The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [91]
“Is your heart telling you something now?” I asked.
“Yes. I think we arrested the wrong person.”
“Did you talk to Whitley?”
“I called him, and told him about finding the Bible and photo of the priest in Jed’s hideout. Whitley said it was meaningless. He blew me off.”
Burrell didn’t try to hide the anger in her voice.
“What’s the deal between you two?” I asked.
“I thought we were in love,” she said.
“Thought?”
“Whitley and I have been seeing each other for about a year. He told me he was leaving his wife. The story changed a few hours ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
We crossed the Hollywood Bridge, and took A1A north to the Sunset. The streets were deserted, the bars and restaurants empty. I had Burrell pull into the Sunset’s parking lot, and park by the entrance. The cruiser did the same.
“Earlier you told me that you thought someone who worked in a restaurant was our killer,” Burrell said. “Do you have a profile?”
Buster was whining to get out of the car. Opening my door, I laid him onto the pavement, and watched him teeter down to the shoreline and relieve himself.
“Our killer works in a restaurant,” I said, closing my door. “He might be the night manager, or maybe even the owner. He’s a loner, and has lived in LeAnn’s neighborhood for many years. He also has a connection to Abb Grimes, although I haven’t figured out what it is. He’s smart, but impulsive.”
“A classic serial killer,” Burrell said.
“That’s right.”
“If I run a background check on every restaurant employee in the area, would you take a look at them, and see if you could pick him out?”
I stared at the waves crashing on the beach. My nose was throbbing, and I was exhausted to the point that I could hardly keep my eyes open.
“Sure,” I said.
Burrell leaned across the seat, and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks, Jack.”
Buster froze at the bottom of the stairwell leading to my room. I carried him upstairs, and laid him on the bed. Then I examined myself in the bathroom. My nose was turning purple, and had a nasty bump over the bridge. No more GQ covers for me.
I went downstairs to the bar. Two teenage girls were dancing in front of the jukebox while the Dwarfs ogled them from their bar stools. The girls were both slurping Diet Cokes, and I spoke to Sonny.
“They legal?” I asked.
“Naw. Tried to pass off some fake IDs, but I made them,” Sonny said.
“Why didn’t you throw them out?”
“Because I’m horny.”
I went upstairs and found my detective’s badge. The department had let me keep my badge after I’d quit. You could say it was one of the few decent things they’d done. I went downstairs and pulled the girls off the floor. Going outside, I made them stand in the pouring rain while I read them the riot act. By the time I was done, the makeup had washed off their faces, and they’d promised to stay out of bars until they were legal.
“Spoilsport,” Sonny said when I returned.
“You have any pain pills?” I asked.
Sonny fed me some Advil. I drank coffee, and waited for them to kick in. It took awhile, but I finally started to feel normal.
The local news came on. The lead story was about Jed’s capture, and showed him doing a perp walk outside the police station. The images faded into a blaring headline. WHAT WENT WRONG?
On the screen a familiar face appeared. It was Ron Cheeks, wearing his best suit and a smug look on his face. The pills churned in my stomach, and I grabbed the remote off the bar. Cheeks’s voice came booming out of the TV.
“Jed Grimes was our number one suspect from the start,” Cheeks said. “All the evidence pointed to him. He abducted his son, and we knew it.”
“Why didn’t the police arrest him before now?” a female reporter asked.
Cheeks did a slow burn. “I was going to. Unfortunately, a medical condition forced me off the case, and another detective took over.”
“Who was that?”
“Detective Candice Burrell.”
“Is she to blame?”
“Detective Burrell is a fine police officer, and in no way is responsible for what has happened with this investigation,