The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 10

"You sure you're up for it?"

Searching a predator's house meant banging on every ceiling and wall, and checking every loose floorboard. If you didn't, you might miss a hidden crawl s.p.a.ce where a child could be held prisoner.

"Just watch him," Cheeks said, going into the back of the house.

I stood in front of Lowman's chair. His face was caked with dried blood and covered with ugly purple bruises.

"Start talking," I said.

Lowman stared at the floor. A long moment pa.s.sed.

"I changed my mind," he said.

Behind where I stood was a wall unit lined with DVDs. In anger, I started pulling the DVDs out, and throwing them at Lowman's head. One DVD caught my eye, and I stopped long enough to read what was written on the box.

CONFESSION.

I waved the DVD in front of Lowman's face. "What's this?"

"You have no right to look at that!" he protested.

A computer sat in the corner of the living room. I powered it up, and popped the DVD in. The computer's screen flickered to life, and a film of Lowman appeared. I listened to him recite every crime he'd ever committed in his life.

"Wow," I said. "You made a confession."

"I thought I was dying of colon cancer a few years ago," he said.

"Trying to cleanse your soul?"

"Something like that."

"Too bad it didn't work. What do you want me to do with it?"

Lowman's head snapped. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. Would you like me to destroy it?"

"Yes-yes!"

"Will you play ball then?"

"Yes!"

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"There's an e-mail stored in my computer that Sampson's kidnapper sent me," Lowman said. "I will explain what it is. It will help you find the boy."

Lowman gave me the pa.s.sword to his e-mail account. Using the mouse on his computer, I entered his e-mail account, opened it using his pa.s.sword, and went into his Saved box. An e-mail from someone calling himself Big Daddy jumped out at me. I clicked on it, and found myself staring at a photograph of a little boy sitting in a dog crate. It was Sampson. I ejected the DVD of Lowman's confession from the computer, and broke it in half.

"Start talking," I said.

"Burn it," Lowman said.

"Excuse me?"

"A broken DVD can be restored and played. Burn it."

You learn something new every day. I put the DVD into an ashtray on the coffee table. Lowman directed me to a drawer containing a collection of restaurant matchbooks. I lit a book, and dropped it in. We watched the DVD catch fire and melt.

"Now tell me what this photo means," I said.

"Sampson is giving his kidnapper problems," Lowman said. "The boy fights and screams and tries to escape whenever he can. His kidnapper couldn't handle him, so he turned the boy over to a pair of drug enforcers. These men are used by drug dealers to collect money. Sometimes they take children into their possession as collateral."

"That's who has Sampson now?"

"Yes."

"And they're keeping him in a dog crate?"

"That's right."

Sampson's photo was still on the computer screen. Instead of being scared, the kid looked fighting mad. I didn't know this little boy, yet I admired the h.e.l.l out of him.

"Did the kidnapper say where they were keeping him?" I asked.

"In a hotel in Fort Lauderdale," Lowman said.

"Is that where this photo was taken?"

"Yes."

I brought my face inches from the computer screen. The photo said a lot. Along with the dog crate, it contained a night table, a worn patch of carpet, and wallpaper with a logo embedded in the design. There were cops around the country who were experts in identifying hotel room interiors, and I felt certain one of them would be able to tell me in which chain Sampson was being held prisoner. Knowing that, and the fact that he was in Fort Lauderdale, would make it easy to track him down.

I printed the photograph on Lowman's laser printer. It was sharp and clear. I held it in my hand, and felt my heart race.

I was one step closer to finding him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

From another part of the house I heard a door open. Then Cheeks staggered into the living room. He'd pulled off his sports jacket, and his chest was heaving.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Cheeks didn't reply, and fell heavily against the wall. I rushed to his side. The look in his eyes bordered on helpless, and it appeared that he couldn't breathe. I punched 911 into my cell phone without taking my eyes off Lowman.

"Tell me your address," I said.

Lowman gave me the address, which I relayed to the 911 dispatcher. Hanging up, I made Cheeks lie down on the living room floor, and elevated his legs with a pillow.

"Where's the aspirin?" I asked.

Lowman led me to the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.

"Unlock these handcuffs, and I'll help you," he said.

If a snake could talk, I imagined it would have sounded like the reptile standing in front of me. I escorted Lowman back to the living room and fed two aspirin to Cheeks. I saw Lowman inching toward the front door.

"Sit down," I said.

Lowman returned to his chair.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked Cheeks.

"Take him in, and book him," he said.

"That will be a pleasure," I said.

Within minutes an ambulance came and two medics entered the house, tied Cheeks to a gurney, and loaded him into the back. I stood in the doorway and watched, while keeping one eye on Lowman. Cheeks was not my friend, but he was still a cop, and I did what I always did when a cop went down, and said a silent prayer.

The ambulance backed out of the driveway. I made Lowman get up and pulled him outside. Cheeks's car was in the driveway, the keys still in his pocket, while my Legend was parked at police headquarters.

"Do you have any money?" I asked.

"About forty dollars. Why?" Lowman asked.

"Because you're paying for the cab to take us to the police station."

The fare to the Broward County Sheriff's Department headquarters came to $26. I pulled two crisp twenties out of Lowman's wallet and told the driver to keep the change.

The booking area was in the rear of the building. As I escorted Lowman through the front doors, I took a step back in time. The smells were the same-strong coffee, foul body odors, forbidden cigarettes-and so were the faces, including several silver-haired deputies I'd known since the day I'd started.

There was a long line at the intake booking area. For safety's sake, each perp had his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and stood three feet away from the suspect in front of him. I pushed Lowman to the front of the line, and rapped my knuckles on the desk. "I'd like to make a citizen's arrest," I announced.

Captain Mike lifted his eyes from a stack of forms. His job was to process perps and bag their personal belongings. A smile lit up his face.

"Jack Attack," he said.

"h.e.l.lo, Captain Mike," I said. "How's the family?"

"Everyone's well. Who's this clown?"

"A child molester who was running security at a local theme park. I helped Ron Cheeks bust him."

"Where's Cheeks? Dunkin' Donuts?"

"He went to the hospital. He wasn't feeling too well."

Captain Mike filled out a processing form for Lowman. I helped by removing Lowman's watch, wallet, belt, rings, and shoelaces, which Captain Mike bagged, tagged, and inventoried. When we were done, Lowman edged up beside me.

"You'll never find the Grimes boy," Lowman said.

"Is that a fact?" I said.

"I'd put money on it," he said.

Taking a Sharpie from Captain Mike's desk, I wrote PERVERT PERVERT on the back of Lowman's s.h.i.+rt, then handed him off to a pair of deputies, who led him to a holding pen yelling his head off. on the back of Lowman's s.h.i.+rt, then handed him off to a pair of deputies, who led him to a holding pen yelling his head off.

"Does the bra.s.s know Cheeks went to the hospital?" Captain Mike asked.

I shook my head. I hadn't bothered to call anyone, having a.s.sumed it would be taken care of when Cheeks was admitted to ER.

"I need to tell them," Captain Mike said. "Make yourself comfortable."

I took a chair in the waiting area. There was red tape on the floor to signify that the section was for visitors, and not people in custody. I had always found the tape comical, considering the crimes most of these guys were in for. A man dressed in a tailored suit materialized beside me.

"Your friend looks like he needs some help," the man said.

"Are you a lawyer?" I asked.

He said yes, and reached for his business card.

"Do you represent child molesters?" I asked.

"All the time," he said.

"Go f.u.c.k yourself."

Captain Mike called me back to his desk. "I just spoke with the chief. He wants to see you in his office."

"All hail the chief," I said.

Captain Mike cleared me through the booking area, and I walked down a long hall to a bank of elevators. A minute later, I was sitting across from Sheriff Lester Moody, the man who'd ousted me from my job nine months ago. Moody was a big man with a mane of silver hair and a face like a slab of granite. Since getting the top job, he'd started wearing ill-fitting suits and bright neckties, and looked like a used-car salesman.

"I spoke with Cheeks," Moody said. "The doctors are keeping him for a few days at Memorial Hospital. Giving him aspirin was a smart call."

"Cheeks needs to lose some weight. You, too," I said.