“Yes, Daddy?”
“I was serious what I said about that announcer. He’s nearly my age.”
“Good-bye, Daddy.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
J ed’s mother’s name was LeAnn Grimes. I’d seen her on the news and still remembered her story. She came from a family of citrus farmers, and was a small woman with a pretty face and nervous hands. She’d sat dutifully behind Abb during his trial, and when the guilty verdict was read, had sobbed uncontrollably.
She lived on Magnolia Lane in west Davie. The house was made of cinder blocks and was rather small, with dark shades covering the windows, and several “No Trespassing” signs displayed prominently on the lawn. I parked across the street. A group of six tourists stood on the sidewalk snapping pictures. They had accents that I couldn’t place, and had come in a van. They were dressed alike, and wore black pants and black T-shirts that featured the infamous picture of Abb Grimes holding his last victim in his arms. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, except they mentioned the Night Stalker over and over, their voices hushed and reverential. Abb had gone to prison over a dozen years ago, yet it was obvious his infamy lived on.
I waited until the tourists were gone before knocking on LeAnn Grimes’s front door. It cracked open, and a white-haired woman with sunken eyes stared at me. It was LeAnn. The years had taken their toll, and robbed her face of its natural beauty.
“Don’t tell me you want your picture taken,” LeAnn said.
“I’m Jack Carpenter,” I said. “Your husband hired me to find your grandson. I’m here to speak with Jed.”
She looked me up and down. “What’s with the mutt?”
“He’s my partner.”
LeAnn opened the front door and ushered me inside. Her movements were slow, as if an invisible weight rested on her shoulders. She led me to the living room, which was dark save for the TV playing in the corner, and dropped onto a couch that had seen better days. I stood in front of the couch, Buster by my side.
“Is Jed here?” I asked.
“He’s taking a shower. Do you have any news about my grandson?”
“Not yet,” I said.
She shut her eyes and placed her hands in her lap. She looked like she was going into a trance, and a long moment passed. I let my eyes wander the room. Most of the furniture was tagged for sale, and I glanced at a lamp on a table. The price was $2,000. It seemed an outrageous amount, and I checked the tags on several other items. They were also in the stratosphere.
“See anything you like?” LeAnn asked, her eyes now open.
“A little expensive for my taste,” I replied.
“The tagged items were my husband’s things,” she explained. “Jed plans to auction them on eBay after the execution. I think I hear him now.”
Jed Grimes entered the living room a few moments later. Boyish and handsome, he stood about six feet and was blessed with a lean, muscular body. He didn’t look old enough to be shaving, much less have a three-year-old son. Seeing me, his eyes narrowed, and I felt him sizing me up.
“This is Jack Carpenter, the man your father hired to find Sampson,” his mother said. “That’s his dog.”
Jed nodded woodenly at me.
“Glad to meet you,” I said.
“I heard you were a cop,” Jed said.
“I was. Not anymore.”
“You bring any cops with you?”
I pointed at Buster. “He’s one. That’s his disguise.”
LeAnn let out a throaty laugh. It brought Jed’s guard down, and I crossed the living room and stuck out my hand. He smiled thinly and shook it.
“We need to talk about Sampson,” I said.
“Let’s go outside,” he said. “My mom’s favorite program is on.”
Jed led me outside to the garage. Buster caught a scent as we entered, and vanished into the back. Square and high-ceilinged, the rafters were adorned with stolen street signs and old license plates. Thumbtacked to the walls were a collection of old Playboy calendars, including a centerfold of Anna Nicole Smith from 1993. The workbench, which took up the back wall, was filled with rusty tools. A thin layer of dust had settled over the floor, and lifted mysteriously each time we moved.
In the center of the garage sat a vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle with chrome so shiny that I could see my reflection in it. It was the only thing in the place that was clean and looked well-maintained. Jed leaned against the seat, and faced me.
“You going to sell the bike?” I asked.
“My father wanted me to keep it,” Jed replied. “He’s going to die soon. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes. Did your father tell you to sell the stuff in the house?”
“Yeah. Called it his life insurance policy.”
Jed’s voice was flat, but there was pain in it. I stepped in front of the bike, and looked him in the eye. Most people hate when I do this, but Jed didn’t flinch.
“I have a pretty good idea who kidnapped your son,” I said.
Jed nearly fell down. “You do? Who?”
“Someone in the neighborhood who had a score to settle with your father.”
“Okay.”
“But I’m having a problem moving my investigation forward.”
“Why?”
“Because the police think you’re guilty. Until I can convince them that you didn’t kidnap your son, I’m stuck.”
“The police. ” Jed said the word like it was a curse. He lowered his gaze, and stared at the concrete floor. “What do you want me to do?”
“You could start by answering some questions for me.”
“Go ahead.”
“You tried to burn this garage down four years ago. Why did you do that?”
He swallowed hard. “What’s that got-”
“Just answer me.”
“A kid at school told me my daddy was worse than Ed Gein. I didn’t know who he was, so I looked him up. Ed Gein was a serial killer who made furniture from women’s body parts. They based the movies Psycho and Silence of the Lambs on him. The article said that after Gein was arrested, the local townspeople burned his house to the ground.”
“So you decided to burn your father’s garage,” I said.
Jed nodded. “I was kind of crazy back then.”
“Next question. You failed a polygraph test. Why did you lie to the police?”
“I only lied about one thing.”
I crossed my arms and waited for him to continue.
“I told the police I was at home when Sampson was taken,” Jed explained. “I was actually next door, bumming a joint from my neighbor.”
“You smoke dope?” I asked.
“I quit a year ago,” Jed said. “It was for my friend Ronnie, who was in the house with me. He still gets high.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police that?”
“I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
