St. Paul Police Department in order to collect the reward that the insurance company had offered—approximately three million that my financial adviser had since grown to about five million. I didn’t explain that I have often regretted my decision.

“I spoke to my money manager a few minutes ago,” I said. “The million should be in my checking account by eleven tomorrow morning. Maybe sooner.”

“Good,” said Honsa. “Very good. We won’t tell the kidnappers.”

“No?”

“We’ll need time to prepare the money. I’ll brief Lieutenant Dunston on what to say when they call.”

“What do you mean, ‘prepare the money’?”

“The kidnappers will ask for old, unmarked bills, tens, twenties, fifties, maybe hundreds, with nonsequential serial numbers. It’ll take time to get it together. It’ll take even more time to photocopy it.”

“You’re going to photocopy it?”

“Of course we are. We have two objectives, Mr. McKenzie. First and foremost, we’re going to get the girl back, alive and unharmed. Afterward, we’re going to get the men who took her. We might be rough about it.”

“Agent Honsa,” I said, “you’re starting to grow on me.”

“Do you want to hear the tape again?” the tech agent asked.

“Yes,” Bobby said.

“No,” I said.

Bobby glared at me.

“I’ve heard that damn thing fifty times,” I said. “Maybe the name will come to us if we stop listening for a while.”

Bobby glared some more.

“You need a break,” I said.

“I’ll decide that.”

Bobby readjusted the headphones over his ears. A moment later he pulled off the headphones and tossed them on the table. “I need a break,” he said.

We went to the kitchen. Bobby rummaged through his refrigerator. I thought he might be looking for a beer. Instead, he removed a Pepsi, popped the top, and drank greedily.

“Remember Jolt?” he said. “It was pop that they claimed had ‘all the sugar and twice the caffeine.’ ”

“I remember.”

“I could use some Jolt right now. I wonder what happened to it.”

“You can still get it,” I told him. “You can buy it over the Internet in longneck bottles. Although, when you think about it, you can get the same amount of caffeine from regular coffee.”

“Never been a coffee drinker.”

“Nina likes to eat chocolate-covered coffee beans.”

“That’s another reason why I question the woman’s judgment. That and the fact that she’s been seeing you for, what, nearly two years now?”

“I like to think it’s a tribute to her good taste.”

“You know, sometimes I’ll access the Department of Corrections Web site and study the Level Three sex offender information. I find out the exact location of every sex offender who lives within ten miles of here. I make the girls look at the mug shots. I tell them that if they ever see one of those guys… Shelby thinks I’m being overprotective.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a cop. I carry a gun. I spend my days hunting down murderers and rapists and thieves and every other piece of trash you can think of, but I can’t protect my own daughters.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Who said anything about fault? I know whose fault it is. The bastards who took Victoria, it’s their fault. Still, a guy’s supposed to protect his family, isn’t he?”

“As best he can, yeah.”

Bobby finished his soft drink and hammered the empty can against the kitchen counter.

“There are things that I can’t do, that I can’t get away with because I’m a cop,” he said. “Do you know what I mean by things?”

“I know.”

“You can do them.”

“You mean after we find out who took Victoria. After we make sure she’s safe.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” I said.

From the expression on his face, I knew Bobby would hold me to that promise.