The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [35]
“Good luck,” I said. “Oh, and Jessie?”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“I was serious what I said about that announcer. He’s nearly my age.”
“Good-bye, Daddy.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jed’s mother’s name was LeAnn Grimes. I’d seen her on the news and still remembered her story. She came from a family of citrus farmers, and was a small woman with a pretty face and nervous hands. She’d sat dutifully behind Abb during his trial, and when the guilty verdict was read, had sobbed uncontrollably.
She lived on Magnolia Lane in west Davie. The house was made of cinder blocks and was rather small, with dark shades covering the windows, and several “No Trespassing” signs displayed prominently on the lawn. I parked across the street. A group of six tourists stood on the sidewalk snapping pictures. They had accents that I couldn’t place, and had come in a van. They were dressed alike, and wore black pants and black T-shirts that featured the infamous picture of Abb Grimes holding his last victim in his arms. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, except they mentioned the Night Stalker over and over, their voices hushed and reverential. Abb had gone to prison over a dozen years ago, yet it was obvious his infamy lived on.
I waited until the tourists were gone before knocking on LeAnn Grimes’s front door. It cracked open, and a white-haired woman with sunken eyes stared at me. It was LeAnn. The years had taken their toll, and robbed her face of its natural beauty.
“Don’t tell me you want your picture taken,” LeAnn said.
“I’m Jack Carpenter,” I said. “Your husband hired me to find your grandson. I’m here to speak with Jed.”
She looked me up and down. “What’s with the mutt?”
“He’s my partner.”
LeAnn opened the front door and ushered me inside. Her movements were slow, as if an invisible weight rested on her shoulders. She led me to the living room, which was dark save for the TV playing in the corner, and dropped onto a couch that had seen better days. I stood in front of the couch, Buster by my side.
“Is Jed here?” I asked.
“He’s taking a shower. Do you have any news about my grandson?”
“Not yet,” I said.
She shut her eyes and placed her hands in her lap. She looked like she was going into a trance, and a long moment passed. I let my eyes wander the room. Most of the furniture was tagged for sale, and I glanced at a lamp on a table. The price was $2,000. It seemed an outrageous amount, and I checked the tags on several other items. They were also in the stratosphere.
“See anything you like?” LeAnn asked, her eyes now open.
“A little expensive for my taste,” I replied.
“The tagged items were my husband’s things,” she explained. “Jed plans to auction them on eBay after the execution. I think I hear him now.”
Jed Grimes entered the living room a few moments later. Boyish and handsome, he stood about six feet and was blessed with a lean, muscular body. He didn’t look old enough to be shaving, much less have a three-year-old son. Seeing me, his eyes narrowed, and I felt him sizing me up.
“This is Jack Carpenter, the man your father hired to find Sampson,” his mother said. “That’s his dog.”
Jed nodded woodenly at me.
“Glad to meet you,” I said.
“I heard you were a cop,” Jed said.
“I was. Not anymore.”
“You bring any cops with you?”
I pointed at Buster. “He’s one. That’s his disguise.”
LeAnn let out a throaty laugh. It brought Jed’s guard down, and I crossed the living room and stuck out my hand. He smiled thinly and shook it.
“We need to talk about Sampson,” I said.
“Let’s go outside,” he said. “My mom’s favorite program is on.”
Jed led me outside to the garage. Buster caught a scent as we entered, and vanished into the back. Square and high-ceilinged, the rafters were adorned with stolen street signs and old license plates. Thumbtacked to the walls were a collection of old Playboy calendars, including a centerfold of Anna Nicole Smith from 1993. The workbench,