The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [13]
I found the bed with my flashlight. It was built to resemble a miniature race car. The bed was unmade, and the impression of Sampson’s body was still in the sheets.
A tiny light beside the bed caught my eye. It was faint, and difficult to see. I shut off my flashlight, and tried to determine what it was.
I realized it was a night-light. Then I saw the second one by the door. A lot of children slept with night-lights, but two was unusual.
Sampson was afraid of the dark.
That bothered me. Most children who were afraid of the dark were also light sleepers. I wondered how Sampson’s kidnapper had entered his bedroom without the boy hearing him, and yelling for help.
I was missing something. I stepped back, and started over.
The damaged screen: I had assumed that the kidnapper had popped it out, and stolen into Sampson’s bedroom. But I didn’t know that for a fact. I decided to see how difficult it would be, and I put my hands through the slice, and attempted to remove the screen. It refused to budge.
“What the hell,” I said under my breath.
I inspected the screen’s metal frame with my flashlight. It was held down by four screws covered in rust. This screen hadn’t been removed for a long time.
I stepped back into the yard. The kidnapper hadn’t gone into the bedroom. The boy had come to him and climbed through the slit. That was why no one had heard him leave. The boy had been an accomplice in his own kidnapping.
I turned off my flashlight. There was a picnic table in the backyard. I sat down on one of the benches. I had dealt with hundreds of child abductions and never encountered anything like this.
Little kids who were afraid of the dark didn’t climb through windows at night, even if someone they knew was coaxing them. It was too scary. Yet that was exactly what Sampson had done. Whoever had stolen the boy had worked some special magic on him.
I looked around the yard. I had no witnesses to talk to, no clues to work with. Unless some piece of evidence fell out of the sky, I was in trouble.
Buster ran around in circles, sniffing the ground. It gave me an idea. If I could determine the escape route the kidnapper had taken, it might lead to new evidence like a tire track or a witness. I knew the police had already done this, but I would try it again.
I turned my flashlight back on. The fenced backyard had a small gate at the rear. I went to the gate and unlatched it.
The gate led onto a deeply rutted alley. One end of the alley was a dead end, the other end led to the street. I envisioned Sampson’s kidnapper going that way during his escape.
Buster appeared by my side. I leashed him, and walked to the street. As I stepped out of the alley, I was bathed in bright streetlight. Cars were parked by the curb, and a dozen pedestrians lingered on the sidewalk. It looked like a gathering spot.
I approached an older couple. They said hello, and inquired about my dog.
“He’s an Australian Shepherd,” I said.
“He’s very unusual looking,” the wife said.
“Do you walk here often?”
“Every night,” the husband replied.
“Is it always this busy?”
“Usually,” she said.
“Were you here three nights ago?”
“Is that when the little boy was kidnapped?” the husband asked.
“Yes.”
“We were here,” she said. “But like we told the police, we didn’t see a thing.”
The couple said good night. I walked back to Jed’s house feeling stymied. People didn’t vanish into thin air. How had Sampson’s kidnapper gotten the boy away without being seen?
I came to Jed’s property and halted. I hadn’t paid much attention to the property directly across the alley from Jed’s because it was so well-fortified. Now I gave it a closer look.
The property was several acres in size. There was no house, just an orange grove filled with ripening trees. The grove looked