Madman on a Drum by David Housewright Read Free Book Online

stop me.”
    Honsa put himself between Bobby and the front door. “Think, Lieutenant Dunston, about what you’re going to do,” he said.
    â€œI’m thinking about my daughter.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    â€œBoys, boys, boys,” chanted Harry.
    â€œShut the hell up, Wilson,” Bobby said. He waved the Glock at him. Bobby doesn’t wave guns, I told myself. Only this was a different Bobby than the one I knew. I wondered what I was going to do about it when Bobby reached for the doorknob and Honsa moved to intercept him.
    Shelby called from the staircase. “Bobby.” She was sitting on the steps and peering through the posts that supported the banister, holding one in each hand like the bars of a prison.
    Bobby turned toward her.
    â€œListen to what he has to say,” she said.
    Honsa took his cue. “Scottie Thomforde isn’t holding all the cards anymore,” he said, “but he still holds the most important one. He has Victoria. That’s what we have to think about now.”
    â€œI am thinking about her,” Bobby said.
    â€œNo, you’re not, Lieutenant Dunston. You’re thinking about what you want to do to Thomforde.”
    Bobby stared hard at Honsa for a few beats, then dropped his eyes to the Glock in his hand. He slowly holstered it.
    â€œVictoria comes first,” Honsa said. “Thomforde, now that we know who he is, we can pick him up anytime. He’s not going anywhere. Until we get Victoria back safe and sound, we want to give him the illusion of space. We want him to think that he’s in control, that he has options. The last thing we want—the very last thing—is for him to panic, and if he sees us coming, he might do just that. Lieutenant Dunston, if Thomforde feels trapped, if he feels that his plans are shit and that everything is going against him, he’s not going to blame us. Or himself. He’s going to blame the girl.”
    â€œI understand,” Bobby said.
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œYes. But…”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œSo many things can go wrong. You know that. My fault, your fault, his fault, nobody’s fault—so many things can go wrong that we can’t allow this opportunity to go by. If we can find him…”
    â€œWhat about his partner?” Honsa asked. “We know Thomforde has at least one. He keeps saying ‘we’ and ‘we’re,’ and then there’s Katie’s story. She said a man grabbed your daughter and carried her back to the van. Who was driving the van?”
    â€œSo Scottie has a partner—”
    â€œWhat is he going to do if we arrest Thomforde?”
    â€œWe don’t have to arrest him. We can surveil Scottie until he leads us to Victoria.”
    â€œHow do we find him without tipping our hand?”
    We all took a few moments to think about it. Harry supplied the answer. “Thomforde’s parole officer.”

4
    Karen Studder had the face of a woman whose prettiness was five years behind her. She was built large on top, with a narrow waist and hips and tennis-player legs. Her skin was burnished bronze beneath her dark blue shirt and khaki skirt; apparently she was one of those women who are convinced they look better with a tan despite evidence that it’s the sun that turns grapes into raisins. She would still be pretty if not for the sun.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I don’t know where Scott Thomforde is. I know where he’s supposed to be.”
    â€œYou don’t keep track of your people?” Bobby said.
    We were all standing in the space between Bobby’s living room and dining room. Karen was on one side; we were all on the other. She must have felt outnumbered.
    â€œI supervise about a hundred offenders,” Karen said. “I don’t follow each and every one of them around. I don’t know the exact moment that they’re in violation. When an offender is paroled to