The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [89]
Whitley’s arm came down as I jumped. I tackled Jed directly above the knees, and brought him down hard. Jed grunted, and I felt his body go still. I hugged the ground as bullets flew around me.
“Get up,” Whitley shouted.
My ears were ringing as I rose to my feet. Whitley pulled me to the side while two of his men frisked and handcuffed Jed, who remained facedown on the ground. The air was thick with gunpowder, and I was having difficulty breathing.
“You’re a stupid son-of-a-bitch,” Whitley said.
I tasted blood, and brought my hand up to my face. It was trickling out of my left nostril. I’d gotten my nose busted a few times as a kid, and it hadn’t killed me.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Whitley asked.
I shook my head. The agents pulled Jed to his feet, and walked him to the curb.
A black SUV pulled up, and Jed was hustled into the backseat. As the door was closed, his eyes met mine. He looked terrified. I hadn’t wanted Jed to get shot, and although the price had been more than I’d bargained for, I’d succeeded.
“Did you find his wife or son?” Whitley asked.
I shook my head. Whitley climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV. Its tires squealed as it pulled away from the curb.
I found Burrell in the backyard next door. She was sitting on the ground and had something furry clutched in her arms that looked like a giant teddy bear.
“The FBI has Jed,” I told her.
“Is he alive?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now help me.”
I got up next to her, and saw that she was holding my dog.
“He’s still got a pulse,” she explained.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I gathered up Buster in my arms, and carried him down the street. He was out cold, his breathing faint. Burrell made a call on her cell, and a police cruiser appeared. I loaded Buster into the backseat.
“Where do you want me to take him?” the driver asked.
As a cop, I’d taken injured animals to different clinics around the county, and one clinic had stood out above the others for the care it had shown.
“Hollywood Animal Clinic on Hollywood Boulevard,” I said.
“Will do,” the driver said.
I watched the cruiser drive away. I’d always ridiculed people who were overly attached to their pets, but now that I was close to losing mine, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Burrell edged up beside me.
“I won’t be offended if you leave,” she said.
I loved Buster, but I also had a job to do, and it wasn’t finished.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
Bowing my head to the rain, I followed Burrell back to Jed’s hideout.
We took our time, and searched the hideout thoroughly. Every piece of furniture and accessory felt like something a nineteen-year-old boy would own. Nothing we found indicated that Heather or Sampson had recently been there. Nor was there any evidence of Jed having killed anyone. Serial killers were notorious for keeping trophies of their victims, and we didn’t find a single item that looked suspicious.
“Jack, look at this,” Burrell said.
I stopped what I was doing. Burrell sat on the couch with an old book in her lap.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Take a look.”
She handed me the book. It was falling apart, and I carefully opened it. It was a Bible, and on the first page I saw the names of every member of the Grimes family who had owned it over the past hundred years. At the bottom of the page was Jed’s name.
“Not the kind of thing you expect to find in a serial killer’s hideout, is it?” I said.
“No, it isn’t,” Burrell said.
I noticed something stuck in the Bible’s pages, and pulled it out. It was a photograph of Jed standing next to a priest with a turned collar. The priest was bowed over from age, with wisps of silver hair that danced on his head. The priest had his hand on Jed’s shoulder, and they were both smiling.
I flipped the photo over. There was a date written on the back. It had been taken a year ago. I showed it to Burrell.
“Jed’s priest,” I said.
Burrell studied the photograph, and shook her head. “Have you ever heard of a serial killer having a priest?”
“No,” I said.
“Whitley needs to see this, and