Burrell flipped over the last two photographs. They were both aerial shots, and showed two Hispanic guys, one skinny and missing several teeth, the other older and overweight. It was the same pair I’d chased on I-95 that morning.
“Where did you get these?” I asked.
“They’re from the DEA, courtesy of my friend with the FBI. The skinny one’s named Pepito Suarez, and his partner just goes by Oscar. They’re Colombian hit men. They worked for the Cali drug cartel, then got involved in a shootout down in Miami and killed two DEA agents. They’ve been on the run ever since. Word is, they hire themselves out to drug dealers, and help them collect their money.”
“These are the guys I saw this morning,” I said.
“That’s what I figured. Guess who they’re friends with?”
“I have no idea.”
Burrell tapped the photograph of Cody Barnes. “Jed’s neighbor, that’s who.”
“And you think Jed asked Cody Barnes to hire these goons to watch his son,” I said.
“That’s exactly what I think.”
I pushed myself away from the desk. The scenario Burrell was suggesting looked great on paper, and that’s the only place it looked good. It had FBI written all over it, and I sensed that Burrell’s friend at the Bureau was behind it.
“You’re wrong, and so’s your friend at the FBI,” I said.
Burrell threw her Gatorade at my head. I ducked, and heard the bottle hit the wall.
“Prove it,” she said angrily.
Scotch-taped to the wall were several photographs of Sampson, and I pulled down the one that showed him riding a bright blue tricycle.
“See this tricycle?” I said. “I saw it in the backyard of Jed’s house, along with a dozen toys and a plastic swimming pool. I also saw a bedroom filled with toys, and cute wallpaper with cartoon characters. Do you know how much that stuff costs?”
Burrell shook her head. The look on her face said she wanted to kill me.
“Try hundreds and hundreds of dollars,” I said.
“So what?”
“Jed Grimes was trying to be a good father.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Everything. What kind of father hires a pair of professional killers to guard his son?”
Burrell swallowed hard. “A bad one.”
“That’s right, a bad one. Bad fathers feed their kids cold SpaghettiOs and let them watch X-rated movies. They don’t buy them tricycles and expensive toys.”
I picked up her bottle of Gatorade from the floor, and put it on the desk. Then I headed for the door. “You’re going down the wrong road. Jed Grimes is a victim. If you arrest him, you’ll end up ruining your career. I’d be willing to put money on it.”
Burrell sank down into her chair. “What should I do?”
“You need to refocus your investigation. Yesterday I gave the chief a photograph of Sampson sitting in a dog crate in a hotel room. Has anyone tried to figure out which hotel chain the photo was taken in?”
“The techs examined it. They couldn’t tell which hotel it was.”
“Then call Sally Haskell. She should be able to help us.”
“I thought Sally was running security for Disney,” Burrell said.
“She is. A guy on her staff is an expert at identifying hotel interiors. He helped me find a man who’d abducted his daughter, and was sending his ex-wife photos. Sally’s guy identified the hotel chain they were staying in, and where it was located.”
“I’ll call her right now.”
I opened the door while continuing to stare at Burrell. I had trained her the same way I’d trained every detective who’d ever worked for me. It was all about following your instincts. She was losing sight of that, and letting outsiders cloud her judgment.
“How long did you work for me?” I asked.
“Six and a half years,” she said.
“What was the first thing I ever taught you?”
“It’s all about the kid.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
I drove to a convenience store a few blocks away, buying a package of cupcakes and a Dr Pepper for myself, some beef jerky for Buster. I had stopped eating junk food years ago, except when I was working a case. Then it was the only thing I ate.
As I paid up, I saw a stack of local newspapers by the register. The headline read NIGHT STALKER TO DIE. I bought a copy, and read the article in my car.
The article didn’t say anything new. Abb would be executed by lethal injection in three days. The governor wasn’t going to stop it, and none of the organizations against capital punishment were voicing a protest. His time had run out.
The article had a sidebar that talked about the seven Jane Does. Forensic imaging had been performed on each victim using pictures of their skulls in the hope that someone might recognize them. I looked at their faces long and hard. Maybe someday we’d know who they were. But I had a feeling that someday was a long way off.
My cell phone rang as I was pulling out of the lot. I pulled the phone off the Velcro on the dash, and flipped it open.
“Carpenter here.”
“My name is Charles Crippen,” a man with a deep voice said. “You may have heard of me. I own a law firm in town.”
I had heard of Charles Crippen. He was considered one of the better lawyers in south Florida. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crippen?” I replied.
“One of my employees has gone missing. I need you to find her.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m working a case.”
“Her name is Piper Stone. She was in the process of filing an appeal for a stay of execution for Abb Grimes, and now no one can find her.”
An icy finger ran down the length of my spine. I turned my wheels so my vehicle was pointed at the street.
“Give me your address,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
C rippen amp; Howe had been advertising on billboards throughout the county since I was a kid. The ads showed two men. Charles Crippen, the firm’s elder statesman, wore a neatly trimmed goatee and a yachtsman’s deep tan, while his partner, Bernie Howe, was a bulldog with a bad hair replacement job. Their law firm occupied a two-story Spanish colonial on Broward Boulevard surrounded by an imposing wrought-iron fence.
I parked in the private lot behind the building, grabbed my dog, and walked down a sidewalk to the front entrance. The gate was locked, and I pressed the buzzer while looking into the lens of a boxy security camera.
“May I help you?” a woman’s voice said over the intercom.
“Jack Carpenter for Charles Crippen.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“I’m here about Piper Stone.”
“Stay right there.”
I waited. The sun was shining and sweat poured down my back. Finally, the receptionist returned. “Mr.
