“I want to find Sampson Grimes, too,” Moody said. “Unfortunately, Cheeks didn’t bring anyone into the loop regarding the investigation. From what I can gather, you know as much as he does.”
“More,” I said.
“All right, you know more. I’d like to offer you a deal.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m putting another detective in charge of finding Sampson Grimes. I need you to bring that detective up to speed. In exchange, I’ll pay you for your time.”
“Put me in charge of the investigation.”
“That’s out of the question. I can’t have you running things.”
I’d fallen on hard times since leaving the force, yet I’d never regretted the decision. It had allowed me to listen to my conscience. I stood up.
“Have a nice day,” I said.
“You’re being unreasonable,” Moody said.
“Cheeks put you in a tough spot. He botched the investigation, then ignored evidence that it was an abduction. How’s that going to look when it hits the news?”
“Jack, sit down.”
“It’s going to look horrible. Only Cheeks is sick, so he won’t get blamed. You’ll get blamed. Your only salvation is finding Sampson Grimes. Put me in charge.”
“I can’t do that. But I will offer you a compromise.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you remember Candice Burrell?”
“Sure, I trained her.”
“I’m putting Burrell in charge of the investigation.”
Burrell was one of the smartest detectives on the force. So smart that she’d been passed over for countless promotions, while lesser lights had risen to the top. If anyone could clean up Ron Cheeks’s mess, it was Candy.
“I’ll work with Burrell on one condition,” I said.
“Name it.”
“I want access to the crime scene and the investigation’s case file.”
“Done. Now let’s talk about your fee.”
“I’m already being paid by the Grimes family.”
Moody rose from his desk. “I’m glad we’ve reached this decision.”
Sometimes bullshit gets in the way of what’s important. I removed the photo of Sampson that I’d printed off Lowman’s computer, and dropped it on Moody’s desk.
“This photo was taken in a Fort Lauderdale hotel,” I said. “The interior looks like it’s a chain hotel. The guys need to examine it.”
Moody’s face lit up. “I’ll put them right on it. Anything else?”
I started to say no, then remembered Lowman. I wrote his address on a slip of paper, and gave it to Moody. “There’s a pervert in the lockup named Lonnie Lowman,” I said. “I cut a deal with him, and destroyed a DVD of him confessing to a bunch of crimes. I ran the DVD on his computer, so there’s a copy on the hard drive. You need to send someone over to Lowman’s house to retrieve it.”
Moody stared at the address and nodded.
“I’ll put an officer right on it,” he said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
R edemption.
It was just a word until you experienced it; then it was like no other feeling in the world. I was working with the Broward cops again, and I was doing it on my terms. It didn’t get any sweeter than that.
I was sitting in traffic on 595, listening to Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” on the car stereo while smelling the salty ocean breeze through my open window. My wife believed that everything in the world happened for a reason, and I thought about all the good things that had happened to me since my fight with Cheeks in the grove. I decided to call her, and as I punched her number into my cell phone, it began to ring.
Not many people had my cell number. I stared at my cell phone’s face. Caller ID said UNKNOWN.
“Carpenter here,” I answered.
“Is this the Jack Carpenter, the ex-cop who finds missing kids?” a man asked.
“You got him. Who’s this?”
“Call me Pepe. One of your pals at the police station gave me your number. I’ve got someone here who wants to speak to you.”
“Put him on,” I said.
The cars in front of me started to move, and I goosed the accelerator.
“This is Sampson,” a tiny voice said.
I lowered the volume on my tape deck. “Sampson Grimes?”
“Yeah,” the boy said.
“Are you all right?”
“No!” Sampson began to wail.
I pressed the cell phone to my ear. It was broiling hot, along with everything else inside my car. “Please talk to me,” I said.
Sampson continued to cry. I tried to determine what the background noises were, and thought I heard a plane passing overhead. Finally, Sampson stopped crying.
“I need to tell you something,” the boy said.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“Tell Grandpa…”
“Yes?”
“…to stop talking to the FBI.”
“You want me to tell your grandfather to stop talking to the FBI?” I repeated.
There was a pause, and I heard a man in the background mumble softly.
“Yeah,” Sampson said.
“I want to talk to the man you’re with,” I said.
A car horn honked in the background, followed by the sound of another airplane. I guessed they were calling from a pay phone near the Hollywood/Fort Lauderdale airport. The airport was isolated, and did not have many retail stores nearby.
“I’m back,” Pepe said.
“I want you to release the boy,” I said.
“Fat chance, brother.”
“You’re getting paid to hold the boy by his kidnapper,” I said. “Let him go, and I’ll pay you more.”
Pepe laughed derisively. “I’ve heard about your deals. No thanks.”
Pepe dropped the phone, and I heard it bang against a wall. Then I heard a car pull away, its muffler rattling loudly. There was a convenience store on Griffin Road by the airport that had a bank of pay phones outside the store. It was only a minute away. I pulled onto the highway’s shoulder and hit the gas. Pepe sounded smart, and I didn’t think he’d speed away, arousing suspicion. With any luck, I’d catch him.
I drove with my eyes peeled to the oncoming traffic, looking for a car with a dying muffler. At the convenience store on Griffin Road I slowed to stare at the pay phones on the side of the building. One was off the hook.
I raced down Griffin Road toward I-95. I’ve always been good at putting myself in a criminal’s shoes, and anticipating how they were going to act. I decided that Pepe had gotten onto I-95, and headed north into Fort
