James Swain - The Night Stalker

“Where’s the aspirin?” I asked.

Lowman led me to the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.

“Unlock these handcuffs, and I’ll help you,” he said.

If a snake could talk, I imagined it would have sounded like the reptile standing in front of me. I escorted Lowman back to the living room and fed two aspirin to Cheeks. I saw Lowman inching toward the front door.

“Sit down,” I said.

Lowman returned to his chair.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked Cheeks.

“Take him in, and book him,” he said.

“That will be a pleasure,” I said.

Within minutes an ambulance came and two medics entered the house, tied Cheeks to a gurney, and loaded him into the back. I stood in the doorway and watched, while keeping one eye on Lowman. Cheeks was not my friend, but he was still a cop, and I did what I always did when a cop went down, and said a silent prayer.

The ambulance backed out of the driveway. I made Lowman get up and pulled him outside. Cheeks’s car was in the driveway, the keys still in his pocket, while my Legend was parked at police headquarters.

“Do you have any money?” I asked.

“About forty dollars. Why?” Lowman asked.

“Because you’re paying for the cab to take us to the police station.”

The fare to the Broward County Sheriff’s Department headquarters came to $26. I pulled two crisp twenties out of Lowman’s wallet and told the driver to keep the change.

The booking area was in the rear of the building. As I escorted Lowman through the front doors, I took a step back in time. The smells were the same-strong coffee, foul body odors, forbidden cigarettes-and so were the faces, including several silver-haired deputies I’d known since the day I’d started.

There was a long line at the intake booking area. For safety’s sake, each perp had his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and stood three feet away from the suspect in front of him. I pushed Lowman to the front of the line, and rapped my knuckles on the desk. “I’d like to make a citizen’s arrest,” I announced.

Captain Mike lifted his eyes from a stack of forms. His job was to process perps and bag their personal belongings. A smile lit up his face.

“Jack Attack,” he said.

“Hello, Captain Mike,” I said. “How’s the family?”

“Everyone’s well. Who’s this clown?”

“A child molester who was running security at a local theme park. I helped Ron Cheeks bust him.”

“Where’s Cheeks? Dunkin’ Donuts?”

“He went to the hospital. He wasn’t feeling too well.”

Captain Mike filled out a processing form for Lowman. I helped by removing Lowman’s watch, wallet, belt, rings, and shoelaces, which Captain Mike bagged, tagged, and inventoried. When we were done, Lowman edged up beside me.

“You’ll never find the Grimes boy,” Lowman said.

“Is that a fact?” I said.

“I’d put money on it,” he said.

Taking a Sharpie from Captain Mike’s desk, I wrote PERVERT on the back of Lowman’s shirt, then handed him off to a pair of deputies, who led him to a holding pen yelling his head off.

“Does the brass know Cheeks went to the hospital?” Captain Mike asked.

I shook my head. I hadn’t bothered to call anyone, having assumed it would be taken care of when Cheeks was admitted to ER.

“I need to tell them,” Captain Mike said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a chair in the waiting area. There was red tape on the floor to signify that the section was for visitors, and not people in custody. I had always found the tape comical, considering the crimes most of these guys were in for. A man dressed in a tailored suit materialized beside me.

“Your friend looks like he needs some help,” the man said.

“Are you a lawyer?” I asked.

He said yes, and reached for his business card.

“Do you represent child molesters?” I asked.

“All the time,” he said.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Captain Mike called me back to his desk. “I just spoke with the chief. He wants to see you in his office.”

“All hail the chief,” I said.

Captain Mike cleared me through the booking area, and I walked down a long hall to a bank of elevators. A minute later, I was sitting across from Sheriff Lester Moody, the man who’d ousted me from my job nine months ago. Moody was a big man with a mane of silver hair and a face like a slab of granite. Since getting the top job, he’d started wearing ill-fitting suits and bright neckties, and looked like a used-car salesman.

“I spoke with Cheeks,” Moody said. “The doctors are keeping him for a few days at Memorial Hospital. Giving him aspirin was a smart call.”

“Cheeks needs to lose some weight. You, too,” I said.

“Can’t anyone have a civil conversation with you?”

“Want me to leave?”

“Not until I finish what I have to say.”

“Then say it. I have a little boy to find.”

Moody’s cheeks burned. He drummed his desk while glaring at me. He was accustomed to talking down to people. I wasn’t letting him do that.

“I want to find Sampson Grimes, too,” Moody said. “Unfortunately, Cheeks didn’t bring anyone into the loop regarding the investigation. From what I can gather, you know as much as he does.”

“More,” I said.

“All right, you know more. I’d like to offer you a deal.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m putting another detective in charge of finding Sampson Grimes. I need you to bring that detective up to speed. In exchange, I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Put me in charge of the investigation.”

“That’s out of the question. I can’t have you running things.”

I’d fallen on hard times since leaving the force, yet I’d never regretted the decision. It had allowed me to listen to my conscience. I stood up.

“Have a nice day,” I said.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Moody said.

“Cheeks put you in a tough spot. He botched the investigation, then ignored evidence that it was an abduction. How’s that going to look when it hits the news?”

“Jack, sit down.”

“It’s going to look horrible. Only Cheeks is sick, so he won’t get blamed. You’ll get blamed. Your only salvation is finding Sampson Grimes. Put me in charge.”

“I can’t do that. But I will offer you a compromise.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you remember Candice Burrell?”

“Sure, I trained her.”

“I’m putting Burrell in charge of the investigation.”

Burrell was one of the smartest detectives on the force. So smart that she’d been passed over for countless promotions, while lesser lights had risen to the top. If anyone could clean up Ron Cheeks’s mess, it was Candy.

“I’ll work with Burrell on one condition,” I said.

“Name it.”

“I want access to the crime scene and the investigation’s case file.”

“Done. Now let’s talk about your fee.”

“I’m already being paid by the Grimes family.”

Moody rose from his desk. “I’m glad we’ve reached this decision.”

Sometimes bullshit gets in the way of what’s important. I removed the photo of Sampson that I’d printed off Lowman’s computer, and dropped it on Moody’s desk.

“This photo was taken in a Fort Lauderdale hotel,” I said. “The interior looks like it’s a chain hotel. The guys need to examine it.”

Moody’s face lit up. “I’ll put them right on it. Anything else?”

I started to say no, then remembered Lowman. I wrote his address on a slip of paper, and gave it to Moody. “There’s a pervert in the lockup named Lonnie Lowman,” I said. “I cut a deal with him, and destroyed a DVD of him confessing to a bunch of crimes. I ran the DVD on his computer, so there’s a copy on the hard drive. You need to send someone over to Lowman’s house to retrieve it.”