The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [15]
I slowly lifted the flashlight’s beam. Their owner was still in them. My flashlight settled on his face, and I heard myself gasp.
I have seen the dead more times than is healthy. What I saw hanging from the branches was shocking even to my jaded sensibilities: a white male, no more than five-two, dressed in tattered blue jeans and a torn flannel shirt, his wrists tied to the branches so he appeared to be crucified. His skull had been smashed with a blunt instrument, his face so lopsided that it looked melted. He had been dead for several days; whatever spirit had inhabited his body was long gone.
I drew several deep breaths, then moved closer. Lying on the ground beneath the dead man’s feet was a cheap plastic wallet. I tore a branch off a tree, and used the branch to flip the wallet open. It contained a few wrinkled dollar bills, and a welfare card. His name was Clifford Gaylord.
I tried to imagine what had happened. Sampson’s kidnapper had come into the grove three nights ago, and happened upon Gaylord. Not wanting a witness, he’d knocked Gaylord unconscious and tied him to a tree. Then he’d murdered him.
It made sense, only there were holes. Tying Gaylord would have taken both hands, as would killing him. That would have forced the kidnapper to put Sampson down. He might have tied Sampson to a tree to keep him from running away, or simply put him nearby, where he could keep an eye on the boy.
I searched the ground with my flashlight to see if I was correct. On the other side of the clearing, I found the impression of Sampson’s body in the sugar sand. It was beneath a tree, and faced away from where Gaylord had died.
Buster pawed at a spot next to the boy’s impression. I started to pull him away, then saw something appear in the sand. It was a small cardboard box.
“Good boy,” I said.
I grabbed the box’s lid, and gently pulled it free. It was an empty candy box, covered with ants. Flipping it over, I stared at the label.
Milk Duds.
An alarm went off inside my head. Angelica Suarez had been eating Milk Duds when I’d rescued her from Ray Hicks. It could have been a coincidence, only I didn’t believe in those. I left the box in the sand where I’d found it, and dragged my dog into the clearing. The moon had crept out from behind the clouds, and I shut off my flashlight.
I thought about the three-ring binder I’d found in Ray Hicks’s locker. Hicks had been corresponding on the Internet with someone who called himself Teen Angel. Teen Angel had helped Hicks abduct Angelica Suarez, and Hicks had nearly succeeded. Teen Angel knew what he was doing.
I compared that case to this one. Sampson’s kidnapper had covered his tracks as well as Ray Hicks had. He’d taken Sampson from his bedroom, and had fooled the police so badly that they were pointing the finger at the boy’s father. He’d also used Milk Duds to keep the boy quiet, just as Ray Hicks had.
The cases were connected. Teen Angel had helped Ray Hicks, and I was willing to bet money he’d helped Sampson’s kidnapper as well.
Teen Angel was the link, and I needed to find him.
I called the sheriff’s department’s main number, and identified myself to the operator. I asked her to call Ron Cheeks, and have him call me.
“It’s an emergency,” I said.
Cheeks called me back a minute later.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I’m across the alley from Jed Grimes’s house,” I said.
“Goddamn it, Carpenter, I told you not to go there!”
I looked at Clifford Gaylord hanging dead in the orange tree. I didn’t know what his story was, but I felt certain that he deserved a better ending than the one he’d gotten. Had I not happened along, he might have hung there for a long time.
“You missed something,” I said.
Cheeks appeared in the grove fifteen minutes later looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. Clutched in his hand was a large Mag-Lite. I showed him Gaylord’s body, and explained what had happened. He pointed across the clearing.
“Stand over there, and tie your dog to a tree,” Cheeks said.
I went to