The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [37]
“What’s at the Smart Buy?”
Jed’s face turned sad, and I realized I’d struck a nerve.
“The Dumpsters,” he said quietly.
I didn’t know what to say. Jed banged his hand on my roof, and went back inside.
I watched the Asians for a while. For them, Abb’s house was a tourist attraction, and it bothered me how much they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Finally, they got back into their rental car, and drove away. One of them had a map, and was giving directions to the driver. I decided to follow.
They drove three blocks down Magnolia, then turned into the parking lot of a grocery store. As I followed them into the lot, I saw that it was a Smart Buy. Jed had been right: the Asians were going to finish their tour by seeing the Dumpsters where Abb had killed and disposed of his victims.
I followed them around to the rear of the store. The building had a flat roof and peeling orange stucco, and sat on a low parcel of land. In back was a loading dock where trucks brought deliveries. Next to it, the infamous Dumpsters.
The Asian tourists parked next to the Dumpsters and got out of their car. Then they started taking pictures. I parked well behind them, and had a look around.
The old neighborhood. I hadn’t understood what Jessie had meant earlier, but now I did. Abb’s house hadn’t changed in twelve years, and neither had the site of his killings. The place was a time warp.
One of the tourists approached my car. He was smiling and holding an expensive camera. I stared at his T-shirt. On it was a picture of Abb Grimes holding his last victim. The picture had been enhanced, and showed bright red blood dripping out of the victim’s mouth. It triggered a lot of painful memories, and I thought of the seven Jane Does I’d never identified. Those women had suffered and died, and this guy was wearing a T-shirt that exploited them.
“Excuse me,” the man said in broken English.
“You’re excused,” I said.
“Would you take a photograph of me and my friends?”
I shook my head.
“I will pay you,” he offered.
“Not interested,” I said.
The man pulled out his wallet, and dangled a twenty-dollar bill in front of my face. His friends were standing in front of the Dumpsters, smiling and waiting to have their group picture taken. Something inside of me snapped.
“You need to leave,” I said.
“But we are not done,” the man said.
“Yes, you are.”
I opened my door, and hopped out of my car. The man stepped back.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
I drew my Colt, and tucked its barrel down behind my belt buckle. Then I crossed my arms, and gave the guy a menacing look. Cops called this getting western on someone. He got the message and quickly gathered up his friends. They left in a cloud of dust.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I waited until the tourists were gone before getting back in my car.
Then I called Burrell on my cell. She answered on the first ring.
“Jed Grimes didn’t kidnap his son,” I said.
“You’re sure about that,” Burrell said.
“Yes.”
“I’m inside the Operations Center trailer next to Jed Grimes’s house. Why don’t you come over here? I want to show you something.”
I drove to Jed’s house and parked next to the OC trailer. Buster was snoozing on the passenger seat, and I rolled down the windows before getting out.
I found Burrell sitting at a desk inside the trailer, sucking down a Gatorade. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, and she looked miserable. The trailer was jammed with equipment, including a dozen phone lines, two computers, and three TV sets that stayed on 24/7. I grabbed the only other chair, and sat down across from her.
“Jed’s guilty,” Burrell said.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Four photographs were lying facedown on the desk. Burrell flipped the first one over, revealing a surfer dude with shoulder-length blond hair. “This is Ronnie Wild, Jed’s best friend. Ronnie was in the house with Jed the night Sampson was kidnapped. Every time we interview Ronnie, he tells us something new.