Silent Scream

Chapter Eight

Monday, September 20, 4:40 p.m.

Eric needed to prove Joel was dead. He glanced at Albert, who was studying the map of the street where Tomlinson’s warehouse was located. He could ask for proof, but they’d agreed not to speak of it. Besides, Albert was still angry with him.

Eric remembered the ridiculous note that had popped into his mind that morning. Please excuse Joel from extortion-related arson, because he is dead. He logged on to the local TV news’ Web site. Earlier, the account of Joel’s “accident” had said only that the victim had been a Minneapolis university student. Hopefully they’d updated.

They had and the article listed the victim as Joel Fischer, aged 20. Twenty. He should have had his whole life ahead of him. They all should. And we would have if we hadn’t listened to goddamn Joel. Quickly he texted back, including the article’s URL.

Here is proof. He waited for a moment, then read the return text.

my condolences.

Yeah, right, Eric thought, tossing the phone to his sofa. “How’s it coming?”

Albert looked up from the map with a cold look. “You do your part. I’ll do mine.”

They’d split the duties, engaging Mary in the planning as little as possible. The one thing they agreed on was that they didn’t quite trust Mary. They would pick her up tonight, right before it was time, giving her no opportunity to leak their plan.

Before, the situation had been different, the four of them going over details again and again, here in his living room. Eric had hacked into the construction company’s server and found everything they’d needed-blueprints, the guard’s route, the schedule that had told them the adhesive was staged on floors one through three.

What were we thinking? They hadn’t been. They’d been so caught up.

Tonight, Eric would take care of the dog, disable the electronic alarm and the video systems, and get them inside. Albert would procure gas and matches, and, along with Mary, set the fire. A drive-by check had shown there were only simple recording cameras. They’d wear ski masks to hide their faces.

And if they were caught? Big deal. How much would arson add to their sentence? Life plus a few years. Big deal. If they didn’t get caught, they’d bought time. They’d lure the fucking texter out and kill him, quickly and cleanly. It was the only way to break free.

“It’s almost five,” Albert said. “Tomlinson’s warehouse will be closing soon.”

“Then I’d better call.” With the texter’s phone, Eric dialed Barney Tomlinson’s warehouse and a woman answered. “Hi,” Eric said, “my name is John Davis and I’m with Airtight Security. We make video security systems.”

“If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have the manager get back to you,” the woman said in a bored tone. “I’m not authorized to listen to sales pitches.”

Bitch. “We’re offering a special. We’ll install the cameras, then hook up a wireless router for free, then store and back up all your feeds on our servers here.”

“We’ve got a system and it works fine. Old-fashioned video, pop in a new tape every month. Nothing fancy to break. Look, kid, leave a number or I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” Eric blurted. “Don’t hang up, please. You’re my first call. My first job. I really need the money to pay for school. Just let me practice my pitch. Please?”

She sighed dramatically. “Go ahead. God, I’m a sap.”

“Thank you. Are you sure your system works fine? Have you checked the video quality lately? Extreme temperatures can damage the sensors.”

“The recorder’s inside,” she said. “No temperature problems.”

Damn. He’d hoped for an outside unit. “You might think that, but if it’s near a loading dock or an external door, you’re letting in Mr. Freeze several times a day.”

“Mr. Freeze? Look, it’s not near an external door. It’s in the electrical room, right next to the john. Your pitch sucks. Better work it or you’re going to be very poor.”

She hung up and Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “The videotape will be in the electrical closet next to the bathroom. We’ll take it with us. That way we don’t need to worry about disabling the cameras. Although we should still wear masks, just in case.”

Albert still didn’t look up. “What about the alarm?”

“He’s got a dog. I’m betting his alarm system isn’t that advanced.”

Albert’s jaw clenched. “Don’t bet. Be sure.”

Eric wondered how he could make things right. Then dropped his eyes to his laptop where he’d been trying all afternoon to hack into Tomlinson’s system. “I’ll do my best.”

Monday, September 20, 5:00 p.m.

David studied the face in his bathroom mirror. Laying the floor in 2A hadn’t taken long, and wound with nervous energy, he’d done 2B as well. Now he was showered, cleanly shaven, and wearing a Sunday shirt and the trousers that went with his suit. He’d even picked out a tie. He hated this feeling. This unsure, unsteady, oh-God-what-if-I’m-a-monster feeling. He hated not knowing. At least that would soon be over.

He didn’t look in the mirror very often. Usually he shaved in the shower. For a long time after Megan died, he’d forced himself to look in the mirror. Forced himself to come to terms with the man he was, not the man everyone saw.

People saw what they wanted to see, he knew. On the surface, he’d been blessed with a nice face. What could he say? He’d be lying if he denied it. He knew women gave him second and even third looks. Sometimes he was even flattered.

But most of the time it was a pain in the ass. Nice women assumed he was a player or that they’d never have a chance. There had been so few who’d taken the time to look beneath the face. To find out who he really was. Who he’d made himself to be.

“So who are you?” he murmured. But he had no good answer.

He wandered through his apartment, empty save the absolutely necessary pieces of furniture he’d brought with him from Chicago. A table, a few straight-backed chairs, the easy chair that sat in front of his TV. And the bed he’d bought right after moving in. A new bed. A big bed. Hopefully for a new beginning. Please.

He could tell himself not to worry, but it was folly. Looking for distraction that wouldn’t get him sweaty again, he grabbed his laptop and dropped into his easy chair.

He’d thought about the glass ball off and on all day. David believed in fate, divine providence. That the ball had slid so neatly into his glove had been no accident.

In his mind he saw the dead girl’s waxen face, her wide eyes staring up at them. In a few hours her father would have to identify her body. Her life was ended, so young.

Just like Megan’s. He’d thought about Megan more today than he had in a long time. Nothing could bring her back, just like nothing could bring the girl from the condo back. It was a waste. An evil, senseless waste.

For Megan, it had been because a selfish bastard wanted to control those weaker than himself. For today’s victim, it was because a group of radicals wanted to save the environment. They might talk passionate, even selfless rhetoric, but under it all they were selfish bastards, too. Seemed to be a common theme.

He wondered if they’d known the girl was there. He hoped not. Still he hoped Olivia found them, and quickly. He hoped they went to prison for a very long time.

The ball that had slid into his hand had been their signature. He typed glass ball and environmental arson into Google and settled back to read.

He found an article on the group known as SPOT, then another. He found the account of how an innocent woman had died twelve years before, during the last fire for which they’d claimed responsibility, and his heart chilled. Surely they didn’t know the girl was there last night. He thought about the guard, shot through the heart. That had been no accident. The arsonists were no idealists. They were murderers.

David found a link to a man recognized if not as the leader, then as their inspiration. Preston Moss. He’d been a university philosophy professor. Hadn’t been heard from in twelve years. But before Moss had disappeared, he’d been prolific in his writing.

Someone had captured Moss’s articles on a Web site. Reading Moss’s words, David could almost hear the man’s voice ringing in his mind.

“David? You here, boy?”

Abruptly David jerked his eyes from his laptop screen, blinking to refocus on his front door, which was opening. Glenn Redman stuck his head in. “David?”

“Yeah, Glenn, I’m here. Come in.”

Glenn did, frowning. “I knocked three times. I saw your truck outside, so I knew you were here. You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

David’s mind was still caught up in the stirring words of Preston Moss. Stirring and frightening, the barely veiled advocation of violence to make their voices heard if arson did not succeed. David rubbed his palm over his chest. His heart was still beating hard.

“I was reading,” he said distractedly, then blinked again. “What do you need?”

Glenn’s frown deepened. “You tell me. You left me a note.” He produced it from his pocket, the sight instantly bringing David back to the present.

“Right. I knocked earlier, but thought you might be resting.” Propping his laptop on the arm of his chair, he brought one of the kitchen chairs into the living room, motioning for Glenn to sit in the easy chair. “I wanted to talk to you about what you told my mom today.”

Glenn’s eyes narrowed. “Which thing?”

The way he said it had David’s brows shooting up. “About me catching the ball in that condo fire.”

“Oh, that.” Glenn’s frown eased, making David wonder what else Glenn had told his mother. “Heard it was a hell of a save.”

“It was. And it turned out to be important. The cops don’t want us talking about it.”

“To who?”

“Well, to the press for sure, but to each other, also. Loose lips and all that.”

“All right.” The older man regarded him steadily. “You’re looking pretty clean behind the ears. Sunday clothes. You going out tonight?”

David’s cheeks warmed. He’d hoped he didn’t look that obvious. “Yeah.” He returned the old man’s stare. “You’re looking pretty clean yourself, old man.”

“I was thinking your mama might like to see the town, but if you two got plans…”

David wasn’t sure if he should laugh or frown. “You got designs on my mom?”

“No,” Glenn said forcefully. Indignantly, even. “I just thought she might like to… Never mind.” He struggled to get out of the deep chair and David waved him back.

“Sit. I’m not going out with my mother tonight. She’s out shopping.”

“You’re leaving her alone, her first night here?”

“Just for a little while.” Maybe. He was afraid to hope for longer than a little while with Olivia. “Where did you want to take her?”

Glenn shrugged, embarrassed. “Dooley’s maybe. They got good wings.”

David shook his head. “My mom’s better than a place with big-breasted waitresses. Besides, you changed your shirt and shaved. That calls for something special.”

“Like I can afford anything special,” Glenn groused. David shook his head again, saying nothing, and Glenn blew out a frustrated breath. “Martino’s has tablecloths.”

David chuckled at his discomfort. “She’d like that. And you might see Lacey from 2A. Martino hired her. You like my mother or something?”

Glenn’s cheeks went red. “She’s a nice lady. Back off, boy.”

“It’s just that… she doesn’t date.” It was true, he realized. “Not since my dad.”

“How long ago did your dad pass?”

“I was eighteen, so eighteen years ago. She was so strong, never complained. She was always there for us. I guess I never thought of her ever… dating again.”

“It’s just Martino’s,” Glenn said in an overly patient voice. “I’m not gonna marry her.”

David looked at him, slyly now. “She’s awful pretty, my mama.”

“Don’t make me get out of this chair, Hunter.”

“Like you could without a winch. Just be nice to her, okay? She’s a good person.”

“That I could tell, straight off.” Glenn cleared his throat. “So where are you going?”

It was David’s turn to fidget in his chair. “Your cabin.”

“Dressed like that? You even spit shined your Sunday shoes.”

“I don’t spit. I have to talk to someone about something that happened a while ago.”

“What’s her name?”

He sighed. “Olivia.”

Glenn’s brows went up. “The one you slept with and whose sister you slept with? I also have ears like a bat. Just so you know.”

David closed his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with either of them. I think.”

“You think? You think?”

“That’s what I said.” And he’d said too much. “What time is it, anyway?”

Glenn glanced at the computer screen. “Ten to six.” Then he squinted, looking closer. He looked up, his eyes gone angry. “Why are you reading about Preston Moss?”

David leaned forward. “You know Moss?”

“Not personally. I remember him. They left a glass globe at each of their fires,” Glenn said slowly. “That ball you caught today. The cops think Moss is back?”

“They don’t know,” David said. “They’re trying to keep it out of the news.”

“I can see why. This guy was bad, Davy. He wore this veneer of sincerity, but in the end, he was just a thug.” His voice trembled. “No more than a thug.”

“What happened, Glenn?”

Glenn closed the laptop. “They talk about the woman who died, who fell asleep in that building and couldn’t get out. How she was charred black. They don’t talk about the firefighters who were hurt trying to knock that fire down. The building went up, taking the buildings on both sides. We were lucky we knocked it down as quick as we did.”

“Who was hurt?” David asked, and saw pain flicker in Glenn’s eyes.

“Two young guys. One is scarred to this day. The other’s forty and pulls an oxygen tank behind him like he chain-smoked for fifty years. They got caught inside. Ran out of air. Both of ’em nearly died. It was big news when it happened, but now… just one of those historical footnotes. That poor lady died, and we were really sorry about that. But we lost two good men that day. And Preston Moss just disappears. Lousy coward.”

“Lousy coward who could really stir up a crowd.”

“That he could. I can’t believe he’s back.”

“Maybe he’s not. But I need you to keep quiet on this. Not a word, Glenn.”

Glenn pursed his lips. “All right.”

The outer door downstairs slammed. “David?”

David jumped to his feet and looked down the stairs to the entryway where his mother stood, arms laden with grocery bags. “I’ll get those, Ma.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “And you mind your Ps and Qs, old man. She’s my mom.” He jogged down the stairs and took the bags from her hands. “You gonna feed an army?”

“Just you. And Glenn.” She followed him up the stairs. “And the new mothers in 2A.”

“The Gorski sisters in 1B planted a garden. Kept me in tomatoes all summer.”

“Then we shall feed them as well. But aren’t you going out tonight?”

His front door had closed again, and he nudged it with his hip. “Yep. But Glenn has a yen for Italian, don’t you, Glenn?”

She smiled when she saw Glenn. “I make a fantastic carbonara. You’ll love it.”

David shook his head, and Glenn cleared his throat. “Can’t cook in the boy’s kitchen. He just laid that medallion on the floor. But we could go to Martino’s.”

David put the grocery bags on his table and dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “They have tablecloths,” he said, then grabbed his laptop. “Don’t stay out past eleven. You need any mad money in case the old goat gets fresh?”

She swatted at him, laughing and blushing prettily. “Get out of here.”

Monday, September 20, 6:10 p.m.

Abbott’s afternoon meeting had been mostly a rehash of what Olivia had already known. The only new information was that Ian had found smoke in Henry Weems’s lungs, but not that much, indicating Weems was probably not in the building while it was burning. Still, that negated the theory that the gunman had shot him, then set the fire.

Which meant they had at least three arsonists. Barlow had background checks on the Rankin construction company employees. Six had felony records, none for arson, and eight in ten appeared to be teetering on the verge of bankruptcy.

So much for narrowing down the motive. Barlow had asked for help processing the employees and Abbott said he’d free up Noah Webster. That made Olivia happy. Noah was a damn good homicide detective and easy to work with.

Abbott told them Special Agent Crawford of the FBI had finally returned his call. Crawford was up north, on reservation land, but would be back and in their office by oh-eight tomorrow. Crawford had been extremely excited to hear about the glass ball.

Now she sat next to Kane in Ian’s office in the morgue. Tracey Mullen’s father had arrived, but their sign language interpreter had not. They’d wait to start the ID until they could clearly communicate with the girl’s father.

“Whose turn is it?” Kane asked.

“Yours. I told Mrs. Weems, and we each told one of the Mullens this morning. So it’s your turn to take the lead with the dad.”

“I figured as much,” Kane said glumly. “What do you have going on tonight?”

“I’m getting your field glasses back,” Olivia said dryly and Kane’s brows went up.

“Good,” was all he said and Olivia was relieved.

“I heard from Mr. Oaks at the school for the deaf,” Olivia said. “Apparently he was using one of those videophones Brie told us about, because the conversation went a lot faster. Oaks said that he’d be glad to work with us in asking the kids what they knew. Offhand he couldn’t think of anyone we should be looking at, though.”

“It’s possible Tracey’s partner doesn’t go to the school,” Kane said.

“True, but it’s a place to start.”

“Just like the Gators nail art,” Kane said. “That was nicely done, by the way.”

She smiled. “You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll take the lead, aren’t you?”

“Did it work?”

“No.” They came to their feet when a woman knocked on Ian’s office door.

“Hi, I’m Val Lehigh. I’m looking for Detective Kane.”

“That’s me,” Kane said. “You’re our interpreter?”

She had a few streaks of gray in her hair and was firmly built, comfortably capable, and dressed completely in black. “I am. Have you ever worked with an interpreter before?”

“I have,” Olivia said.

“Yes, but a long time ago,” Kane said.

“Good. Then I’ll cover the bases quickly. I’m here in an official capacity and have taken an oath of confidentiality. Nothing I hear or see will be repeated. I will voice everything the deaf individual signs, even if it is an aside, meant only for me. I will sign everything you two voice, even if you mean it only for each other. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “Have you done a corpse identification before?”

“Yes. Didn’t like it, but we don’t get to pick where we go, any more than you do.”

“Tracey Mullen’s body is in pretty good shape,” Olivia said and watched some of the tension leave the woman’s shoulders. “Except of course, that she’s dead at sixteen.”

Mr. Mullen jumped to his feet as soon as the three of them entered the waiting room. His face was haggard, his eyes red from weeping. His signing seemed frantic, but Val didn’t seem fazed.

“I’m John Mullen. I’m here to see my daughter. Where is she?”

“I’m Detective Kane and this is my partner, Detective Sutherland,” Kane said, glancing from the corner of his eye at the interpreter, then returning his gaze to the grieving father. “We are very sorry for your loss.”

“What happened?” he signed. “I need to know what happened to my child.”

“She was in a condo when it caught on fire,” Kane said. “We’re not sure why she was there. She was trapped inside and did not survive.”

“She didn’t burn,” Olivia added and Mullen’s shoulders sagged, as close to relief as one could expect under the circumstances. “She died of smoke inhalation.”

“She was alone at the time of her death,” Kane said gently, “but not before. We’re wondering if you might know of any boyfriends, anyone she knew living in this area.”

Bewildered, his signing slowed. “No, no one. She lived in Florida. She was supposed to be safe in Florida. Who was she with?”

“We’re trying to find that out, sir,” Kane said. “Can you tell us if your daughter wore a hearing aid, in addition to her cochlear implant?”

Still bewildered, he shook his head again.

Then the hearing aid belonged to the male she’d been with. “When was the last time you physically saw your daughter, sir?” Olivia asked.

“This summer for four weeks. I get…” He clenched his fists, then relaxed them to begin signing again. “I got every other Christmas, Thanksgiving, spring break, and six weeks in the summer.”

“But she stayed only four weeks?” Kane asked.

Mullen hesitated. “She went to camp for the other two weeks.”

Okay. “Which camp, sir?” Olivia asked.

“ Camp Longfellow, in Maryland.” His face crumpled as his steady stream of tears became sobs. “Please, please, let me see my daughter.”

Kane glanced at Olivia and she nodded. She had no more questions for now. They’d definitely check Camp Longfellow as soon as this ID was done. Olivia touched Mullen’s shoulder and led him to the family viewing room. The green light was on in the room’s uppermost right corner, the sign that the ME was ready on the other side.

Kane pulled the curtain, and it took only seconds for Mr. Mullen to numbly nod. Then he closed his eyes and cried, silently rocking himself. All alone.

Kane pulled the curtain closed while Olivia swallowed hard. There had been no viewings with Pit-Guy’s victims. There hadn’t been enough left of the victims’ bodies and DNA had been used for identification instead. Now, standing with Tracey’s father, she realized that had been the one positive in the entire nightmare. She hadn’t had to watch the impotent grief of the families as they gazed on their loved ones through a sterile window.

She touched Mr. Mullen’s arm again, gently, as she’d learned to do when Brie wasn’t wearing her processors. He struggled for control, then met her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she signed. It was one of the few signs she knew, a tightened fist rubbing over her heart, as if to soothe the pain. She signaled to Val. “I have a message from the firefighter who brought her out. He wants you to know that they’re very sorry. They tried to save her, but by the time they arrived, it was too late.”

“How long before they arrived?” Mr. Mullen signed, his chin lifted. Olivia would have taken it for belligerence if she hadn’t seen it before, on too many grieving parents. It was the rush of anger, the need to blame. It was human.

“Five minutes from the time they got the call,” she said. “The ME thinks Tracey was gone before the firefighters even got the call. The firefighter who brought her out risked his own life.” Olivia thought about the gaping hole that went four floors down. If David had stepped the wrong way when he climbed through the window to get Tracey… She couldn’t think about it. “Everyone did everything they could.”

“Thank you. When can I take her home?”

Val voiced his question and Olivia wanted to sigh. She hated child cases, but the heartache was made worse when there was shared custody of a minor child.

“Your wife will arrive tomorrow,” Kane said, stepping in. “You two will have to decide the final arrangements.”

Mullen’s face went as hard as stone. “I understand.” Then he marched from the room, his body trembling, from grief or fury Olivia didn’t know. Probably a mix of the two.

“Will you be available tomorrow?” Olivia asked Val. “We’ll want to ask the parents a few more questions, when they’re sitting together in the same room.”

“You can request me,” Val said. “I’ll let the office know.”

“We may need you all morning,” Olivia said, thinking of their visit to the deaf school. “We’ll have some interviews to conduct.”

“I’ll clear my calendar.” Val sighed heavily. “Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to leave.”

Olivia knew the feeling. The morgue was not her favorite place. “Sure.”

When they’d signed out both the interpreter and Mr. Mullen, Olivia turned to Kane. “She went to camp.”

“He hesitated before he told us that,” Kane said. “What is Camp Longfellow?”

“Let’s find out.” They went to Ian’s office and found him coming out of the cold room, having put Tracey’s body away. “Ian, can we use your computer for a minute?”

“Sure,” Ian said. “What’s up?”

Olivia slid into the chair at his desk. “Tracey Mullen went to camp this summer.”

Ian nodded. “Where she could have met a boy her parents didn’t know she knew.”

“Oh, the things parents don’t know their kids know,” Kane murmured.

“I know I gave my mom a million gray hairs,” Olivia said ruefully as she paged through the Google results for Camp Longfellow. “Here it is. It’s a camp for deaf high school students. I wonder why Mullen hesitated about that.”

“Maybe Mrs. Mullen didn’t know he’d sent Tracey,” Kane said. “Sounds like they didn’t agree about much when it came to raising her. Ian, how long ago were those fractures made and the damage you mentioned to her left hand?”

“Sometime in the last three months, I’d guess.”

Olivia sighed. “So it could have been dad, mom, mom’s new husband, anyone at camp, or anyone Tracey met on her way to Minneapolis. No help toward finding who beat her or in finding our eyewitness either. Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”

And tonight an interesting night. The day was finished. She’d been anticipating and dreading this moment in equal measures. Get up. Go. At least you’ll know.

Ian cleared his throat. “As much as I know you love my morgue, I’m going to have to run you out. I still have one more autopsy before I can go home. So be gone.”

Embarrassed, she pushed to her feet wearily. “Sorry, Ian.”

Kane waited until they were at the front door before speaking. “I do want my field glasses back,” he said mildly. “Just in case you were thinking of canceling on Hunter.”

Her cheeks heated. “I wasn’t. Exactly.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to. But if you need to talk…”

Touched, she patted his shoulder. “I’m okay, but thanks.” She was almost to her car when she heard him yell from the other side of the morgue’s parking lot.

“Don’t forget the lipstick,” he called, and made her smile.