The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [83]
Jed Grimes had been set up. I didn’t know who was responsible, or what their motivation was. What I did know was that he’d done a masterful job of convincing the police and the FBI. If I didn’t get to Jed first, he was history.
My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket. Caller ID said UNKNOWN.
“Carpenter here,” I answered.
A car horn blared in the background, along with other street noises. Then a young woman said, “Mr. Carpenter, this is Heather Rinker. I’m standing at a pay phone next to a convenience store two blocks from my mother-in-law’s house. I wanted to call you without the FBI listening in.”
“I guess you spoke to Jessie,” I said.
“Yeah. She explained your offer to help Jed. I thought it was a good idea, so I came over here and called him. Jed wants to do it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Come to the store, and I’ll take you to where Jed’s hiding out.”
“That sounds like a plan, Heather. I’m leaving right now.”
“No. Wait until it gets light.”
“Why?”
“There are too many FBI agents hiding in the neighborhood. They’ve got rifles. Jed’s scared of getting shot, and so am I.”
The fear in her voice was almost palpable.
“All right,” I said.
“I’m going to give you my cell number. Call it when you leave. I’ll slip out of my mother-in-law’s house, and meet you at the convenience store. Then we’ll go see Jed.”
I grabbed a pen and piece of paper off my night table. “Go ahead.”
She gave me her cell phone number. Her voice was strained, and I sensed that she was holding something back. “Is there something you want to tell me, Heather?”
“I’m just afraid,” she said.
“Nothing is going to happen to Jed. You have to believe that.”
“I do. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
She started to reply, then hung up.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I lay on my bed and did ceiling patrol for a few hours, thinking about Jed. His father was about to be executed, his little boy had been kidnapped, and he was being hunted by the FBI. I needed to get him out of harm’s way, and figure out who was behind these crimes. And I needed to do it fast.
At six a.m. I dragged myself out of bed, and took a long, hot shower. It woke me up, and I threw my clothes on while listening to the rain.
I drove over the short steel drawbridge to the mainland with a cup of coffee in my hand and Jimmy Buffett’s Songs You Know by Heart album playing on the pickup’s tape deck. The roads were treacherous, and I crawled through town and headed north to the interstate.
As I drove, I visualized the convenience store in LeAnn Grimes’s neighborhood. It sat on the corner of a busy intersection and had two gas pumps. I didn’t like meeting people in places that weren’t out in the open, not even people that I knew. Call it my survival instinct. I decided that the store was a good meeting place.
As I exited the interstate, I called Heather.
“It’s Jack Carpenter,” I said. “I’m five minutes away.”
“Let me call you back,” she said.
“Is something wrong?”
The line went dead. It was the second time she’d hung up on me. It gave me a bad feeling, and I glanced at Buster, who sat at stiff attention in the passenger seat.
I navigated my way down the flooded streets to the convenience store. When I was a block away, I pulled off, and put my blinkers on. Then Heather called me back.
“We’re on,” she said.
“Good,” I said.
“I’m going to need about ten minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
Ten minutes later I arrived at the store. The parking lot was a lake, and contained no cars. Parking so I faced the front door, I grabbed the Marlins’ baseball cap off the backseat and stuck it on my head. I hadn’t followed the Marlins until they’d won the World Series. Now they were my favorite team.
Out of habit I touched the Colt resting in my pants pocket. It gave me a sense of security that only a gun can. Then I glanced at Buster. His ears were pinned straight back.
“I’ll be right back, partner.”
I dodged raindrops going inside. The store was empty, save for the Cuban manager eating breakfast behind the counter. I coughed