The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [49]
“My name’s Jack Carpenter,” I said. “I’m working with the police. I’m responding to the manager’s complaint.”
The young woman relayed the message, then pointed to the rear of the store. “Mr. Vorbe’s office is back there. Go to the meat section, and he’ll come out and get you. By the way, no dogs are allowed in the store.”
“He’s K-9,” I said.
I walked down an empty aisle to the meat section. The store’s interior was another step back in time: narrow aisles, a limited selection, and tinny Muzak playing over the sound system. I was no financial genius, but I couldn’t see the place making money.
Vorbe appeared through a swinging door. He was from one of the Caribbean islands, medium height and stocky, with a mouth filled with glittering gold teeth. He carried a scuffed metal cane and walked with a limp. He led me to his office.
Jean-Baptiste Vorbe’s office was adjacent to the meat locker, and brutally cold. I saw Vorbe grimace as he dropped into his chair. I made Buster lie down and leaned against the wall.
“You must work undercover,” Vorbe said in a beautiful lilting voice. “Your dog is a wonderful touch.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Twenty years ago, I fled the revolution in my native Haiti in a boat made of bamboo and rubber tires. My limp is a souvenir from that trip.”
Haiti had been the most beautiful island in the Caribbean until a group of brutal politicians had ruined the country. In south Florida there were thousands of refugees like Vorbe who’d risked their lives in order to escape.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“Almost fifteen years,” Vorbe said. “I got my citizenship, then took a job here. I was the night manager back in ninety-six when the young woman’s body was discovered in our Dumpster. I’m sure you heard of the situation.”
I did a double take. “Are you the same store manager who saw Abb Grimes on the surveillance tape and called the police?”
“Yes. I guess you could say I set the wheels in motion,” Vorbe said.
The store hadn’t changed, and neither had its manager. I rarely found myself at a loss for words, but this was one of those times. I took out my trusty pack of gum and offered Vorbe a stick. We chewed in silence.
“It is said in my country that silence speaks volumes,” Vorbe said. “Did what I just said bother you, Mr. Carpenter?”
Vorbe had a natural twinkle in his eye that I would have liked to have bottled and sold. I put my gum in its paper and tossed it into the trash. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Most people would have moved on.”
“I did move on. The store was shut down in ninety-seven, and the employees who wished to remain with the company were relocated. I went and managed another Smart Buy in Pensacola for five years, then came back.”
“But you said this store was shut down.”
“That is correct. The parent company attempted to sell the location to one of those big box stores, only the property was not large enough. Then they attempted to sell to a builder of strip centers, with the same results. The location remained vacant for five years. Then the parent company decided to open it back up.”
“Why?”
Vorbe’s eyes flashed and he smiled. “What other reason does a large company open a store? Profits!”
“Does this store make money? It seems rather small.”
“Its size is deceiving. The neighborhood has many shut-ins and elderly people. We home-deliver to two hundred and fifty customers each week.”
The phone on his desk lit up, and Vorbe took the call. It occurred to me that a real policeman might be calling soon, and that I needed to move things along. Vorbe hung up, and I said, “I was following up on the call you made to the police. What seems to be the problem?”
Vorbe steepled his hands in front of his face. “I have a rather delicate situation. Are you aware that LeAnn Grimes