Dirty Harry 12 - The Dealer of Death by Dane Hartman Page A

of there. We’ve got men scouring the whole complex searching for them, but so far no luck. They could be anywhere.”
    “Thanks, you’ve been a great help.”
    Where in this maze of townhouses, restaurants, shops, and offices was the most likely place for a kidnapper to drag his victim? In his deranged state, Sandy, if Sandy it was, might not give a damn. But Harry had a feeling he would choose a part of the complex through which a great many people circulated. Rather than display his gun openly, he might prefer to keep it hidden, but still trained on the woman. Naturally, she would do as he instructed, pretend to be a friend, maybe a lover.
    Harry decided to let the other officers carry out their hunt in the nooks and crannies of the Golden Gateway complex. He, on the other hand, crossed a pedestrian bridge and made his way through the throngs of morning shoppers. He had a good memory for people’s faces and the capacity for rapidly scanning a large number of them at one time.
    Even a short distance away from the site of the Sissler apartment, no one seemed aware of the kidnapping and the atmosphere was one of complete normalcy. By plunging through the crowd with so little regard for those he jostled, he caused something of a stir. A few of those who got in his way shouted curses after him.
    Harry mumbled his apologies, not that it did any good, and kept going, staring into faces like a madman, always looking for a mop of blond hair, but never failing to ignore those who wore hats or caps that might serve to cover over their hair.
    It appeared to be a futile endeavor. It was possible the suspect and his captive had already left the premises and were well on their way out of the city, though presumably not in a pink MG.
    Nonetheless, he kept on looking until his eyes began to throb. He thought he would soon start hallucinating. More than once, he believed he had Sandy in view, but it always turned out to be some other man with a woman who did not in the least resemble a kidnap victim.
    He was about to give up when he casually glanced behind him and saw a man in a checkered short-sleeved shirt accompanied by a dark-haired rather pretty woman. The man had blond hair though he wore a visored cap angled sharply down over his brow. He maintained a firm grip on the woman, his arm circling her waist. His eyes darted from side to side in anticipation of impending danger. He was speaking to the woman whose face was pale and drawn. No wonder, an experience like this, Harry thought, could age one years in a matter of hours. He could see she was trembling, that while she was valiantly straggling to maintain her composure, the effort was exhausting her. It looked entirely possible she’d simply collapse in a faint.
    Sandy—for Harry was certain now that it was the man he’d arrested the night before—had not yet spotted him. He was no doubt looking for uniformed police officers, not those in plain clothes.
    Harry noted he was holding his jacket slung over his arm, and he guessed this was where his gun was, within easy access, and pointed right on the woman. He was guiding her down a set of stairs and onto a plaza that was filling with more and more shoppers. To risk a shootout here might well endanger a great many innocent people. Sandy, being as desperate as he was, would very likely show no hesitation about sacrificing other lives if he believed he was likely to forfeit his too.
    All at once Sandy saw him. He paused for a fraction of a second, uncertain what he should do next. He wheeled about, forcing the woman to do the same, and began climbing back upstairs, brushing aside anyone who happened to be in his way.
    Harry pursued them. He managed to close the distance between them with little difficulty. The woman with Sandy couldn’t run as quickly as he wanted her to. She stumbled at one point, a black pump went flying off her left foot. She might very well have twisted her ankle for she shrieked with sudden pain, causing those