The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 45

I lifted the compress from his wound. Blood gushed out like a geyser and flowed freely down the driveway. Fear flowed through his eyes.

"My leg," Vorbe gasped.

"First tell me about the women in the alb.u.m," I said.

I held the b.l.o.o.d.y compress in front of his face. It was the only thing that was going to stop the bleeding, and keep him alive. I wasn't going to let him die, just like I hadn't let Cheeks die, only Vorbe didn't know that. It was my last card, and I was going to play it.

"Tell me about the women, or I'm walking away," I said.

"But I'll die," he gasped.

"s.h.i.t happens."

Vorbe blinked, and then he blinked again.

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I used my cell phone to tape Vorbe's confession. The phone let me record Vorbe while filming him at the same time. It was hard to believe what Vorbe was saying, and I didn't think I would have believed it, had I not been inside his house, and seen his garage and photo alb.u.m with my own eyes.

Burrell pulled up in her Mustang. An ambulance soon followed. I waited until the medics were wheeling Vorbe into the back of the ambulance before I pulled Burrell aside, and played Vorbe's confession for her. When it was done, she shook her head.

"But this can't be true," she said.

"You think he's lying?" I said.

"He has to be."

I took Burrell back to Vorbe's house, and showed her what I'd found.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO.

I awoke early the next morning, and drove to Starke Prison with a headache that no amount of Advil seemed to shake. I could have stayed home, and let the prison officials do what needed to be done. But my conscience wouldn't let me, so I made the trip. awoke early the next morning, and drove to Starke Prison with a headache that no amount of Advil seemed to shake. I could have stayed home, and let the prison officials do what needed to be done. But my conscience wouldn't let me, so I made the trip.

At a few minutes past noon, a prison escort led me down a long hallway in death row, and slid back a cell door. I entered to find two men waiting for me. One was tall and trim, and wore a starched white shirt, gray slacks, and a black necktie. The other was small and round, and wore a dark suit with a turned white collar. Hanging from his shoulder was a sash with the faces of black, white, and yellow children.

"You must be Father Kelly," I said.

Father Kelly pumped my hand. "Good job, Jack."

The taller man also shook my hand. "I'm Warden Jackson. Yes, a fine job."

"Where's Abb?" I asked.

"He's being brought from the infirmary," the warden explained. "I'm afraid he's not handling this very well."

"Did you tell him what happened?" I asked.

"I tried to have a conversation with him last night," the warden said. "When I told him that the governor had stayed his execution, he collapsed."

"Where's his wife?" I asked.

"I spoke with LeAnn this morning," Father Kelly said. "Her car broke down during the trip here, and she's stranded in some small town."

I folded my arms, and went to the door to wait for Abb. Father Kelly and the warden took a bench, and began to discuss the best way to explain to Abb what had happened. I cleared my throat, and they stopped talking.

"I want to tell him," I said.

"That's not a good idea," the warden said. "Abb may get emotional, even violent."

"He's my client," I said. "He should hear this from me."

The warden looked at the priest. "Tom? What do you think?"

"Jack's right. He knows the details better than you or I," Father Kelly said.

The warden exhaled deeply. "Very well."

Footsteps rang down the hallway, and I pressed my face to the bars. Abb was being marched down the hall by two guards, and wore a white bathrobe, slippers, and handcuffs. He looked drugged, and moved in slow-motion. The guards led him in, and made him sit on the opposing bench.

I stood in front of him. "Remember me?"

His eyes flickered in recognition.

"I found your grandson," I said.

"Good," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"I also found something else." From my shirt pocket I removed a mug shot of Jean-Baptiste Vorbe, and showed it to him. "Remember him?"

Abb glanced at the mug shot, and shook his head.

"His name is Jean-Baptiste Vorbe. He ran a grocery store in your neighborhood."

Abb looked back at me with his dead eyes.

"He was arrested last night. I want you to see what I found in his house." Taking out my cell phone, I held it up to Abb's face and hit the play b.u.t.ton. I had made a film of the photographs I'd found in the alb.u.m in Vorbe's living room. The dead women's faces were barely discernible on my phone's tiny screen, and Abb squinted as they flashed by.

"Those are photographs of the eighteen women you were accused of killing," I said. "I found them in Vorbe's living room."

Abb twitched like he'd been jabbed with a pin.

"Vorbe is a serial killer," I went on. "He killed women in Haiti twenty years ago, then took a boat ride to Florida, and started killing here. He targeted homeless women and runaways who came into his grocery. He offered them jobs, and when they came to his office, he knocked them out, and took them home. After he had his way with them, he put their bodies in the Dumpsters. Then one night, you appeared behind the grocery."

Abb's eyes went wide.

"You don't remember any of this because you were taking a drug called Ambien," I said. "Ambien is a hypnotic, and can have bad side effects. That night behind the grocery you were sleepwalking. Vorbe's victim was lying on the ground. You picked her up, carried her around the parking lot, then put her down, and left."

Abb jerked his head, and looked directly at Father Kelly. The priest nodded confirmation.

"Vorbe decided to frame you," I said. "He followed you home, and put a box of his victims' underwear in your garage. The next morning, he got the police, and showed them a surveillance video taken by a grocery store camera. You know what happens after that."

Abb looked back at me, his face filled with anger.

"The police should have figured this out the day you were arrested," I said. "You didn't have a criminal record, and there were plenty of holes in Vorbe's story. But it didn't work out that way. I want you to hear why."

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 pa.s.sed 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 d.a.m.n word. I guessed that was what happened when you robbed a man of his freedom. He stopped believing in the truth. I thought. Not a single d.a.m.n 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.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE.

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 Trespa.s.sing" 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.