The Night Stalker

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

D ialing information, I obtained Father Kelly’s phone number in Starke. I called the number, and a woman answered who identified herself as his wife. She was polite, and gave me the number of his parish office in town. I called it, and let the phone ring a dozen times. Father Kelly answered sounding out of breath.

“I was just leaving for the prison to be with Abb,” Father Kelly said. “What can I do for you?”

It took me a moment to realize what Father Kelly meant. He was Abb Grimes’s priest, and was going to be at Starke Prison when Abb was put to death.

“I’m calling about Jed,” I said. “I think he might be able to lead the police to his missing wife and son, but he’s refusing to talk to anyone.”

“Do you want me to talk with him?”

“Yes.”

“Consider it done.”

I asked Kelly to stay by his phone at the parish, and told him someone would call back soon. Kelly promised to be there and hung up. I handed the chief the phone.

“Put Jed into a room with a telephone, and leave the rest to me,” I said.

I went downstairs to the booking area and retrieved my clothes and personal items. A long line of perps was waiting to be processed. Looking in their faces, I saw the same desperate look I’d seen in my own reflection a short while ago.

I changed clothes in a bathroom and dried my gun with the hand dryer. I came out to find Burrell in the hallway. She led me outside the building to the smoking area. It was free of smokers, but she still spoke in a whisper.

“Listen, Jack,” she said. “I spoke to a couple of older detectives who work in Homicide. Evidence in murder cases just doesn’t disappear. If Cheeks destroyed those slippers and sleeping medication, other detectives in the department knew about it.”

“You think there was a conspiracy?” I asked.

“Call it an agreement to look the other way.”

“Why?”

“Maybe they wanted to make sure Abb Grimes got the death penalty. Didn’t you?”

I would have been lying if I’d said that I hadn’t wanted Abb to be put to death for the crimes he’d committed. But wanting an evil person to die, and destroying evidence that proved he was crazy, were two entirely different things.

“Not that badly,” I said.

We went inside and headed to the basement. While one of the interrogation rooms was being outfitted with a phone, Burrell and I sat in the adjacent room along with the chief, and watched through the two-way mirror as a technician ran a line into the room, then stapled the line to the carpet in the floor.

“Here he comes,” Burrell said.

Jed entered the interrogation room wearing a pale blue jumpsuit. His handcuffs and leg irons were connected to a chain that was padlocked to a metal belly band encircling his waist. Seeing the mirror, he shook his handcuffs defiantly.

“Crummy cops!” he shouted.

His escorts were two muscular guards. One pushed him into a chair.

“Sit down, and shut up,” the guard said.

The guard looked at the mirror and raised his eyebrows. The chief pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to me. Typed on it was a phone number.

“That’s the number for the phone in the room,” the chief explained.

I took out my cell phone, and called Father Kelly at his parish. This time, he answered on the first ring.

“Jed is sitting in an interrogation room at police headquarters,” I said. “I’m going to give you a number for a phone in that room. I want you to call Jed, and see if you can get him to talk.”

“I’ll do my best,” Father Kelly said.

I gave him the number and hung up. Ten seconds later, the phone in the interrogation room rang. A guard put the call on speaker phone, and Father Kelly’s voice came out of the speaker.

“Hello, Jed? This is Father Kelly calling.”

Jed twitched like he’d been hit by a cattle prod. Bending his body at the waist, he brought his mouth down closer to the phone.

“Hey, Father Kelly,” he whispered.

“I need to talk to you, Jed,” the priest said.

“Okay,” he replied.

Jed knew we were eavesdropping.

Each time Father Kelly asked him a question, Jed dropped his voice, and mumbled a one-syllable response, while his eyes shifted suspiciously around the interrogation room. I had known hardened criminals who were not as distrustful of the police as he was.

Father Kelly didn’t give up. The questions kept coming, and little by little, I saw Jed’s chin drop, and the steely look in his eyes begin to fade. Father Kelly was playing on his conscience, and gradually wearing him down.

“You love Heather and your son, don’t you?” Father Kelly asked.

“Yeah,” Jed mumbled.

“Love them with all your heart, and all your soul?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re in trouble, you realize that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We have to help them. You must talk to the police.”

“No.”

“Why won’t you talk to the police, Jed?”

“Because the police lie. ”

It was the first time he’d uttered a real sentence.

“You must work with the police,” Father Kelly said emphatically. “They need to eliminate you as a suspect, so they can find the person who’s behind this. I know this is hard to believe, but the police are your friends.”

Jed jumped up from his chair. “Why don’t you tell that to my daddy, Father Kelly? Tell him what great friends the police are when they stick a needle in his arm tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’d love to hear that.”

I rose from my chair. Jed’s hatred for the police was too great for him to willingly help us. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get to the truth. I quietly left the room.

Burrell and the chief must have thought I was going to the bathroom, because they didn’t follow me. I went next door, and entered the interrogation room. Both guards looked at me, and assuming I was a detective, let me enter.

I stood in front of Jed’s chair. “Remember me?”

Jed stared at me with hatred in his eyes. “Yeah.”

“I want to help you,” I said.

“That’s another lie,” Jed said.

“I know about your father’s slippers and the sleeping medication he was taking,” I said. “Detective Cheeks told me that he destroyed them. I’m going to make sure a judge knows about it, too. That’s a promise, son.”

Jed reeled back in his chair, and I saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You mean that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Your daddy was insane when he murdered those women. You’ve known it for years, but Detective Cheeks made sure that no one would listen to you. Then, when your son was abducted, Cheeks pointed the finger at you so he could get you out of the way.”

Jed was shaking. “That’s right.”

“You didn’t kidnap your son, or murder your father’s lawyer, or kill any of those women the police found at the landfill. You didn’t do any of those things, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“If I asked you to swear on a stack of Bibles, and take a polygraph test, you’d do that to show the police they’re wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

I had broken through. Kneeling, I placed my hand on his arm. “Tell me about your conversation with Heather this morning. Where did she go?”

Jed shrank in his chair, his voice a whisper. “I don’t know.”

“She offered to get something for you to eat. What was it?”

He hesitated, thinking back. “I told Heather that all I’d been eating was potato chips and sodas, and she offered to get me something.”

“Was she going to a restaurant?”

“She said she was going to surprise me.”

“What are your favorite restaurants?”

“You know, the usual places.”

“Tell me.”

“McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Burger King. I also like Steak and Shake.”

“Are all of those restaurants within walking distance to your mother’s house?”

“Yeah,” Jed said.

I patted his arm and rose from the floor. Our killer worked in a restaurant somewhere in LeAnn Grimes’s neighborhood. He was right under our noses.

“You going to find Heather and Sampson?” Jed asked.

Before I could reply, the door to the interrogation room banged open, and I saw the chief standing in the hall.

“Get the hell out here!” the chief roared.