James Swain - The Night Stalker

LeAnn’s eyes briefly studied the page. Then they locked onto me.

“Let me tell you something about those slippers,” she said. “They were a birthday present from Jed to his daddy. Abb adored them, and wore them whenever he was home. After my husband was arrested, those slippers were taken and destroyed by Detective Cheeks, the man who arrested my husband.”

“Why would Cheeks do that?”

“Because he knew something was wrong with Abb. We all did.”

“We?”

“Me, the neighbors, even Jed-and he was just a little boy back then.”

“How old was Jed?”

“Seven.”

“But he understood what was going on.”

“Yes. You see, Abb suffered from insomnia. It got so bad that I took him to a clinic, where the doctor prescribed a new experimental drug. The drug let Abb sleep, but bad things started to happen. I’d wake up at night, and hear Abb banging around the house. One night I went into the kitchen, and all the chairs were turned upside down. I tried to get him back to bed, and he nearly took my head off. The next morning, I talked to him about it over breakfast, and Abb acted like it hadn’t happened.”

“You said the neighbors knew something was wrong with Abb,” I said. “How did they know?”

“Abb left the house at night and strolled around the neighborhood. One of my neighbors caught him peeking in their windows; another found him sitting in their car. He was scaring the daylights out of them.”

Her voice had grown weak, the memories draining her. I didn’t want to make her suffering any worse, but I had to get to the truth.

“What was the drug?” I asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you contact Abb’s doctor to find out?”

“The clinic went out of business. I tried to track the doctor down, but never found him. It was another dead end.”

“Did you tell Abb’s defense attorney this?”

“His attorney knew everything. He was appointed by the court because we didn’t have any money to hire a lawyer. He seemed resigned to my husband losing in court.”

I thought back to the evidence log from the trial. It had contained everything that the police had taken from the Grimes’s house.

“Did the police take the drug as evidence?” I asked.

“Yes. It disappeared with the slippers.”

“Do you think Detective Cheeks destroyed it?”

LeAnn laughed under her breath, giving me my answer.

“Did Jed know about the drug?” I asked.

“Oh, Jed knew. It was so painful for him. He used to walk up to police officers when he was a little boy and say, ‘My daddy isn’t a bad man! He isn’t bad!’ When he grew older, the reality of what Detective Cheeks had done hit him, and Jed tried to confront Detective Cheeks. That’s when Detective Cheeks started to haul him in, and accuse him of crimes he hadn’t committed.”

I leaned back in my chair. Everything Father Kelly had told me was true. Jed had been painted as a monster by Cheeks, and all because he knew the truth about his father.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go,” LeAnn said.

She went into the hallway to retrieve her suitcase. I tried to carry it outside for her, and she wrestled it from my grasp.

“No, thank you,” she said.

I watched her throw the suitcase into an old Chevy parked in the driveway beside the house. It was an eight-hour drive to the prison, and I found myself wishing she didn’t have to go it alone.

LeAnn backed down the driveway. The tailpipe was making horrible sounds that disrupted the quiet morning. She braked before reaching the street, and motioned to me. I hustled over to her open window.

“Would you like to know what I think?” she asked.

I said that I did.

“Detective Cheeks railroaded my husband, and now he’s railroading my son,” she said. “If you don’t believe me, ask the manager of the Smart Buy.”

“You mean Mr. Vorbe,” I said.

“Yes. He told me so this morning while delivering my groceries. Detective Cheeks came to his store, and tried to coerce him into saying untrue things about Jed. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Her car rattled and clanked as she drove away. The noise it was making was loud, but not nearly as loud as the alarm going off inside my head. Cheeks had destroyed evidence in one murder investigation, and now he was coercing witnesses in another.

I ran to my car.

The Smart Buy was open for business, and I went inside to the help desk. The young lady manning the desk was the same one who’d assisted me the other day. I asked for Jean-Baptiste Vorbe, and she made a call to his office.

“I think Mr. Vorbe is outside with the police,” she said.

I thanked her, and went outside the store. There weren’t any cops in the front of the building, and I walked around to the back. A police cruiser was parked by the Dumpsters, and I saw two cops standing on ladders, poking through the garbage with long sticks. Several torn bags lay on the ground. I looked for Vorbe, but didn’t see him.

“She isn’t here, and neither’s her kid,” one of the uniforms said.

“Keep looking,” the other said.

“We should have brought some fly spray.”

“Tell me about it.”

I climbed the stairs to the loading dock, and found Vorbe standing next to the building. He wore a white shirt and black tie, and was leaning on his cane. His brow glistened with sweat, and his graying hair looked electrified in the midday sun.

“Mr. Carpenter,” Vorbe said.

“I need to speak with you,” I said.

“Of course.”

“I hear Detective Cheeks came to see you yesterday.”

Vorbe looked at me in alarm. “Who told you this?”

“LeAnn Grimes. She said that Detective Cheeks tried to coerce you into saying untrue things about her son. Is that true?”

Vorbe glanced at the cops picking through the Dumpster, and lowered his voice. “Detective Cheeks was acting very ugly, very crude. He peppered me with questions about Jed Grimes-Did I remember how many times he’d visited my store? Had I ever seen him with a woman named Piper Stone? Did I know where he might have hidden his wife and son?-and then asked me if I’d testify against him at his trial. When I hesitated, Detective Cheeks yelled at me. I felt like…”

His voice trailed off and I pressed him. “Like what?”

“I do not feel comfortable saying this.”

“Say it anyway.”

“I felt he was trying to intimidate me.”

Vorbe lowered his eyes. My gut told me that he wasn’t telling me everything that had happened. I put my hand on his sleeve, and felt his body tense up.

“What else happened?” I asked.

“Else?” he said.

“The rest of it.”

Vorbe hesitated, then the words poured out. “Detective Cheeks said that I should not talk to any other police officers about the case. He was emphatic about this. He said that if I did, I would pay. Then he told me he would be back.”

“Was his tone threatening?”

“Very.”

Down below, the cops had finished their search and had climbed off their ladders. They retied the torn bags of garbage lying on the ground and hoisted them back into the Dumpster. Then they came over to the loading dock, and thanked Vorbe for his help. Their cruiser kicked up loose gravel as it drove away.

I faced Vorbe. He was still sweating, and his eyes were glassy. Cheeks had done a real number on him. The police were supposed to protect the weak and the innocent, and Cheeks was threatening them instead. I decided it was time to find out why.

“I’m sorry Cheeks put you through this,” I said.

“I don’t want any more trouble,” Vorbe said. “Especially from Detective Cheeks.”

“I’ll take care of Cheeks,” I said.