Silent Scream

Chapter Twenty-three

Wednesday, September 22, 10:30 a.m.

Olivia had hoped not to come back to the morgue today. She’d already had enough gut-churning for one morning. Feet like lead, she followed Noah through the hallways that seemed to grow narrower with each step.

Earlier this morning they’d met Ian in one of the offices up front to talk about Joel. This time they were going back to the autopsy suite. Somewhere in there, lay Kane.

Her heart pounding, she stopped, trying to slow her breathing. “Noah. Wait.”

He turned, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

It was humiliating, but somehow easier since she’d blurted it to Donahue that morning. “I’ve been getting panic attacks. Since the pit.”

Understanding softened his features. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. I just have to get through it on my own. But… this is harder than usual.”

“You know, you’re really hard on yourself. Do you think you’re the first cop this has happened to?”

“You?”

He nodded once. “Long time ago. You okay to go in now?”

“I have to be. How do you handle it?” she murmured when they were walking side by side. “When you get overwhelmed?”

“Therapeutic sex,” he said wryly. “I’m serious,” he added when she snorted a surprised laugh. “Sometimes you need to hold back reality for a little while.”

She thought about the amazing ride she’d taken with David that morning. Part of her had been feeling a little guilty for forgetting her grief for those few minutes. The other part of her knew it was silly and that Kane of all people would have told her that. But hearing it from Noah made it a little easier. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.” Opening the door, he stuck his head in, then looked back. “Just Joel.”

He’d understood that, too, her fear of seeing Kane here. Like this. She drew a breath and made her feet move. Ian stood waiting impatiently.

“I’ve got an angry undertaker pacing out front,” Ian said. “We need to hurry.”

“What’s so important?” Noah asked.

“This.” Ian lifted the sheet, exposing Joel’s pelvis. “Right here. A needle mark.”

Noah winced. “He shot up in his groin? God. I hate when they do that.”

Olivia gritted her teeth and made herself look. “That’s usually a behavior for long-term IV drug users. Did you find track marks in other places?”

“No, I didn’t and I doubt he injected himself,” Ian said. “I found the binder from the pills in his stomach contents, like I told you earlier, but I started thinking after you left. The pills he swallowed to get that much binder in his stomach weren’t consistent with the high level of narcotics in his system. I figure he swallowed the first two, then the rest was injected. Given no evidence of prior IV drug use, and a couple pills already in his system, I doubt he’d have been able to access the femoral vein with a steady hand.”

“So somebody did it for him.” Olivia felt relief for the Fischers.

“I wonder if Joel was about to tell on the others,” Noah said. “They shut him up.”

“Something else,” Ian said. “Injected, it would have been a fast high and not the slower action of swallowing the pills. I don’t know how he managed to drive anywhere.”

Olivia frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t think he drove his own car off the road,” Ian said.

“They would have had to put him behind the wheel, shove his foot on the gas, and put the car in gear from outside the car,” Noah said. “It’s been done.”

“Whoever did this had to be strong enough to put Joel in the driver’s seat,” she said.

“Or they could have shoved him over the gearshift,” Ian said. “When you know what you’re looking for, you see things differently.” He pointed out a bruise on Joel’s left hip. “Could have been from being thrown from the car. Could have been from the shift.”

“I think this will give the Fischers some peace, but worsen their grief, too,” Olivia said. “Someone murdered their son.”

Wednesday, September 22, 11:15 a.m.

Austin stood on a downtown Minneapolis sidewalk, at the large plate-glass window of a gym with televisions suspended from the ceiling. They had the closed-captioning going for the exercisers, who sweated on treadmills.

His face was all over the news. The arsonists had struck again last night. Four dead. So many hurt. This has to stop. I have to make this stop. Then the next story started and his blood went cold. A bomb-threat scare. At my school. An unidentified student narrowly escaped kidnapping. Police detective killed. An interpreter missing.

That the bomb threat related back to him, he had no doubt. Were they trying to kill him to keep him from talking? Were they trying to keep Kenny from talking?

A man identified as Captain Bruce Abbott came on the screen, a sign language interpreter at his side. Call us, Austin. You are in danger. We’ll keep you safe.

He dropped his eyes to the cell phone in his hand. Kenny had sent another text. Don’t trust the cops. Call me. I can hide you.

Austin knew one way to separate the truth from the lies. He opened the latest from Kenny’s new account. Here in TC. Scared. Where can I meet u?

He hit SEND before he could change his mind. Then started walking. He didn’t want to stay in one place, didn’t want to draw attention. Keep walking.

Wednesday, September 22, 11:15 a.m.

He’d had to exert a great deal of discipline this morning not to obsess over the silence of Austin Dent. Austin was still top of the news, so the police hadn’t found him yet. He’d sent one more text from Kenny’s “new” account. He hadn’t wanted to lay it on too thickly, but for God’s sake, where was the damn kid?

There had been heavy traffic all morning due to Detective Kane. Cops gathered here to soberly talk, to mourn. To wonder how it could have happened. Such a good cop. Such a nice guy. About ready to retire. Not fair.

Well, life isn’t fair. So get over it. He’d taken the next order when the cell phone in his pocket buzzed.

Austin. Finally. “Hey, Buster, I need to take a break. Can you handle things?”

“Sure,” Buster said, not looking up from the latte he was mixing.

The men’s room was empty. He checked his cell phone and smiled. Austin was back, in the Twin Cities. Very good.

Need to meet U, he typed. You’re in danger.

When? Where?

He was supposed to be Kenny, who was supposed to be at school, twenty minutes from downtown. 12:30, he typed. Will sneak away at lunch.

McD’s by school?

He frowned then. The McDonald’s was across from the sub shop, where he’d grabbed the interpreter. Too many cops looking for you. Library parking lot.

Okay.

Hide till then. Cops looking for you. They lie. Don’t trust them.

That should take care of Austin Dent until he could take care of him in person.

Wednesday, September 22, 11:20 a.m.

“Not home,” Olivia muttered, standing on Eric Marsh’s welcome mat.

“We could try for a warrant,” Noah said and she shook her head.

“Brian Ramsey couldn’t get me one last night for Joel and that was with proof he’d been in a fire. We’re not getting a warrant. Not unless we find something else.”

The apartment door to the left opened and a grumpy-looking old man stared out. “He’s probably at school. Some kind of engineering major. Whaddya want with him?”

“We want to talk to him,” Olivia said. “I’m Detective Sutherland and this is Detective… Webster.” She’d almost said Kane. “And you are?”

“Jed Early.” Early glared. “Comings and goings and goings-on. Give a kid that age an apartment and you’re just asking for trouble.”

“Who’s been coming and going?” Olivia asked.

“Kids. Mostly that Frenchie. Albert,” he sneered. “I guess they’re free to do what they want in their own place, but I should be free not to have to listen to it.”

“So Eric and Albert were…” Olivia said and Early nodded sourly.

“Every night. All night. God.” He shuddered. “Made me wish I needed hearing aids.”

“You mentioned kids, more than one,” Noah said. “Who else?”

“Another boy and a girl.”

Olivia’s ears pricked. “You get any names?”

He frowned. “I don’t snoop.”

“But you’ve got good hearing,” Olivia responded cagily and he grinned.

“I do indeed. Mary and Joel. No last names, though. I think they were studying together. Always had their laptops. Sometimes Joel brought big charts, rolled up.”

Of course you don’t snoop, Olivia thought. “When did you last see Eric?”

“Yesterday, carrying a box. I didn’t see him after that. I had to go to the doctor.”

“When did you come back from the doctor?” Noah asked.

“I got back after two, and I haven’t seen them since. But something was going on over there. They were all arguing early Monday morning. Woke me up.”

The hairs rose on the back of Olivia’s neck. “What time, sir?”

“About one, two. My eyes aren’t so good and I couldn’t see the clock. Sorry.”

“No, you’ve been very helpful,” Olivia said. “Will you be around later?”

He nodded. “They did something pretty bad, didn’t they? I mean, I recognize you now. You worked the case of all those murders in that pit. You’re a homicide cop.”

“I am. Right now, we don’t know what they have or haven’t done. But thank you.” She waited until they were back in Noah’s car to talk. “I think we can get a warrant now.”

“You call the ADA. I’m going to call the airports and make sure Eric doesn’t slip away. The Fischers said he had money. He could be a flight risk.”

They each made their calls and Olivia was relaying all the details to ADA Brian Ramsey when Noah waved at her to wait.

“Tell him that Eric Marsh bought a ticket yesterday morning-one way to Paris. It took off at five-thirty yesterday afternoon, but he never showed.”

“I heard,” Brian said. “I’ll have the warrant in thirty.”

Olivia hung up. “Let’s do a halftime check. We’ve got Joel who was at the fire. Lovers with Mary and friends with Eric, who is lovers with Albert.”

“Maybe they all did it together. Didn’t Micki say there were at least three?”

“She did. But how do Joel and pals connect to Tomlinson and this Dorian Blunt?”

“And which of them did Austin Dent see shoot Weems and then get in a boat at the dock on Sunday night?”

“And how does Tomlinson’s wife factor in?” Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Why lie to us?”

“And why the glass balls? Why only two? Why not leave one at last night’s fire?”

“Something tells me that once we find Eric, Mary, and Albert, we’ll get answers. Let’s get a key from the super and wait by Eric’s door. I don’t want him slipping by us.”

Wednesday, September 22, 12:00 p.m.

Insisting he not drive, Glenn and his mother had met him at the firehouse. His mom had driven him back to the apartment, Glenn following behind in David’s truck. His mother was making a pot of soup, which David knew would cure anything that ailed him. It always had. Or maybe it was just having her fuss over him. Both worked.

Now he and Glenn sat in the Gorski sisters’ garden, David on the phone with Ethan while Glenn looked on, chomping at the bit.

“Well?” Glenn asked when David hung up the phone.

“That man is scarily efficient,” David said. “Ethan says the domain registration for Lincoln’s Web site was paid for by a Mary Francesca O’Reilly, aged twenty-three.”

“Did Mr. Efficient get an address for Ms. O’Reilly?”

“PO box on the card, but her social security number brings up several addresses. Most recent is a dorm at the university.”

“Where that kid Joel Fischer went,” Glenn said thoughtfully.

“Where thousands of kids go. Doesn’t mean she knew Joel. Doesn’t mean she was at the fire. But it does mean she had some contact with Lincoln Jefferson. She couldn’t just go in and pay his bill without his user name and password.”

“Unless she had somebody like Ethan helping her. Or she is somebody like Ethan.”

“Ethan’s a white hat,” David murmured, then smiled when Glenn laughed. “That’s what they call them. Guys who use their hacking skills for good and not evil. I’m thinking Mary isn’t a white hat. Plus, she paid with her own credit card. How covert is that?”

“You’re probably right. Still, I’m thinking your pretty detective needs to know this.”

“I’m thinking the same thing. She’s not gonna be happy about the way I found it.”

“After last night, do you think she’ll really care? After last night, do you?”

David thought about Jeff. About Kane. “No. And no. It could be that this Mary O’Reilly is just some Moss fan, like Lincoln. Maybe she’s the one who helped Lincoln track me down yesterday and again I have to ask why?”

“More importantly, will she do it again? Better call your cop.”

David reached for his cell just as it rang, Ethan’s number on the caller ID.

“I checked out Truman Jefferson,” Ethan said. “Lincoln called him from his cell.”

“Lincoln’s older brother,” David said. “I found his name last night. What about him?”

“He’s a Realtor. It would have been nothing for him to look up your friend’s address.”

“So Truman helped him. Not Mary.”

“Truman is likely, Mary is unknown. The only other call Lincoln made was to a prepaid. The prepaids are traceable, but they take more coordination to do so. I’d need a lot more time and contact with the holder of the phone. You need anything more?”

“This brother, Truman. Any idea on his stability?”

“You’re asking if he’s crazy? That I don’t know. Has he been in trouble? No. Hasn’t even had a parking ticket. Lincoln on the other hand, had a long string of problems over the years. Mostly loitering, public disturbance, a couple shopliftings. On paper, Truman seems like a regular guy.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” David hung up his own cell and from his pocket pulled the prepaid phone he’d purchased the night before.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m setting up an appointment with Truman Jefferson and I don’t want him knowing it’s me. I want to meet him, be sure that he’s not nuts and that he understands what would happen if he helped Lincoln again. And then I’m calling Olivia to give her this info.”

Luckily Truman Jefferson had an afternoon free and, laboring under the misconception that his name was David Smith and that he was looking for real estate, his secretary gave him an appointment for one-thirty.

Olivia wasn’t so available. He got her voice mail and left a message. “It’s me. I need to talk to you about a woman named Mary O’Reilly. Call me. It’s important.”

“Now what?” Glenn said.

“I’m going upstairs to have some of Ma’s soup before I meet Lincoln’s brother.”

Glenn followed him out of the garden. “Tripping over cats works up an appetite.”

“Smacking down smug old men works up a bigger one. You coming?”

Glenn’s smile was sweet. “Sure, I like your mom’s cooking.”

Wednesday, September 22, 12:00 p.m.

The super opened Eric Marsh’s door and he, Olivia, and Noah flinched in unison. The odor wasn’t unbearable yet, but it was definitely getting there.

“Ah, damn,” the super muttered. “I hate it when this happens.”

Me too, Olivia thought. Noah took her elbow surreptitiously and gave her a shove forward. It was what she needed to move. The body was in the bedroom, lying on the bed, sprawled on his back, nude, an empty plastic baggie on the nightstand.

“That’s him,” the super said. “Eric Marsh. Never thought he’d go this way.”

“How did you think he’d go?” Noah asked, giving Olivia a chance to settle down.

“Always thought that friend of his would do him in. Guy was a thug.”

Olivia didn’t think anyone would describe Joel as a thug. “You mean Albert?”

The super nodded grimly, still staring at the body. “Yeah. Good old Al. Always thought his accent was a put-on, but it was good enough to get the ladies to swoon.”

Noah’s brows lifted. “We thought Albert and Eric were a couple.”

“They were. But Albert has a key and when Eric was away… Albert was a man who saw opportunity knocking. Maybe Eric found out Al was cheating on him.”

“Did he ever cheat with Mary?” Olivia asked and the super frowned.

“Don’t know that name. But if she was pretty and had money, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“What does Albert look like?” Noah asked.

“Big guy. Hockey player at the university. Helluva checker, but no finesse with the stick.” He pointed to a photo in which Eric stood arm in arm with a tall, dark, good-looking guy with very broad shoulders. “He looks exactly like that. That’s him.”

Perfect, she thought with satisfaction. “Sir, we’re going to need to get the ME and crime lab up here. Can you wait for us outside? And please, don’t talk to the press.”

“Nah. I got no patience for those people.” He backed away with a sigh. “At least the rent was paid for next month. It’ll take that long to get rid of the smell.”

Noah walked him out while Olivia called for the ME and CSU. Then she crouched next to the bed and, on a hunch, shone her flashlight on Eric’s pelvic region.

“Everything still there?” Noah asked dryly when he came back in.

She looked up. “Little knot of dried blood, right where Joel was injected.”

Noah’s brows went up in surprise. “Sonofabitch. Looking at the photo, Albert’s big enough to haul Joel around and put him in the front seat of a car.”

“Ian said whoever hit Weems would have had to be at least six feet, based on the placement of the crack in Weems’s skull. Albert is easily six feet.” Olivia looked around the room. “No sign of struggle.”

“You seem okay now,” Noah noted.

“Once I get past the body, I’m usually all right. Thanks for the nudge before.”

“Anytime. Abbott called when I was walking the super out. He talked to Kenny in the safe house. Said the boy remembers seeing a police scanner in the shooter’s van.”

“He’s listening to us,” Olivia said.

“Yeah. Abbott wants to keep him in the dark on Austin’s whereabouts, so we have a special frequency for any mention of the search. Also, somebody’s been burning paper in the fireplace. Looked like blueprints.”

“Getting rid of evidence. Even if we find Albert’s fingerprints in here, he can just say he lived here, so that’s no good. We need a way to tie him to this.”

“Maybe he kept his kit. No sign of syringes or spoons anywhere.”

“And you have to heat the oxy to get it to dissolve in water so you can inject it,” Olivia said. “Whoever hit these guys with a needle did it right.” She opened drawers, frowning. “No cell, no laptop.”

“None in the other room either. Next stop, the university’s registrar’s office. They’ll have Albert’s address. Can’t be too many Alberts on the hockey team.”

“We still need to find Mary, though. Grumpy Early next door said she and Joel came here together to study, with rolled-up paper-the blueprints. She’s in on this.”

“And,” Noah said, “if Albert’s killing off his cohorts, she could be next.”

“I’m thinking she can give us the connection to Tomlinson and Dorian Blunt. Those fires still make no sense unless the first one was just a cover and they were planning something bigger all along.”

“Or like you and Dr. Donahue said yesterday-different agendas. Somebody left glass balls at the first two fires, but not the third. An environmentalist agenda links fires one and two. But Tomlinson links fires two and three.”

Olivia bit at her lip. “Joel was dead before fire two. Micki said there were three people. Albert was there, because he’s the only one tall enough to whack Weems in the head. Joel was there because we’ve got smoke in his lungs and glue in his shoes.”

Noah opened Eric’s closet. “Whoa, this kid spent some serious money on clothes.” He crouched down and a moment later stood, a running shoe in his hand. “Glue. They must not have known they tracked through it, or they’d have gotten rid of the shoes, too.”

“So Eric was also there. That’s three. Kenny said Austin saw a guy getting into a boat off the dock. That’s four. Was Albert the guy at the dock? He shot Weems?”

And Kane. A spurt of fury shot up inside her, but then Olivia frowned. Something wasn’t right, didn’t fit. “One set of glue tracks at the fence where they got away, no glue on the dock side of the condo, so neither Eric nor Joel walked over there. Let’s assume Joel wanted to change his mind and Albert whacked him, too. Could Eric have carried Joel away on his own, leaving none of Joel’s tracks behind while Albert ran around the building to escape off the dock, shooting Weems on the way?”

Noah studied Eric’s body. “He’s pretty skinny. He might have been able to haul Joel, especially if he was scared. But it makes more sense that Albert carried him out, especially since he whacked him.”

“Mary wasn’t on the dock, because Austin saw a man. Maybe it was Albert on the dock and Mary helped Eric carry Joel away.”

“Maybe, maybe. Let’s find Albert and Mary and get something solid.”

Wednesday, September 22, 12:30 p.m.

Austin hung back in the shadows in the alley beside the library. From here he could see any car coming in from the street and at his back was a chain-link fence, eight feet tall, so no one would sneak up from behind.

It was as safe as he was going to get under the circum-stances.

He held his breath, although his gut told him what was about to happen. The library was almost a mile from the school. For Kenny to make it here by 12:30, he’d have to cut the last ten minutes of his third-period English class. And old lady McMann did not give bathroom passes. Ever. Chances that Kenny was coming? Close to nil.

A white van pulled into the parking lot and a man got out and walked by Austin’s mom’s car. Frozen where he stood, Austin’s eyes fixed on the face of the man who’d shot that guard, who’d set the fire that killed Tracey. When he moved, his jacket shifted and Austin could see the glint of metal. He had a gun. The gun he’d used on the guard.

The man looked around again, his face red and furious, then started walking again.

This way. He’s coming this way. Oh God. What do I do?

Run. But there was nowhere to go and he had only a dull souvenir knife in his pocket. Don’t move. Do not move.

The man stopped abruptly, got back in his van and drove away.

Austin slumped against the brick wall, trembling. What made the man leave? He needed to find the cops. But he was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid the man was waiting on the street for him to emerge from his hiding place.

Hands shaking, Austin opened his phone, found the text from Captain Bruce Abbott. It’s Austin, he typed. I need help. He hit SEND.

In seconds he got a reply. Where are you?

He hesitated, then figured at least the cops wouldn’t shoot him. Library near school.

I’ll have an officer there in two minutes. Do not leave. Please.

Two minutes was too long. The man would be back, Austin knew. He’d park his van and come back on foot. He opened the text from the fake Kenny and typed a fake reply. Cops came. Had to run. Hiding behind Swindoll’s. Swindoll’s was an Italian ice shop, six blocks away in the other direction. Please come fast. Scared.

In a moment the man with the gun replied. Okay. Stay there.

Two men in dark suits ran by, one with a radio in his hand. Cops. They’d scared the man away. Legs like rubber, Austin walked into the sunlight.

“Help,” he cried, hoping they’d understand. The two suits wheeled around and ran back toward him. Austin fell to his knees behind a stranger’s car, huddled over so that he was hidden from the road. “He’s coming,” he signed, trying to say the words clearly, but his heart was beating so hard and his tongue wouldn’t work. “He’ll see me. He has a white van.”

One of the men ran off, the other giving him a nod before lifting his eyes to watch the road. They’d understood. A minute later a dark car drove up and he was bundled in the backseat where he cowered out of sight. Peeking over the backseat, he saw a cruiser pull up, lights flashing. The two men in suits were talking to the two cops.

“Hey,” Austin said and mimicked writing. One of the suits gave him paper and pen.

He was here, Austin wrote quickly. He saw you and left. I txt him that I ran to Swindoll’s. He handed the paper back to the suit and pointed toward Swindoll’s.

The suit motioned for Austin to stay down, then spoke to the other men before leaning against his car and writing a reply. He passed the paper back to Austin.

Why did you meet him here?

Austin sighed. He said he was my friend Kenny, he wrote. Said you wanted to arrest me. Didn’t know who to trust. I figured I’d bring him here, see if it was Kenny, but it wasn’t. It was the man who shot the guard. Wearily he passed the paper back.

The man in the suit made a call on his cell phone, then said something in his radio. He proceeded to write in the book for a long time, then handed it back.

I’m Detective Phelps. You’re safe now. Keep your head down. We think this man has a police scanner in his van. Your friend Kenny saw it last night when the man grabbed him. We put out on the radio that we found your car but that you escaped. We want that white van to keep looking for you so we can find him. So stay down and don’t use your phone again. When we get to the precinct, we’ll get an interpreter.

Austin’s pounding heart started to slow down. What about my mom? he wrote.

My captain will contact her and tell her you’re safe. We’ll bring her here.

Austin let himself relax a little. For now he was safe, but that man was still out there. How will the cops know to look for him? And where is Kenny? he wrote, then passed the book back.

We have a special radio frequency for this case. Kenny’s in a safe house. I’ll be back in a minute. Keep your head down. The detective gave him the notebook, then held out his hand to take it back when Austin had read what he’d written. Then he disappeared, leaving Austin to hope like hell he’d done the right thing.

He turned down his scanner. The cops had seen the kid’s car, dammit, but the kid had given them the slip. The whole neighborhood was suddenly crawling with cops, who after last night would be looking for a white van.

“Now what?” he muttered aloud. The kid was on foot, he couldn’t have gone far. He drove past the ice-cream shop slowly, courtesy of the drivers in front of him who were rubbernecking. No kid. He kept going, past the school, stopping in a grocery parking lot. There were so many vans parked here that his vehicle wouldn’t stick out.

He’d started walking, looking for the kid, when another text came through. Different phone, other pocket. It was from the phone he’d given Eric, now controlled by Albert.

Fuck you, it read. There was an attachment. Opening it, he found himself staring at the picture on his small telephone screen. This day was not getting any better.