Silent Scream

Chapter Twenty-five

Wednesday, September 22, 2:25 p.m.

Slow down,” Mary snapped and Phoebe flinched. They were the first words the young woman had uttered in almost half an hour. They’d kept to side roads and had passed only a few cars. “Stop behind that car.” There was a black Lexus abandoned on the side of the road ahead.

Phoebe obeyed, hardly daring to breathe. “I won’t tell anyone when you’re gone.”

Mary scoffed. “No, you won’t because you’re coming with me.”

Phoebe closed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I may need you.” She shoved the gun against Phoebe’s ribs. “If you want to see that handsome son of yours again, you will do as I ask. Get out of the car.”

Phoebe obeyed, her legs like rubber. “I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Walk.” Phoebe walked, Mary trailing about two feet behind. “Now on your knees next to the driver’s door and feel underneath. There will be one of those magnetic boxes with a key. Take the key out and throw it at my feet.”

Conscious of the gun pointed at her head, Phoebe knelt.

“Speed it up a little or you die here,” Mary said impatiently.

“I’m old,” Phoebe said curtly. “I move slow.”

“Move faster or you’ll get no older.”

Phoebe reached under the car, sending the small medallion she wore around her neck swinging on its chain. Hoping the police would find it and her, she gave it a yank, letting the chain fall in the dirt as she reached for the key. She thought of tossing the key away, but decided against it. Mary had killed two men. Phoebe had no doubt she’d kill her, too. David, where are you?

Phoebe struggled to her feet and held out the key. “What would your mother say about you kidnapping an old woman, Mary?”

Mary flinched, then snatched the key. “My mother is dead,” she snapped.

Phoebe drew a quick breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Maybe I killed her, too.” Mary unlocked the passenger car door. “Get in. Then shut up and drive.”

Phoebe got in and scooted to the driver’s side, Mary crawling in behind her, the gun still pointing… at me. Heart pounding, Phoebe took the key Mary thrust at her.

“I need to know. Did you kill your mother, Mary?”

Mary shook her head, but her voice trembled. “No. It wasn’t my fault. Now drive, or it won’t be my fault again.”

Phoebe gave her a little nod, then started the car. Dear God. Now what do I do?

Wednesday, September 22, 3:30 p.m.

David sat in the chair at Olivia’s desk, his eyes fixed on the window into Abbott’s office. She was in there, with Noah, Abbott, Barlow, and Micki, rereading texts from the cell phones and reviewing the video they’d found in Mary’s purse. Periodically she’d lift her eyes, meet his through the window, and shake her head. No news.

Noah dragged a white board into the office and David could see they’d developed a timeline. Each arson, each murder. But only one thing mattered anymore.

His gut was in constant churn. He tried not to think about the pictures he’d seen, the bodies of the two college students Mary had killed, but they filled his mind. Tracey Mullen’s death had been an accident, but the others… Mary was a killer.

And she has my mom. It had been almost two hours. They could be anywhere. He’d filled her gas tank earlier, enough fuel to reach Canada before they had to stop.

Behind him, Tom paced frantically. David had called the boy from Olivia’s car on the way from Truman’s office and Tom had been waiting for him here, white-faced and terrified.

“I can’t believe I took her with me,” David murmured. “That I let this happen.”

Tom sighed heavily. “Shut up, David. You didn’t make this happen. You didn’t make any of this happen. Bad shit happens around us and we make it stop.”

“I should have made her stay home.”

Tom dropped into Kane’s chair. “She wouldn’t have listened. Did you check Truman Jefferson before you drove out there?”

“Ethan did. Truman’s a solid businessman, never been in trouble.”

“Then you had no reason to think it would have been dangerous. It was a real estate office, for God’s sake. I swear to God, sometimes I think you think you are.”

David met Tom’s angry eyes with a frown. “I think I’m what?”

“God.” Tom hit the desk with his fist. “You can’t always be the goddamned hero.”

David blinked at Tom’s fury, unexpected and… incorrect. “I’m not.”

“Whatever.” Tom drew a breath, let it out. “I shouldn’t have yelled. You couldn’t tell Grandma what to do. Nobody can. Stop blaming yourself and start using your brain.”

David closed his eyes. The kid was right. “What do we know about Mary O’Reilly?”

“Besides that she’s a card-carrying whack job?” Tom patted his computer bag, his mouth flattening to a grim line. “Let’s get out of here and find out.”

“Let me tell Olivia,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” David tapped on Abbott’s door and she came out, motioning him into an empty conference room, closing the door.

“Nothing new,” she said. “Every available body is looking. IT’s tracing texts from Mary’s phone and e-mails from the laptop we found in her car outside the realty office.” She looked up, her blue eyes intense. “We’ll find your mom. Mary has nothing to gain by harming her.”

“What about the cell phone number?” he asked hoarsely. “The one Lincoln called?”

“It was Mary’s phone, in her purse. We’ve called your mom several times, but it goes to voice mail. We can’t track a GPS signal, but we’ll keep trying. We’ve got detectives talking to anyone who knew Mary in the dorm, anyone who sat next to her in class. Trying to find out where she might have gone.” She lifted her hand to his cheek. “I’d tell you to go rest, but I know you won’t.”

He turned his face into her hand. “I can’t think,” he admitted. “I can’t breathe.”

Her thumb caressed his lips, soothing, not sexual. “Then let me think for you, for just a little while. Go see Glenn. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“What about Lincoln?”

“Dr. Donahue’s with him. They sedated him this morning. He overheard two guards talking about another arson and he lost it. She says when he’s lucid, she’ll arrange for me to talk to him. I’ll call you, so you can be there.”

He pulled her to him, holding on tight, his voice breaking as the words tumbled out. “I keep seeing her with that gun to her head.”

“I know,” she whispered. She held on a moment more, then pulled away. “I’ve got to get back. I will call you the second I hear anything. We will find her, David.”

He knew she would do anything in her power to keep her word, but he couldn’t sit idly. Steeling his spine, he returned to Tom. “Let’s go, kid. Show me what you can do.”

Wednesday, September 22, 3:45 p.m.

Olivia stood at Abbott’s window, watching David and Tom walk to the elevator. “I hate this,” she murmured. Two priorities. A man who shot bullets and a woman who shot drugs. Both were killers. But the woman had a hostage.

“We all do,” Abbott said. “Sit down and let’s get a plan.”

They’d reviewed the texts from all the students’ phones, piecing together the timeline. Replays of the video made it clear that the four students hadn’t known Tracey Mullen was in the building.

“The first fire they did for a cause,” Noah said. “Joel was the champion, but Mary, who is friends with Lincoln, left the glass ball as the tribute to Moss.”

“She was only eleven when Moss set that last fire,” Micki said.

“But he’s a legend in radical circles.” Barlow shrugged. “Somehow she heard of him. Maybe through a teacher, a parent, her own Internet wandering.”

Olivia reread Mary’s personal information that they’d gotten from Truman Jefferson and the university. “She’s twenty-three, single. Parents deceased. She paid for her own tuition, no loans or financial aid. She has to have some alternate source of income. Her job at the real estate office didn’t pay enough for room and board.”

“Emergency contacts are left blank,” Noah added. “She was a loner.”

“With an IV drug addiction,” Olivia said. “Her transcripts say she was majoring in philosophy and took Environmental Ethics last spring. That’s where she met Joel.”

“The car she parked in front of Truman’s office was paid for,” Noah said. “Other than her laptop, we found nothing unusual. The car was registered to her dorm address.”

“Where does she live during the summer?” Micki asked.

Olivia tossed the paper to the table, frustrated. “PO box. Dammit.”

“Okay,” Abbott said calmly. “We’ve gone over Mary and we’re stuck. Let’s talk about the blackmailer, because somewhere they intersect.”

Olivia nodded. “The night of the condo fire, the blackmailer knew they’d be there, because he showed up with a camera. He also knew Tomlinson and Dorian Blunt. They tie somehow. On some plane, they all intersect. Where?”

“The blackmailer is the shooter,” Micki said. “He went around to the dock side of the condo where Austin was hiding.”

“Austin said he ran when he smelled smoke,” Abbott said. “He made it out the door on the dock side and realized Tracey wasn’t there. He never saw the arsonists-they were on the other side of the building. Austin saw the shooter come around the building. Weems confronted him, the man fired, got in a boat, took off his ski mask and sped off.” He tossed a sketch on the table. “Our shooter.”

“I’ve seen that face a thousand times, a thousand different places,” Olivia said.

“I know, but right now, it’s the only face we’ve got.”

Noah studied the timeline. “The blackmailer knew Eric had bought a ticket to Paris, because he texted Albert’s cell with the flight time. How would he know that?”

“Same way he knew the interpreter was helping us,” Olivia said. “He followed us.”

Noah shook his head. “He didn’t physically follow Eric. Eric paid for his plane ticket over the Internet, straight out of his bank account. He had access to Eric’s computer.”

Olivia suddenly remembered the sight of David’s cell phone next to hers on his nightstand. “Or his cell phone,” she said slowly. “That’s why he took their phones.”

“But he didn’t take Eric’s phone,” Barlow said. “Mary did.”

“Maybe because he didn’t kill Eric,” Olivia replied, “and Mary did. He needed Eric to have his own phone and the prepaid he provided. It’s how he communicated with him.”

“But that doesn’t explain how the blackmailer knew Eric had bought a plane ticket,” Noah said. “Unless he was monitoring Eric’s cell activity.” He turned to Micki, whose suddenly narrowed eyes told them she’d figured it out. “So, how did he do it?”

“Sonofabitch. Somehow he got access to their passwords and user names. I’ll bet he snuck in through an unsecured wireless connection.”

“In other words, airports, bookstores, coffee shops,” Abbott said and Micki nodded.

“People get the warning that any data they send can be seen by others, but don’t realize that with the right software, it’s not just data you send. It’s any data on your device.”

“So if Eric saved his bank account information…,” Noah said.

Micki took Eric’s phone, hit some buttons, and made a satisfied sound. “Eric’s info is all right here. I’m in his bank account now. Somebody wiped him out yesterday, right about the time Albert received the text warning him Eric was going to flee the country.”

“Trace where the money went,” Abbott commanded crisply.

“It’s not just bank info. Phones store e-mail server information and passwords. Once he got that, he could look at their e-mail from anywhere. Find out about all kinds of things.” Micki paged back through Eric’s stored messages, then turned the phone to show them. “Like saving the wetlands. It’s all here. Eric and Joel’s whole plan.”

“Or like affairs,” Barlow said. “Tomlinson had photos of him with his mistress on his desk when he died. That was his blackmail.”

“Oh,” Olivia said, a piece of the puzzle connecting. “The pictures of Tomlinson. The blackmailer found out about his affair and took those pictures a long time ago.”

Micki’s smile was sharp. “Last winter, when the mistress wore snow boots.”

Olivia nodded. “Louise had the ‘before’ pictures. I bet the blackmailer sent them to her because Tomlinson didn’t pay. She then hired the private detective who took the ‘after’ pictures. Louise mixed them all together to give to her divorce attorney. The hit was exactly what you said, Barlow. An execution. Payback.”

“So where did he cross paths with Eric, Tomlinson, and Blunt?” Abbott asked.

“I’ll have another look at Tomlinson’s financials,” Barlow said, “cross-referencing them to Dorian’s and Eric’s. Maybe they spent money at, or visited, the same place.”

“That helps us with the blackmailer,” Olivia said. Who killed Kane. She wanted to focus on him, find him. Gut him like he deserved. But she could see the harrowed terror in David’s eyes. “What about Mary? If Phoebe’s still alive, Mary’s probably keeping her for leverage. But we’re no closer to knowing where.”

Noah pulled Mary’s personal data sheet close and went through it once again. “There’s one old address that came up on her background check, but the uniforms we sent to check it said no one knew her. She might have lived there years ago, but not recently and there was no sign of Phoebe’s car in the neighborhood.”

Olivia frowned, belatedly realizing something didn’t fit. “Wait. Her father’s not dead. Her roommate said she had a dad and a brother who’s a doctor.”

“Go back and talk to the roommate again,” Abbott said.

Olivia gathered the Mary pages. “What about Lincoln? They’re friends or have some relationship. Maybe Lincoln would know where she’d go.”

“Donahue said she’d call when he was interviewable,” Abbott said.

“I know,” Olivia said. “But Truman said the Feds searched his house last night. I bet they have files, a laptop, something that tells us how Mary found Lincoln to begin with.”

Abbott’s expression darkened. “Lincoln’s still ours on the B and E and assault.”

“Tell that to Special Agent Crawford,” Noah said, “because that’s who Truman claims did the search.”

Abbott’s jaw cocked. “I will. Micki, trace Eric’s money. Barlow, check for places Eric, Tomlinson, and Blunt intercepted. Keep me informed and nobody take off their vest.”

Wednesday, September 22, 4:05 p.m.

David put his tray on the table Tom had staked at the Deli. “Busy today.”

Tom glanced up from his laptop. “I know. Students are talking about the dead guy found in the dorm, the cops are talking about Kane, and the firefighters are either talking about your partner or… you.”

“Wonderful.” David sat and slid Tom’s sandwich across the table. “Eat.”

Tom frowned at the food, then at David’s lack of it. “Where’s yours?”

“Can’t.”

Tom pushed the plate to the middle of the table. “Neither can I. Eat half.”

He managed to choke down a few bites, watching as Tom plugged his wireless card into his laptop’s slot. “I’m still not sure I get the allure of this place,” David said. “Food’s only okay.”

“It’s better than the dining hall. But most people come here to socialize.” He pointed at all the customers on their laptops. “And because Kirby has free Wi-Fi.”

David looked up at the counter. “Which one’s Kirby?”

“The manager. Not up there right now. He’s the one who chats and says ‘buh-bye.’”

“Oh. Him.”

Tom looked up. “Kirby bothers you?”

David fought the urge to squirm. “He’s just… intense.”

Tom shrugged. “I think the flirtation is an act. He’s not a bad guy. He helped Eve seven months ago when that so-called reporter was following her. Made sure she knew the reporter had been talking to that professor’s secretary, stalking her and her friend.”

David remembered it. “That information helped save Eve’s life so I guess he can make eyes at me. Plus, he always sends coffee to the fire scenes if we’ve been there all night.” Still, there was something about the man that made him uncomfortable.

Tom nodded. “There, I’m in.”

David eyed the card sticking out of Tom’s laptop. “If they have free wireless here, why use your card?”

Tom’s eyes widened in dismay. “Tell me you don’t use free, unsecured Wi-Fi?”

David nodded warily. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just askin’ to be hacked,” Tom muttered. “This card is secure. Nobody can touch my hard drive.” He slid his chair around the table so David could see the screen. “I also put a coating over my screen so you have to be right in front of it to see anything.”

“Trusting soul, aren’t you?” David asked.

“No.” Tom typed Mary’s name and a screen full of links appeared. The first two pages were references to the two dead college students. There were three, David knew, but the police hadn’t released the connection to Joel Fischer yet.

Tom kept paging and frowned. “I get nothing on the name. What else you got?”

“Ethan gave me her social.” David turned the laptop toward him and typed it in from memory.

“I would have started with that,” Tom grumbled. “Results-twenty-three, single. No dependents. No out- standing student loans. One savings, one checking account.”

“That’s the other address Ethan gave me.” David pointed to the screen. “The police checked already. She doesn’t live there and the current residents don’t know her. Can you check who were the previous residents?”

Tom entered the address into a property tax Web site. “Current owners have been there for three years. The previous owner used this as a rental property. Previous owner is Mrs. Annie Walsh, who is still alive and local.”

David was already on his feet. “Let’s go.”

Wednesday, September 22, 4:35 p.m.

Olivia and Noah got out of their car and approached the abandoned green Taurus. They’d been en route to the university to reinterview Mary’s roommate when they’d gotten the call that Phoebe’s car had been sighted on a remote road.

The officer who’d called it in pointed to a man who stood soberly watching them. “He lives a half-mile from here, heard about the victim on the radio.”

“We’ll talk to him in a second, thanks.” Olivia walked around the car, afraid of what she’d see. “No blood. Unlocked.” Her stomach clenched, she popped the trunk. Then sagged in relief when she saw it was empty. “I had a bad picture in my mind.”

“So did I,” Noah said unsteadily.

Olivia walked the shoulder ahead of Phoebe’s car, stopping when a flash of silver caught her eye. With a pen, she dug the chain from the dirt and held it up so the medallion swung. “Noah. It’s a St. Jude medallion. Do you know if Phoebe wore one?”

“I think so. Eve has one just like it.”

She dropped it in a baggie and carefully tucked it in her pocket. For David. Just in case. But she wouldn’t let herself think that way. For David.

“Tire treads,” Olivia noted. “There was another car here.” They crossed the road and introduced themselves to the man who waited. “When did you notice the green car?”

“About a half hour ago. I was coming back from an appointment in town. It wasn’t here on my way in, but another car was. That was two hours ago.”

“Which car was here, sir?” Noah asked.

“A black Lexus.” He rattled off the license plate. “I was going to give them a day to move it before I had it towed. I first noticed it today. It wasn’t there as of ten last night.”

Olivia called in the plate number, then hung up, annoyed with herself. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a big help.” She hurried back to their car and got on the radio, Noah close behind. “It’s Eric’s car,” she said. “We never checked to see if he had one.”

“We were in a rush to find Albert,” he said after she’d put out a BOLO.

“I know.” But they couldn’t worry about that now. “All right. We know Phoebe was here and not bleeding. That’s good. Let’s check to see if Eric’s Lexus has GPS.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:05 p.m.

“Goddammit,” Olivia snarled as they pulled in front of Mary’s dorm. “Eric’s road assist was disconnected four days ago. They tried contacting him and got no answer.”

“Then I hope the roommate has some new information for us.”

They found Mary’s roommate, Helen, in the resident advisor’s room, trying to study.

“Helen, earlier you said you met Mary’s dad,” Olivia said. “When was this?”

“After Christmas, last year. He brought her a present and she threw it in his face. Called him Daddy.” Helen mimicked a mocking tone. “Like he was a douche.”

“What did he give her for the present?” Noah asked.

“Ten fifty-dollar bills.” She shrugged. “I was eavesdropping big-time. I’ve roomed with this group of girls for two years now. The others are okay, but Mary kept to herself. Everything was a big mystery. So when the man came up, I was surprised. So was she.”

“She didn’t go down and get him?” Noah asked. “I thought that was the rule.”

Helen shrugged again. “I guess his badge got him through.”

Olivia got another very bad feeling. “What kind of badge?”

“A cop, I think. You can check with security downstairs. They might have a record of it. It was after we came back from winter break. Mid-January. He said something about it being ten years and mending fences. Mary threw the money in his face, told him she never wanted anything from him, and ran to her room, crying.”

“What did Daddy do?” Olivia asked.

“Picked up the money. I was kind of hoping he’d leave it, but he didn’t.”

“What about the doctor brother?” Noah asked.

“I saw her taking a sleeping pill once. Said she’d had trouble sleeping and her brother called it in. I asked if he could call me in a script and she said she’d ask. She never volunteered and I never brought it up again. Like I said, we weren’t close.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said.

Downstairs, they asked the receptionist if she could track the cop’s visit last year based on Mary’s name and the approximate date.

“Of course. We can sort by the form of ID used,” the woman said. She did the search, then turned her screen. “The visitors that week. Only one used a badge.”

Olivia stared, then looked up at Noah, stunned. “This changes everything.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:15 p.m.

“How can I help you?” Mrs. Annie Walsh greeted them with a warm smile, instantly making David think of his mother. Please. His heart swelled to fill his throat, choking him. Please don’t let her be hurt. Please. I’ll do anything.

“Gentlemen?” Mrs. Walsh stared at the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

David cleared his throat harshly. “We’re looking for information on a woman who lived in one of your rental properties. Her name is Mary O’Reilly. It would have been at least three years ago, maybe more.” He gave her the address.

“No, I never rented to any O’Reillys at that or any of my properties.” She started to close the door and David held up his hand, watching fear flicker over her face.

“Please, we’re not criminals. My mother is missing. Her name is Phoebe Hunter.”

“My grandmother,” Tom added. “It’s been on the news today.”

Mrs. Walsh’s eyes widened. “Oh my. I did hear about that. You poor boys. But I can’t help you. I don’t know any O’Reilly family.”

David pursed his lips, thinking. “Her name was Mary Francesca. Maybe-”

“Mary Fran? Oh, of course, I remember her. Poor lamb. She’d lost her mother. That was before they came to live in my property, though.”

“How?” David asked and she hesitated, pity in her face. “Please, ma’am.”

“It was a nightmare. Her father had left the house, to work. There was an intruder, and Mary Fran’s mother was killed. Bludgeoned, I’m afraid. Mary’s brother was badly injured. He lived, though. I think he was trying to protect their mother. Mary was found hiding in a closet, the phone in her hand. She’d heard the whole thing.”

“She called 911?” Tom asked.

“No, she didn’t. That’s the story I heard anyway. I never asked them if it was true.”

Panic was slowly chipping away at David’s composure. “When did this happen?”

“Lord, must’ve been ten years now. Maybe eleven. Mary Fran was only twelve or thirteen, and Jonathan was sixteen or so.”

“Could we get the name of her father, of Mr. O’Reilly?”

“I told you, there was no O’Reilly. Mary Fran’s last name was Crawford.”

David’s mouth fell open. He blinked, not believing he’d heard right. Not a coincidence. “Crawford?”

“Who’s Crawford?” Tom demanded. “David.”

“He’s FBI. He chased Moss for years.”

Mrs. Walsh nodded. “Yes, that was his work. He left to investigate a case, and one of the criminals he’d put in jail was released and came back to harm his family.”

“Mrs. Walsh, do you have an address or phone number for the brother, Jonathan?”

“I haven’t heard from them since they moved. I wish I could help you. I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am, you’ve helped us more than you know. Thank you.”

“Mr. Hunter,” she called as they turned to go. “I’ll be praying for your mother.”

“Thank you,” David managed. As they were running to the car, David dialed Olivia, grimacing when he got her voice mail again. “Olivia, it’s David. Call me. Agent Crawford is Mary O’Reilly’s father. She has a brother. Call me.”

They got in and Tom pulled into traffic. “Where now?”

“We find Crawford. Go to the jail. I’m betting he’s there, waiting to talk to Lincoln.”

“Why hasn’t Crawford said anything?” Tom asked furiously. “He has to have heard about Mary on the news. About Grandma. Why hasn’t he said anything?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell planning to ask. Drive faster, kid.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:30 p.m.

He woke with a start, squinted at his alarm clock and groaned. He’d slept much longer than he’d planned. Rubbing his hands over his face, he grabbed his phone to check his texts. No word from Austin. Damn kid. Where the hell was he?

He aimed the remote at the television and the news filled the screen. Same old, same old. Fire, arson, dead cop, injured firefighter… He waited, then relaxed.

“Sixteen-year-old Austin Dent is still missing. Police ask anyone with any information…” Excellent. “We continue to follow the story of the abduction of a woman by Mary O’Reilly.”

What the hell?

“Mrs. Phoebe Hunter, of Chicago, was forced at gunpoint to become O’Reilly’s getaway driver. O’Reilly was fleeing authorities who wish to question her in the deaths of two university students.”

He stood slowly, pushing his laptop to the bed. “What the hell?” he whispered.

“O’Reilly is believed to be driving a black Lexus. She is armed and considered very dangerous. If you have information, please call MPD at the number on your screen.”

He tossed his phone to the bed and went to stand in front of the television, fists on his hips. “What the fucking hell have you done now, you stupid bitch?”

He went still at the knock on his door. Quickly he logged out of his bank account, shut down his laptop, and pushed the bag of phones under his bed. Maybe it was Girl Scouts. Maybe they’d go away.

But they knocked again, harder. “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

He gritted his teeth, recognizing the voice. Thank you, Mary. So fucking much. He pulled on a pair of pants and walked shirtless to the door. Through the peephole he could see the man he hadn’t wanted to see in years.

The man still wore a tie and had his hair in that same 1960s flattop. He still wore a black suit, shiny shoes, and a gun at his hip. And he still carried a badge that he took way too seriously. One of these days it would be the death of him. I hope.

The knocking grew louder as did the man’s voice. “Open. This. Door. Now.”

So he did, standing with his head tilted to one side, his most flamboyant smile on his face. “Hello, Dad. Long time no see.”