The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [26]
“Him?” a guy yelled back.
The guy was huge, and had two kids with him. He was standing a few feet from Lowman. I yelled, “Yes. Watch out, he’s got a gun.”
The guy let go of his kids, and brought his forearm down on Lowman’s shoulder. Lowman’s knees buckled, and his gun fell out of his hand.
“Pervert,” the guy said.
Several other guys in the crowd began to pummel Lowman as well. Lowman twisted like an animal caught in a trap, but could not break free. Cops had a special name for when crowds got angry enough to tear someone apart. They called it a feeding frenzy.
I pushed my way through the mob with Cheeks behind me. In a loud voice, Cheeks announced that he was a cop, and Lowman’s attackers backed away.
Lowman lay sprawled on the ground. His shirt was a memory and blood poured from his nose and mouth.
“Don’t let them kill me,” he begged.
I don’t like being shot at. I dragged Lowman to the edge of the pool, and dunked his head into the water. The crowd erupted in cheers.
“Drown him!” someone yelled.
“I’ll help you hold him down,” another offered.
I waited a few moments before pulling Lowman’s head out of the pool. He spit out a mouthful of water, and looked fearfully at me. “Tell me what you know about Sampson Grimes’s kidnapping, or I’ll let them have you,” I said.
The words hit Lowman harder than any punch. He grabbed my shirt with both his hands, and held me like he was never going to let go.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.
Cheeks drove us to Lowman’s house in his Suburban. I sat in the backseat beside Lowman and watched his hands, which were handcuffed behind his back. He had closed his eyes, and was breathing heavily. Lowman lived in a subdivision in Pembroke Pines on the curve of a cul-de-sac, an attractive one-story with a terra-cotta roof. As Cheeks parked in the driveway, I spied a hammock in the side yard moving back and forth in the wind.
At the front door Lowman offered up his house keys, which were resting in his pocket. Cheeks unlocked the front door, and we entered the chilly interior. The shades were drawn on every window, and the place felt like a tomb.
I flipped on the lights. The furnishings were sparse. Hanging from the walls were blowups of young girls with their swimming suits falling off. They were everywhere I looked. Cheeks had Lowman sit in a leather chair in the living room.
“Do not move,” Cheeks ordered.
I pulled Cheeks aside. He was breathing hard, and looked like hell.
“Do you want me to search the place?” I asked.
“I’ll do it,” Cheeks said.
“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 space 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 passed.
“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?”