James Swain - The Night Stalker

I held up my phone, and again hit play. A film of Jean-Baptiste Vorbe lying in a bed in the emergency ward at the hospital appeared. Pumped up with drugs, he had continued his confession when I’d arrived, and I had filmed it as well.

“When I called the police that morning, I asked for Detective Cheeks,” Vorbe said in his beautiful lilting voice. “At the store we gave free doughnuts to the police, and Cheeks often came in. He was bitter about being passed over for a promotion. I felt certain that he would take this case, and use it to make himself look good.”

“Tell me why you kidnapped Sampson,” I said in the background.

“I had to silence Abb,” Vorbe said matter-of-factly. “I delivered groceries to his wife’s house, and LeAnn and I were friends. When LeAnn told me Abb was going to let the FBI hypnotize him, I decided to kidnap his grandson.”

“You contacted a group of pedophiles online,” I said. “Why?”

“I knew Sampson, and what a problem he could be,” Vorbe said. “I needed help taking him from his bedroom, so I reached out to those men.”

“Did you plan to kill Piper Stone?” I asked.

“No. She came to my office, and asked a few questions. I saw her stiffen, and realized I had tripped up. So I strangled her, and threw her in the trash.”

“Is that when you decided to frame Jed?”

“Yes. It seemed an excellent time,” Vorbe said.

I folded my cell phone. The cell fell silent. Abb stared at me with his dead eyes. It was like he was there, only he wasn’t there. Father Kelly rose from the bench.

“Abb, do you understand what this means?” the priest asked.

“I was sleepwalking when I killed those women,” Abb said.

Father Kelly put his hands on Abb’s shoulders. “No, no, my son! You didn’t kill anyone. You were framed. You’re innocent.”

“What do you mean?” Abb said.

“The grocery store manager is the real Night Stalker, not you,” the priest said. “This has all been a terrible, terrible mistake.”

Abb swallowed hard. Then he looked at the warden.

“You still going to execute me?” Abb asked.

He doesn’t believe it, I thought. Not a single damn word. I guessed that was what happened when you robbed a man of his freedom. He stopped believing in the truth.

Warden Jackson rose, and put his hand on Abb’s shoulder. “On the contrary, Abb. We’re going to release you.”

“Release me?” Abb said.

“Yes,” the warden said. “I spoke to the governor earlier. He believes a terrible miscarriage of justice has taken place, and plans to sign the papers granting you your freedom once they reach his desk.”

“I’m going to go free?” Abb asked.

“Yes, Abb,” the warden said.

Abb closed his eyes, and for a moment I thought he was going to weep. Instead, he dropped to his knees, and went into a fetal curl on the concrete floor.

They didn’t release Abb from prison right away. Too much had happened in the world during his twelve-year incarceration that Abb didn’t know about, and throwing him back into society was not in his best interests. Instead, the state moved him to a minimum security facility a few miles outside of Starke, and had counselors and psychologists work with him, and bring him up to speed. One day I read in the newspaper that he was finally going home.

Not long after, Jessie came to Fort Lauderdale for a basketball game, and decided to see Heather. She asked me to join her. I normally didn’t stay in touch with my clients after a case was closed, but the Grimes family was different, and I wanted to see how they were doing. I said yes, and Jessie and I drove over together.

The Grimes house looked different from the last time I’d seen it. The blinds were gone from the windows, and the “No Trespassing” signs removed from the lawn. I knocked on the front door, and Abb opened it. He’d put on a few pounds, and his hair was shorn and neatly parted. I shed the bag to show him the beer I’d brought, and his eyes lit up.

“Doesn’t that look good,” he said.

Abb led us inside, where we found Heather and Jed sitting on the living room floor playing with Sampson. Jessie got on the floor, and soon I couldn’t tell who was screaming the loudest, Sampson or my nineteen-year-old daughter.

“That beer’s getting warm,” I heard Abb say.

I followed him outside, where we stood in the front yard and drank beer and talked. Mostly about what had happened to him, but also about fishing and college football and all the things that people in this neck of the world tended to talk about. Abb had heard about Buster, and I got my dog out of my car, and coaxed him into letting Abb pet him.

LeAnn came outside and joined us on the lawn. She wore a simple red dress and a touch of makeup, and had a red bow tied in her hair. Her face had lost its anguish, and in her eyes I saw a spark that had not been there before.

“What’s going to happen to Detective Cheeks?” she asked.

Cheeks had been indicted, and I’d heard that the district attorney was going to make an example of him.

“He’s going to jail for a long time,” I replied.

My answer seemed to satisfy her. From the pocket of her dress, LeAnn removed a small white envelope, and handed it to me. I started to put the envelope into my pocket, and she asked me to open it.

I tore the envelope open. Inside was a color photograph of Abb, Sampson, and Jed sitting on Abb’s motorcycle. Their physical resemblance was uncanny, right down to their toothy grins. I slipped it into my shirt pocket.

“That’s a keeper,” I said.

LeAnn kissed me on the cheek. I wasn’t expecting that, or the long hug that came with it. She went back inside without another word.

Abb and I finished drinking the beers. Then, in a quiet voice, he told me how the state was planning to compensate him for the years he’d spent in prison, and pay him for every day he’d been behind bars, adjusted for inflation. He told me the sum, which was over a million dollars, and laughed under his breath.

“One day I’m sitting on death row, the next I win the lottery,” he said.

There was no restitution for lost time. But the money was better than nothing. I slapped him on the shoulder, and told him that I hoped he enjoyed the rest of his life.

“I’m sure going to try,” Abb said. “There’s something I was meaning to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Those Jane Does I was accused of killing. Were the police able to identify them?”

The question hit me hard, and it took a moment for me to realize why. Abb still cared about those women. He’d always cared, even when he was sitting on death row, awaiting the executioner’s song. He was a good man, and it was a crying shame that no one had seen it before.

“The police found their identification in Vorbe’s bedroom,” I said. “Their families have been contacted and given the news.”

“So it’s all finished and done with,” Abb said.

I nodded. The case was closed, the files put to bed.

“Good,” he said.

Jessie came outside. Her basketball game was in a few hours, and she needed to get back to her hotel. I said good-bye to Abb, and fetched Buster from the bushes. Abb waved to us from the curb as we pulled away.

“Did you have fun?” I asked.

Jessie smiled. I removed LeAnn’s photograph from my pocket, and showed it to her. She said, “Oh, wow,” under her breath, and didn’t speak again until we were sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the interstate.

“Is this why you do it?” my daughter asked.

She was still holding the photo in her hand.

I pulled my eyes away from the road. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t just save Sampson. You saved all of them, Daddy. Is that why you take the chances you take?”