The Night Stalker

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T he sunlight was beginning to fade as I pulled into the Sunset’s parking lot, and I knew I didn’t have much time left. Walking down to the shoreline, I pulled off my clothes, and dove headfirst into a wave.

The water was tepid, and tiny schools of minnows tickled my legs as I headed out to my regular spot. I’d gone swimming here the day my marriage had fallen apart, and it had given me the strength to get on with my life. The backstroke was my specialty, and I flopped onto my back, and began doing laps.

I searched for a cloud in the sky but couldn’t find one. My body was tired and I could not find the rhythm to my stroke. I’d been looking for missing kids nearly all my adult life, and I’d never been forced to leave a case before it was finished. It made me angry enough to scream, so I did.

Soon it was dark, and I decided to head in. Reaching the shore, I found a cold sixteen-ounce Budweiser half-buried in the sand next to my dog. I popped the top and let the beer pour down my throat. Then I threw my clothes back on, and went inside the Sunset. The bar was quiet, and I found Sonny watching the evening news.

“Where are the Dwarfs?” I asked.

“Over at the jai alai fronton, losing their money,” Sonny replied.

I took a stool, and watched the TV. The news was showing the manhunt taking place in LeAnn Grimes’s neighborhood, the police using bloodhounds and policemen on horseback to scour the alleyways and backyards in search of Jed Grimes. Toward the end of the segment, an aerial shot taken from a helicopter appeared, and showed bags of garbage lying on the ground next to the Dumpsters behind the Smart Buy.

The shot made me think back to my discovery of Piper Stone’s body. Before her killer had tossed Stone into the Dumpster, he’d removed a bag of garbage, and put it on the ground. Then he’d tossed Stone in, and covered her with the first bag. It hadn’t seemed significant to me at the time, but now it did.

The segment ended, and I slapped my hand on the bar. Sonny thought I wanted another beer, and placed a fresh can in front of me.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” I swore.

“What’d I do?” Sonny asked.

I pointed at the TV. “I meant the killer.”

“Oh. What about him?”

“I was there at the grocery, and I missed something. The killer had the presence of mind to cover his tracks. That’s not normal.”

“It’s not?”

The beer had rushed to my head, and I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Not with a murder like this. The guy just strangled a woman. His heart is racing a hundred miles an hour. What is his mind telling him to do?”

Sonny scratched his chin and gave it some thought. “Run?”

“That’s right, run. Only he had the presence of mind not to. Instead he took the time to remove a bag of garbage from the Dumpster, put it on the ground, then put his victim in, and cover her up. What does that tell you?”

Sonny wasn’t too quick on the draw, and he gave it some more thought.

“That he’s a master criminal?”

“He’s more than that,” I said. “Even master criminals lose their cool when they’re committing a crime, especially a cold-blooded murder. This guy didn’t lose his cool.”

“You make him sound like a genius,” Sonny said.

I looked down at the water-stained bar while playing back everything I knew. Whoever was responsible for these crimes had out-smarted the police every step of the way. He planned his crimes meticulously, and he didn’t leave clues.

“He is a genius,” I said quietly. “Only the police haven’t figured that out yet.”

“What a surprise,” Sonny said. “Drink your beer.”

The second beer went down way too easily, as did the third. Soon the Dwarfs appeared, and the place got noisy. I went upstairs and stretched out on my bed with Buster curled up beside me. Shutting my eyes, I was soon floating in that hazy area between sleep and reality.

“Jack.”

The voice came out of nowhere. I opened my eyes, and found myself standing behind the Smart Buy next to the Dumpsters. Unearthly shadows danced across the property beneath a full moon.

“Jack.”

I spun around, trying to determine where the voice had come from.

“Jack.”

I looked at the Dumpsters. The milk crate I’d used that morning was still there. I stepped onto it, and flipped open the closest Dumpster’s lid. The interior was filled with black garbage bags that shimmered eerily beneath the moonlight.

“Jack.”

A bag in the back caught my eye. A woman’s face was pushing through the plastic. I pulled the bag toward me and tore it open.

“Hold on,” I said.

As the plastic came away, Piper Stone’s face materialized. Her mouth was still frozen, her neck ringed by her killer’s hands. Her eyes snapped open.

“Jack!” she said.

I tried to reply, but the words were frozen in my mouth. Stone sat upright, and put her hands around my forearms. I tried to pull back, but her grip was like iron.

“Help me,” she said.

Her eyes were hollow and black. Suddenly the other bags in the Dumpster came to life, the plastic shredding to reveal more dead women lying inside. They sat up, and stared at me with their lifeless eyes.

“Jack!” they all said.

I looked into their faces. The other dead women were young, and their necks had been ravaged by a killer’s hands. The women started to cry, the tears rolling silently down their cheeks. I could not help myself, and began to cry as well.

A pounding on my door snapped me awake. The moon was peeking through my window, and Buster was up on my bed, licking my face.

“It’s open,” I said hoarsely.

Sonny stuck his head in. “You okay?”

I took several deep breaths. “Never better.”

“I heard you yelling, and thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Was I really yelling?”

“Only like someone was sticking a knife in you. Come downstairs and I’ll buy you a beer. I was just cleaning up.”

“What time is it?”

“About three-thirty.”

“Was I really loud?”

“Shit, yeah. I almost called the cops.”

My room had grown chilly, and I draped the bedspread over my shoulders, and followed Sonny downstairs. I took a stool at the bar, and tried to pull myself together. Stone’s haunting voice still rang in my ears. I could feel her hands, and the hands of the other dead women, clutching me like they were never going to let go.

Sonny served me a beer. “This will make you feel better.”

“You think so?” I asked.

“It’s always worked for me.”

I took a swallow. The beer was cold and good, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I pushed it away.

“What was I yelling?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Something about being sorry.”

“Being sorry about what?”

Sonny began to wipe down the bar. “It was weird. You were yelling ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ and your voice kept getting louder. Finally I ran upstairs and woke you up.”

I thought back to the dead women. Each one had seemed real, and not just a figment of my imagination. So real that I’d felt compelled to tell them that I was sorry.

Then I understood what my nightmare had meant, and jumped off my stool.