"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. 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 Psycho and and Silence of the Lambs Silence of the Lambs on him. The article said that after Gein was arrested, the local townspeople burned his house to the ground." 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, b.u.mming 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."
"It was just a joint."
"My neighbor does a little selling on the side."
Jed had lied to protect someone else. That happened all the time during criminal investigations, and the police were used to it. I needed to get Jed back to the station house and have him take another polygraph.
"If I told you that taking another polygraph would help rescue your son, would you do it?" I asked him.
Jed lifted his gaze. "Not if Detective Cheeks was there."
"You have a problem with Cheeks?"
"Yeah. He hates me."
"Cheeks is in the hospital. I"ll go with you to the police department and be there when they administer the polygraph. I"ll also tell them ahead of time what you did, and ask them not to ask you to finger your neighbor."
"You can do that?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
Jed pushed himself off his father"s motorcycle and slapped me on the shoulder.
"I"m with you, man," he said.
Jed walked me to my car. I had expected him to be an emotionally twisted young man, and was pleasantly surprised by what I"d found. He was surprisingly well adjusted, considering the circ.u.mstances. How Cheeks or anyone else at the police department could consider him their prime suspect was a mystery.
"I"ll need a few hours to get things set up with the police," I said.
"I"ll be here waiting," he said.
I got into my car with my dog. As I started the engine, a car pulled in behind me, and four Asian tourists got out. Like the group I"d seen before, they were dressed in black, and began to photograph the house. I motioned to Jed, and he came to my window.
"How long has this been going on?" I asked.
"Years. Ever since my father was put in prison," he replied. "We usually get six or seven groups a day. They come here, then go to the Smart Buy supermarket."
"What"s at the Smart Buy?"
Jed"s face turned sad, and I realized I"d struck a nerve.
"The Dumpsters," he said quietly.
I didn"t know what to say. Jed banged his hand on my roof, and went back inside.
I watched the Asians for a while. For them, Abb"s house was a tourist attraction, and it bothered me how much they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Finally, they got back into their rental car, and drove away. One of them had a map, and was giving directions to the driver. I decided to follow.
They drove three blocks down Magnolia, then turned into the parking lot of a grocery store. As I followed them into the lot, I saw that it was a Smart Buy. Jed had been right: the Asians were going to finish their tour by seeing the Dumpsters where Abb had killed and disposed of his victims.
I followed them around to the rear of the store. The building had a flat roof and peeling orange stucco, and sat on a low parcel of land. In back was a loading dock where trucks brought deliveries. Next to it, the infamous Dumpsters.
The Asian tourists parked next to the Dumpsters and got out of their car. Then they started taking pictures. I parked well behind them, and had a look around.
The old neighborhood. I hadn"t understood what Jessie had meant earlier, but now I did. Abb"s house hadn"t changed in twelve years, and neither had the site of his killings. The place was a time warp. I hadn"t understood what Jessie had meant earlier, but now I did. Abb"s house hadn"t changed in twelve years, and neither had the site of his killings. The place was a time warp.
One of the tourists approached my car. He was smiling and holding an expensive camera. I stared at his T-shirt. On it was a picture of Abb Grimes holding his last victim. The picture had been enhanced, and showed bright red blood dripping out of the victim"s mouth. It triggered a lot of painful memories, and I thought of the seven Jane Does I"d never identified. Those women had suffered and died, and this guy was wearing a T-shirt that exploited them.
"Excuse me," the man said in broken English.
"You"re excused," I said.
"Would you take a photograph of me and my friends?"
I shook my head.
"I will pay you," he offered.
"Not interested," I said.
The man pulled out his wallet, and dangled a twenty-dollar bill in front of my face. His friends were standing in front of the Dumpsters, smiling and waiting to have their group picture taken. Something inside of me snapped.
"You need to leave," I said.
"But we are not done," the man said.
"Yes, you are."
I opened my door, and hopped out of my car. The man stepped back.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
I drew my Colt, and tucked its barrel down behind my belt buckle. Then I crossed my arms, and gave the guy a menacing look. Cops called this getting western on someone. He got the message and quickly gathered up his friends. They left in a cloud of dust.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
I waited until the tourists were gone before getting back in my car. waited until the tourists were gone before getting back in my car.
Then I called Burrell on my cell. She answered on the first ring.
"Jed Grimes didn"t kidnap his son," I said.
"You"re sure about that," Burrell said.
"Yes."
"I"m inside the Operations Center trailer next to Jed Grimes"s house. Why don"t you come over here? I want to show you something."
I drove to Jed"s house and parked next to the OC trailer. Buster was snoozing on the pa.s.senger seat, and I rolled down the windows before getting out.
I found Burrell sitting at a desk inside the trailer, sucking down a Gatorade. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, and she looked miserable. The trailer was jammed with equipment, including a dozen phone lines, two computers, and three TV sets that stayed on 24/7. I grabbed the only other chair, and sat down across from her.
"Jed"s guilty," Burrell said.
"What did you find?" I asked.
Four photographs were lying facedown on the desk. Burrell flipped the first one over, revealing a surfer dude with shoulder-length blond hair. "This is Ronnie Wild, Jed"s best friend. Ronnie was in the house with Jed the night Sampson was kidnapped. Every time we interview Ronnie, he tells us something new. This morning, Ronnie told us that Jed left the house when his son was kidnapped, and went next door to see a neighbor."
"I know," I said.
Burrell looked surprised. "Jed told you?"
"Yes."
"Did Jed tell you who his neighbor was?"
"He said his neighbor peddled drugs, and he wanted to score a joint from him."
Burrell flipped over the second photograph. "This is Jed"s neighbor, a drug-pushing lowlife named Cody Barnes. Barnes has been peddling drugs since he was fifteen years old. Mostly weed, but also c.o.ke. Now, here"s where it gets interesting."
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.