The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 7

"Okay."

I opened her car door. Rose started to get in, then stopped.

"I almost forgot something," she said.

Buster was sitting beside me, and Rose bent down and kissed the top of his head. Buster had taken a shine to Rose the first day they'd met. My dog was funny that way: he liked the people I liked, and tried to take a piece out of those I didn't.

"You take good care of my husband," she told him.

We kissed again, then she got into her car and drove away. I had never understood what it meant to have a heavy heart. Now I understood it all too well.

Going inside, I heard Sonny call my name from the bar. I stuck my head in to see what he wanted. Sonny had dressed up for work. He wore a Black Sabbath T-shirt with gaping holes in the armpits, and had several silver rings stuck through his eyebrows.

"You just got a phone call," Sonny said.

"Friend or foe?" I asked.

"Some a.s.shole detective wants to talk to you. Said it was important."

"Did he leave a number?"

"Yeah."

At the bar, Sonny handed me the cordless phone and a bowl of table sc.r.a.ps, which I placed on the floor for Buster. In exchange for part of my rent, Sonny saved leftover food for my dog, and I watched Buster noisily chow down.

I felt a pair of eyes staring at me. Sitting at the bar was a perfectly proper British couple eating breakfast. Tourists occasionally ventured into the Sunset, thinking it was a respectable place. Seeing the Dwarfs or my dog usually changed their minds.

"Top of the morning," I said.

The couple settled their check and left. I filched a piece of toast off a plate.

"Where's the number?" I asked.

Sonny opened his hand. The number was written on his palm in red ink. I dialed it, and Cheeks answered.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I just found a guy in the county lockup who's willing to talk to us about Teen Angel," Cheeks said.

"What's his name?"

"Vonell Cook. He said he'll roll on Teen Angel if we put it in writing that he helped us. He's facing ten years to life for molesting a teenage girl."

"Did you agree?" I asked.

"Yeah, I agreed. You need to get your a.s.s over here."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"I'll be waiting. And, Jack? If you bring that G.o.dd.a.m.n dog, I'll take him into the parking lot and shoot him."

"You're all heart," I said.

I made it to sheriff's department headquarters on Military Trail in good time. I didn't have much of a wardrobe, but I'd taken care to put on my cleanest pair of cargo pants and newest Tommy Bahama shirt. People I had once worked with were going to see me, and I wanted to make a decent impression.

Cheeks met me at the reception area wearing a rumpled suit and a hangdog expression. He pulled me to the side, and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry about last night. I was drinking before you called. I shouldn't have gone after you like that."

He was trying to make nice. I didn't see any good reason not to play along.

"How's your arm?" I asked.

Cheeks showed me where Buster had bitten him. The skin was hardly broken. I showed him the bruise on my arm where he'd hit me with his flashlight.

"I guess that makes us even," he said.

"I guess so," I said.

We went downstairs to the interrogation cell where Vonell Cook was being held. Before entering the cell, Cheeks sounded a cautionary note. "Be careful what you say around Vonell's lawyer. He's a tricky son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h."

Broward County had a thousand registered s.e.xual predators, and a small group of lawyers in town made a nice living representing them. These lawyers were sc.u.m, and loathed by everyone but their clients.

We entered the interrogation cell. Vonell Cook sat in a plastic chair, staring at the wall. In his late forties and shaped like a bowling ball, he wore a bright orange jumpsuit and flip-flops that had seen a thousand pairs of feet before his. Beside him stood his lawyer, a bottom-feeder with crooked teeth and shiny hair plastered to his head. I'd heard his name a few times around the courthouse, but had never bothered to remember it.

"Who are you?" the lawyer asked.

"Jack Carpenter."

"I've heard of you," he said.

"Everyone's heard of Jack," Vonell said.

I took that as a compliment. Grabbing the other chair in the room, I sat in it facing Vonell. As I started to speak, his lawyer interrupted me.

"Here's the deal. My client is being charged with having s.e.xual indiscretions with an underage girl. I want those charges dropped to indecent exposure so he won't go to prison with a s.e.xual predator tag on his head. In return, my client will tell you what he knows about Teen Angel."

Vonell's lawyer was playing us like a fiddle, and was going to extract every favor he could on his client's behalf. I glanced at Cheeks.

"You have a deal," Cheeks said.

The lawyer dropped his hand on his client's shoulder.

"I'm glad we've come to this understanding," Vonell said.

"Start talking," I said.

Vonell smiled, more than happy to tell his secret. "You gentlemen are familiar with Internet chat rooms?"

Cheeks and I nodded.

"There are chat rooms for people with different s.e.xual orientations whose members trade information," Vonell said. "Things like how to stay out of jail, what to do if your phones are being tapped, that sort of thing. There is one group that I regularly chat with. We call ourselves the Conspiracy Club and have six members. One member is engaged in frotteurism, another in zoophilia, a third in scatologia, one is into klismaphilia, another in coprophilia, and the last member is a pedophile."

"Hold on," Cheeks said. "Translate the Latin for me. What are these guys doing?"

"Why don't you tell him, Jack?" Vonell suggested.

Like so many s.e.xual predators, Vonell didn't believe the things he did were wrong. Rather, he believed that society was wrong in the way it viewed his behavior. Vonell wanted me to translate to show that he wasn't the only person in the room who knew what these sick obsessions were. For Sampson Grimes's sake, I obliged him.

"Frotteurism is an obsession with rubbing," I explained. "Zoophilia is having s.e.x at the zoo, but not with your girlfriend. Scatologia is a s.e.xual fantasy stimulated by talking or loud belching. Klismaphilia is an obsession with giving and taking enemas-not something you want to put on a job resume. Coprophilia is an obsession with feces. And we all know what a pedophile is."

"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 for playing. Teen Angel was certain about this." 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 h.e.l.l with what Detective Cheeks said. Yes or no?"

s.e.xual predators had a code of silence they rarely broke. But Vonell knew I'd make good on my threat. He let a moment pa.s.s, then replied.

"I believe he was," he said.