The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 32

"She's on her way," Burrell said rea.s.suringly.

"You said that before," the little girl said.

"I'm sorry, honey," Burrell said.

Tyra started to cry. Burrell went outside to see if the mother had arrived. She returned with a black woman dressed in shorts and flip-flops and wearing the vacant expression of someone strung out on drugs. I rose from my chair holding the child.

"Hey, Tyra, look who's here," I said.

The little girl turned her head. "Mommy!" "Mommy!"

I pa.s.sed Tyra into her mother's arms. The woman let out a sob, and crushed her daughter's head into her bosom. A uniformed cop was stationed at the door. Burrell told the cop to watch Tyra's mother, and make sure she didn't leave with the child.

"Yes, ma'am," the cop said.

Burrell motioned to me. "Let's go outside. We need to talk."

Burrell walked out of the emergency room. I started to follow, and glanced back at Tyra, who was still in her mother's arms. I hoped that her future didn't include any more crack dens, or living in dog crates, or parents who used her in drug deals. I wanted her to have a normal life, with school buses and days at the beach and report cards and all the stuff a child growing up was supposed to have. She deserved a better life, and in my prayers I'd ask G.o.d to give her one. It seemed the least I could do.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

I stood with Burrell beneath a green canopy by the emergency entrance. A punis.h.i.+ng rain had started to fall, and thunder rolled ominously in the distance. stood with Burrell beneath a green canopy by the emergency entrance. A punis.h.i.+ng rain had started to fall, and thunder rolled ominously in the distance.

"I want to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer," Burrell said.

The tone of her voice told me I was in trouble again. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants, and waited.

"Based upon what Tyra told us in the car, do you think Jed Grimes is responsible for these crimes?" Burrell asked.

"No," I said.

"So Jed isn't Big Daddy."

I shook my head.

"But he's the child's father. Wouldn't it make sense for him to call himself that?"

"It could be a family friend or someone who works in the neighborhood."

"If I told you that we'd interviewed every single person who was around that child, including LeAnn Grimes's neighbors, and Jed's neighbors, and employees of every store, and they were clean, would you change your mind?"

"No," I said.

"But everyone everyone was clean." was clean."

"You missed someone."

Her frown grew. "No, we didn't. We looked at everyone, and they all checked out. The only person who didn't check out was Jed. That makes him our primary suspect."

"So you're buying Whitley's savage sp.a.w.n theory?"

"It's the only one that works."

Lightning crackled and flashed above our heads. Dozens of people died during thunderstorms in Florida every year, yet neither of us moved from our spots. Burrell had made up her mind, and she wasn't backing down. I didn't want to lose her as a friend, but I wasn't going to retreat, either.

"Let me see if I've got this figured out," I said. "You and Whitley are going to combine your investigations, since you're convinced you're looking for the same person. You were hoping that I would help you, and now you're p.i.s.sed."

"I'm p.i.s.sed because you're going down one road, while everyone else is going down another," Burrell said.

"Do you want me off the investigation?"

Burrell crossed her arms and stared at the ground.

"Is that a yes, or a no?" I asked.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a transformer being hit by a bolt of lightning. The lights in the parking lot flickered, then went off.

"I want you to reconsider," she said quietly.

"There's nothing to reconsider," I said.

"Please, Jack."

"You missed someone. Go back and interview everyone again."

"I'm not going to do that."

I couldn't help myself, and held her shoulders, looking deep in her eyes.

"You're making a terrible terrible mistake." mistake."

Burrell shoved me away. She started to say something, then bit her tongue. The door slid shut as she went inside.

I had stepped over the line. I should have felt bad, but instead I told myself she'd get over it. The rain was starting to ease up, and I ran to my car, having no idea how prophetic my words to her would become, or the nightmare I was about to enter.

PART FOUR.

THE NIGHT STALKER.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.

The storm followed me home.

I entered the Sunset to find the jukebox playing the Isley Brothers' "Twist and Shout." The Dwarfs sat at the bar clapping their hands and swaying their bodies in unison. They were not feeling any pain, and I wondered if they'd even noticed that I'd been gone.

I took a stool at the end of the bar, and Buster curled up at my feet. Sonny pulled a cold Budweiser out of the cooler, and I drank it and listened to the rain. It was loud enough to compete with the music, and made the bar feel smaller than it was.

It had been a brutal day. I'd had a gun pointed inches from my face, and a couple of bullets fly right past my head. I was going to wake up the next few nights in a cold sweat, thinking about my own mortality. I always did when I nearly got killed.

A clap of thunder shook the building, and made me shudder. I didn't want to wake up alone, thinking about death. I wanted someone beside me who I could draw close to, and hold in my arms.

The jukebox went silent. I crossed the room, and flipped through the playlist. The Doors' "Love Her Madly" jumped out at me, and I dropped a dime and hit the play b.u.t.ton. Moments later, Jim Morrison's whiskey-pure voice came belting out of the speakers, and several Dwarfs shouted their approval.

I returned to my stool and listened to the song. All it did was make me think of Rose and how much I missed her. Grabbing my dog, I headed upstairs.

Sitting on my bed, I dialed Rose's number. It was an unG.o.dly hour to be calling someone, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to hear my wife's voice, and I felt my heartbeat quicken when she picked up.

"Hey, honey," I said.

"Oh, Jack, I'm so glad it's you," Rose replied.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Where are you? It's so noisy."

The music was trailing up from downstairs. I hopped off the bed, and shut the door with my foot. "I'm at my place. What's going on?"

"I just got off the phone with our daughter," Rose said. "Jessie has been talking to Heather Rinker. She wanted to see how Heather was doing. Heather said the police are following her wherever she goes. Heather also thinks her cell phone is being tapped. She told Jessie that she saw a policeman with a rifle on the roof across the street from her mother-in-law's house. Heather thinks the police are using her as bait to draw out Jed."

"Heather saw a sharpshooter?" I asked.

"That's what Jessie said."

It had been a long, s.h.i.+tty day, and what my wife was saying made it that much worse. The Broward cops never used sharpshooters. This was the FBI's doing. Whitley had decided to lay a trap for Jed.

"I'm calling Jessie right now," I said.

"Please let me know what happens."

"I will. There was another reason I called."

"What's that?"

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Rose said.

I called my daughter and got voice mail. I left a message for her to call me back. Then I went to my window, and watched the storm churn up the ocean. Sharpshooters on the roof meant that the FBI was planning to take out Jed once they laid eyes on him. They didn't want to hear his side of things, or give him due process. Maybe they thought he was too dangerous. Or maybe Whitley was looking for another scalp to add to his collection.

My phone rang. Caller ID said JESSIE JESSIE.

"Hey, honey," I answered. "I just got off the phone with your mom. She told me what was going on."

"Can you do something?" my daughter asked.

"I'm going to try," I said. "I want to ask you something. Do you think Heather has been talking to Jed? If so, the FBI is probably listening to their conversations. It would explain why the FBI is using her as bait."

"Heather made me swear not to tell, but yes, she is."

"Okay, then here's what I want you to do. Call Heather, and tell her that I think Jed is innocent, and that I'm willing to take him to the police, and guarantee his safety."

"You'll do that?"

"Yes. Jed will be much safer in police custody than he is in hiding. If one of those FBI sharpshooters spots him, it's all over."

"Should I tell Heather that?"

"Do whatever you have to do," I said.

I stood by my window and listened to the rain pound the roof. It sounded like a thousand tiny hammers on my skull, and I felt the anger and frustration inside of me rising to the surface.

Jed Grimes had been set up. I didn't know who was responsible, or what their motivation was. What I did know was that he'd done a masterful job of convincing the police and the FBI. If I didn't get to Jed first, he was history.

My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket. Caller ID said UNKNOWN UNKNOWN.

"Carpenter here," I answered.

A car horn blared in the background, along with other street noises. Then a young woman said, "Mr. Carpenter, this is Heather Rinker. I'm standing at a pay phone next to a convenience store two blocks from my mother-in-law's house. I wanted to call you without the FBI listening in."

"I guess you spoke to Jessie," I said.

"Yeah. She explained your offer to help Jed. I thought it was a good idea, so I came over here and called him. Jed wants to do it."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

"Come to the store, and I'll take you to where Jed's hiding out."

"That sounds like a plan, Heather. I'm leaving right now."

"No. Wait until it gets light."

"Why?"