The Night Stalker

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.

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 hoarsely.

“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 button. I had made a film of the photographs I’d found in the album 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 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.