James Swain - The Night Stalker

“Very good,” Vonell said.

“And you guys all get on the Internet each night and swap secrets,” Cheeks said.

“That’s correct,” Vonell said. “Several nights ago, the pedophile in our group-a man who calls himself Teen Angel-was discussing the Sampson Grimes kidnapping. He had insider information about what had happened.”

Vonell licked his lips and smiled. It was all I could do not to slug him.

“Go on,” I said.

“Teen Angel said the police were focusing their investigation on the boy’s family, which is common in most child abductions. Teen Angel said the evidence showed the boy had been abducted by a nonfamily member.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Cheeks. His face had gone white.

“What evidence was that?” I asked.

“The torn window screen in the child’s bedroom, which was mentioned in the newspaper,” Vonell said. “Teen Angel said the torn screen showed that the abduction was a game Sampson was seduced into playing.”

“A game?” I said.

“That’s correct. Teen Angel called the game ‘Hide from the Parents.’ He said it was a common game for abductors to play when stealing children from their homes.”

“Did he explain how the game worked?”

“Oh, yes. The abductor gave Sampson candy to entice him into playing, and a toy as a reward for playing. Teen Angel was certain about this.”

“Candy and a toy,” I said.

“Correct. Teen Angel said a specific brand of candy had been used, and was instrumental in keeping the boy quiet.”

“Which brand?” I asked.

“Milk Duds.”

“Why that brand and not some other?”

“I don’t know. Teen Angel also said that he thought Sampson was a precocious child. He believed the boy had an agile mind, which allowed his abductor to trick him into thinking his kidnapping was a game. Teen Angel said it was harder to trick a stupid child than a smart one.”

Vonell leaned back. I could see the dampness where his hands had rested on his jumpsuit. I said, “Anything else?”

“Yes, there was one other thing. Rather important, I think.”

“What’s that?”

Vonell started to answer, then began to violently cough. “I need some water. My throat is bone dry.”

Cheeks went into the hallway to fetch Vonell some water. I leaned forward in my chair, and gave Vonell a harsh look. I had seen predators pull this nonsense before. During an interrogation they would stop the action, and make another demand. I had come to the conclusion that it was a subconscious need to be in control, or feel like they were in control, even when they weren’t.

Cheeks returned with a paper cup filled with water. Vonell sipped the water, then spoke. “Teen Angel said the child had a special relationship with his abductor. He called it a bond of trust. He said that without that bond, the abduction could not have taken place.”

“You mean a prior relationship?” I said.

“Yes. He said the abductor was someone the boy had contact with on a regular basis.”

“A friend,” I said.

“That’s correct. I believe that’s everything,” Vonell said.

“If I wanted to contact Teen Angel, how would I find him?” I asked.

Vonell glanced over his shoulder at his attorney. The attorney gave him a nod that said it was okay to rat out his chat room buddy. Vonell resumed looking at me.

“Teen Angel works at a local theme park in security,” he said.

I rose from my chair and acted like I was done. I had one more question, and I knew that it had to be said at exactly the right time. I waited until Vonell had let his guard down, then pounced.

“Was Teen Angel involved in Sampson Grimes’s kidnapping?” I asked.

Vonell started to answer, then clamped his mouth shut.

“Yes or no?” I asked.

Vonell dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Answer me or the deal’s off,” I said.

His head snapped up. “But Detective Cheeks said-”

“To hell with what Detective Cheeks said. Yes or no?”

Sexual predators had a code of silence they rarely broke. But Vonell knew I’d make good on my threat. He let a moment pass, then replied.

“I believe he was,” he said.

“ D o you believe me now?” I asked.

Cheeks stood over the sink in the men’s washroom, dousing his face with cold water. Lifting his gaze, he looked at me in the mirror. “Teen Angel might have helped kidnap the Grimes kid. Or he might be a closet pedophile who sits at his computer and fantasizes with other pedophiles about stealing kids. There are a lot of guys around who do that, you know.”

“Not Teen Angel,” I said. “He’s helped with abductions before.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Yes. Teen Angel helped a guy named Ray Hicks abduct a little girl from an elementary school in Ocala. It was as clean as anything I’ve ever seen. I saw the e-mails Teen Angel sent Hicks. They spelled the whole thing out.”

“You’re saying this guy is a pro.”

“A pro’s pro.”

Cheeks patted his face with a paper towel. He was one of the few guys I knew who could clean himself up and not look any better. “How do we find him?”

“Vonell said he works in security for a local theme park,” I said. “Call the parks, and tell them you have evidence that a pervert is working for them. They’ll cooperate once they hear that.”

“You think so?”

“It always worked for me,” I said.

Vonell’s lawyer was waiting for us in the hallway. He’d written up an agreement on a legal pad that he shoved into Cheeks’s face along with a pen.

“My client is being arraigned this afternoon,” he said. “I need you to sign this statement stating that the charges against Vonell are being dropped from molestation with a minor to indecent exposure. You said you’d do this. It was part of our agreement.”

Cheeks took the pen and scribbled his name on the bottom. The lawyer stuck the pen in his pocket, and started to walk away.

“Can I see that?” I asked.

The lawyer handed me the agreement. I read it quickly, and saw how he’d painted Vonell into some harmless middle-aged guy who occasionally showed off his dick in public. Vonell had been arrested for molesting a teenager, a crime that would leave a deep psychological scar on his victim for the rest of her life. Somehow he’d forgotten to mention that, and I shredded the agreement before his disbelieving eyes.

“Get lost,” I said.

The lawyer followed us up the stairs, cursing his head off. When he didn’t stop, the sergeant on duty in the reception area escorted him out of the building.

I followed Cheeks to his office on the third floor. Case files covered the desk and floor, and the room’s shelving units sagged beneath the weight of missing person reports. Visible above the sea of paper was a phone, and a family photograph with Cheeks’s ex-wife razored out.

Cheeks got on the horn and called Broward’s three major theme parks. He spoke with their human resources departments, and using a threatening tone, obtained the names of each employee in security and their Social Security numbers, which he passed on to me.

“This is too easy,” he said.

“No one wants a pervert working for them,” I said.

Sitting at his computer, I accessed the sheriff’s department’s sexual predator website, which contained files of every known sexual predator in the United States. Entering each name and Social Security number into the search engine, I looked for a match.

On the twentieth name, I got a hit.

“Busted!” I said.

Cheeks came around to where I was sitting, and stared at the screen. The pervert’s name was Lonnie Lowman, and he had surfer-white blond hair and bedroom eyes. His charming good looks had no doubt attracted a sixteen-year-old girl in Seattle, who’d willingly gone to his home one weekend, before being held captive and molested. In the mug shot, Lowman was still glowing from his conquest.