The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 34

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

As I came outside, Buster exploded out of the bushes and followed me across the street to LeAnn's house. I made him lie on the gra.s.s, then knocked on the door.

"It's Jack Carpenter," I said.

I heard a deadbolt being drawn back, and LeAnn filled the doorway. She wore a shapeless black housedress, and her eyes were filled with dread.

"I need to talk to you about Heather," I said.

"Heather's in trouble," she whispered.

LeAnn fell heavily against the door. She was in shock, and I escorted her to the living room and made her sit on the couch. From the kitchen I got a gla.s.s of cold water, and placed it beneath her lips. She drank the entire gla.s.s.

"Tell me what happened," I said.

She pointed at the cell phone lying on the coffee table. It was right in front of her, only she didn't want to touch it. I picked it up.

"Is there something you want me to hear?" I asked.

"Heather left me a voice message," she whispered.

I sat beside her on the couch, and made her show me how to access her messaging service. Dialing in, I entered her pa.s.sword, then listened hard. At first, I heard nothing. Then Heather's voice ripped through the phone.

"Help me! Please, somebody help me!"

Her attacker was beating her, and I could hear the blows. Heather's screams grew louder, then suddenly stopped altogether. I strained to pick up any background noises, and heard another voice. It was small and strong.

"Leave my mommy alone! Leave her alone!"

It was Sampson, and he was fighting back. I listened as the killer dragged him across the room, and heard a door slam. Then the call ended.

An icy finger ran down my spine. The message was similar to Piper Stone's last call. The killer had sent that message, along with this one. He was taunting us.

"Sweet Lord, have mercy on their souls," LeAnn whispered.

"Where did Heather go?" I asked.

"To buy some things for Jed."

"What things?"

"I don't know. They talk on walkie-talkies, and sometimes it's hard to make out what they're saying."

"Was she stopping someplace in the neighborhood?"

"I think so."

"But you don't know where."

LeAnn shook her head.

"I need to talk to Jed."

"I don't know where my son is," she whispered.

"I think you do," I said.

Tears ran down LeAnn's cheeks, and she balled her hands into fists and bounced them on her lap. I touched her sleeve, but she refused to look at me.

"Your son has a hiding place in the neighborhood, someplace where he goes when he wants to escape from the world," I said. "He's been going there for a long time, and you've always known about it, even if you haven't talked about it. Am I right?"

She nodded stiffly.

"This secret place bothered you, so you watched him, and tried to figure out where he went. You wanted to know, and probably came up with some ideas, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"Tell me your ideas," I said.

She took a deep breath. "It was nearby. I knew because he never took his bike or the car. For a while I thought he was going to a mall where his friends hung out. Then I realized that wasn't so."

"How did you know that?"

"His clothes. Whenever he went to his secret place, he wore the worst clothes. He didn't do that when he went to the mall."

"Did he invite his friends there?"

"Yes, all the time. I used to hear him on the phone."

"So other kids knew about it."

"Yes, they knew."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Jed always took a shower after he came home. One day I confronted him in the hall. That's when the smell hit me."

"The smell?"

"It was rancid. He smelled like he'd been rolling around in something dead."

"Do you think he's hiding in a barn?"

"He didn't smell like horses."

"Then where?"

She fell silent and stared at the framed photo of Jed on the coffee table. "I just figured he'd dug a big hole in the ground somewhere. Where else could he be going?"

[image]

I went outside and called Jessie on my cell phone. A veil of storm clouds had descended over the neighborhood, and a harsh rain was falling.

"Hi, Daddy," my daughter answered. "How did it go with Heather?"

"Not good," I said. "Heather's in trouble. I need to find Jed."

"What can I do?"

"You grew up with Heather, and shared a lot of friends. I want you to call them, and ask them if they remember a secret hiding place that Jed had. Maybe there's an old bomb shelter buried in someone's backyard, or an abandoned garage. Jed's got a hideout, and he's had it for a while. Hopefully, one of Heather's friends will know where it is."

"I'll call them right now," my daughter said.

I folded my phone. Across the street, a small army of FBI agents wearing bulletproof vests and carrying rifles had gathered on the sidewalk. Whitley was with them, barking out orders, and I watched the agents break into groups, and begin a house-to-house search of the neighborhood. Seeing me, Whitley crossed the street.

"We just picked up a message on LeAnn Grimes's voice mail," the FBI agent said. "You can hear Jed beating up his wife. We're going to find him before he kills her."

I started to protest, then clamped my mouth shut. Whitley had made up his mind that Jed was guilty, and nothing I could say was going to change that belief. I watched him hurry away. Then Jessie called me back.

"I just got off the phone with Cinda Bowe, one of Jed's old girlfriends," my daughter said. "Cinda said that Jed's neighborhood used to be on private well and septic, but got switched over to city water and sewer. Most of the houses kept their septic tanks, and Jed spent a summer cleaning several out, and connecting them with underground tunnels. Cinda said Jed even ran electricity down there."

"Did Jed ever take Cinda there?" I asked. "Cinda went there once and smoked pot with Jed. She said it stank like a sewer, so she never went back."

"Did she remember where it was?"

"Cinda said it happened when she was a kid. She forgot the exact location, but said it was a couple of blocks away from Jed's mom's house."

Cinda Bowe wasn't old enough to be forgetting things like that. My daughter's friend wasn't telling the whole truth, probably because she didn't want her name coming up. We were running out of time, and I decided to press her.

"Give me Cinda's number," I said.

"But, Daddy-"

"Give it to me."

"She'll freak out if you call her."

"Good. I always enjoy a freakout."

"Let me call her. Please. I can make Cinda talk."

I hesitated. I needed to get to Jed first. It was my only guarantee that he wouldn't get shot.

"All right, but you can't let Cinda off the hook," I said.

"I won't let you down," my daughter promised.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

A minute later, Jessie called me back with exact directions. minute later, Jessie called me back with exact directions.

The property where Jed had his hideout was owned by an elderly couple named Dodd. The Dodds were s...o...b..rds, and spent six months of the year living in south Florida, the other six in their native Montreal. Jessie said they were hard of hearing, and that Jed had come and gone for years without them knowing it.

I thanked my daughter and ended the call. The rain was coming down sideways, and I crossed the street to the house being occupied by the FBI. Before I could knock, Burrell came onto the porch.

"Come with me," I said.

"I can't. I'm helping the techs watch the monitors," Burrell said.

"I know where Jed is hiding."

"You do? Did you tell Whitley?"

I shook my head. "We're going to do this my way."

"You can't act outside the law, Jack."

"I'm not," I said. "You're going to help me."

"I am?"

"Yes. Now get your gear."

Burrell started to protest. I stepped off the porch and began walking down the sidewalk with my head bowed and my dog by my side.

Burrell caught up to me moments later. She had thrown on a bulletproof vest that was a size too big for her, and was cradling a shotgun between her arms.

"Slow down," she said.

I slowed my pace. "You need to lose the shotgun."

"Why should I do that?"