Silent Scream (21 page)

Two very long minutes later he heard the gentle slam of the back door and let out another breath. His hands continued to reel
as he heard the crunch of fallen leaves and, finally, detected the faint aroma of honeysuckle.
She was here
.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he said, not turning around.

“I said I would,” she said quietly.

He turned then, looking into the face that had captured his imagination the moment he’d seen her. But it had been her eyes
that had drawn him that first night. He found they still did. Round and blue, they’d been by turns sharp and intelligent,
soft and understanding. And, later, hot and needy as she’d looked up at him, her head on his pillow. He swallowed hard.

“I’m glad,” he said simply and her lips turned up. Not quite a smile. He dropped his eyes to her throat and could see the
pulse beating there, fast. Nervous, he hoped. Not scared.
Please don’t let her be scared.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I needed to pick up my dog and go home. Clean up a little.”

His eyes dropped to the dress she wore. He’d seen it before. The first night he’d met her, at Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The
night they’d sat and talked about everything under the sun until the small hours of the morning. He had to wonder if she’d
chosen the dress on purpose, or if it was simply a favorite.

Blue like her eyes, it was made of something diaphanous that gave him teasing glimpses of her curves as the fabric rippled
in the breeze. She’d left her hair down, as he liked it best. He wanted badly to touch, but his hands
were filthy, so he kept them where they were, clutching his rod and reel for dear life.

He looked at his own clothes ruefully. “I was. Cleaned up, that is. Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. I should have called. Time got away from me. It sometimes does that.”

He stared another long moment, wondering how to ask the question that had burdened him for two and a half years.
Why did you leave? What did I do?
“I’ve hooked a fish. Hook’s set hard in his mouth. If I cut the line…”

“He’ll suffer. So reel him in. It’s nice out here, with the lake. Who lives here?”

He reeled, impatiently now. He wanted to wash his hands so that he could touch her. “A friend who’s staying in my apartment
building. The one I’m rehabbing.”

“I didn’t know you’d opened it for tenants already.”

“I didn’t plan to. They just needed a place to stay. Now I’m half full.”

Something moved in her eyes and he wished he could interpret it. “That was kind.”

“So is your work with runaways. That night in Chicago, you said you wanted to do something, to give kids like your sister
a chance before they ruined their lives. Lots of people talk about making a difference, Olivia. You do. You’re there at the
teen shelter almost every weekend.” Even at the height of her work with the victims in the pit, she’d kept her commitment.
That had profoundly impressed David.

Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How do you know what I do in my spare time?”

“I’ve… paid attention. Since I’ve been here.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been
watching me
?”

He focused on reeling.
Yes.
“Kind of.”

“
Kind of?
What the hell kind of answer is that?” Her hand was plunked on her hip. Her very curvy hip. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not a terribly good one, I’m afraid,” he said.

She pursed her lips, fixing her gaze on his fishing line. “Do you have a better one?”

“I think so, but it’s hard to concentrate right now.”

She huffed. “So hurry up. What are you going to do with it anyway?”

He assumed she meant the fish. “Depends. Do you like fresh fish?”

“Depends. Who’s cleaning it?”

His mouth quirked up at her disgruntled tone. “Me.”

“Then I like fish. I couldn’t help but notice the table you’d set. Is the fish for dinner?”

He’d stopped by the home store for a tablecloth, candlesticks, and some plain white china. Nothing fancy, but better than
Glenn’s chipped plates. He’d turned Glenn’s gouged-wood table into something halfway presentable, in case things went well.

“Depends. I’ve got steaks marinating. I didn’t know if you’d have had a chance to eat.”

Some of the starch seemed to leave her sails. “I don’t really do steaks. But the fish sounds wonderful and I didn’t have dinner.
So thank you.”

He had the fish now, lowering the rod and reeling fast. “Did the father ID the girl?”

“Yes. Her name was Tracey Mullen. We have no idea why she was in that condo, but it looks like she played mom against dad.
Each thought she was with the other.”

“Divorced then?”

“Yeah. Mom comes tomorrow. Not gonna be fun. I
gave the dad your message.” She hesitated. “Told him you’d risked your life to save her. He thanked you.”

“I’ve been thinking about him, all afternoon. Thinking of you, having to tell him.” The fish was close now. “Back up. This
boy’s coming out.” She skittered back and he gave a final pull, landing the walleye on the dock where the fish slapped around
frantically. “Big one.” He looked up, saw her face droop. “Should I throw him back?”

“Would I seem silly if I said yes?”

He met her eyes. “No,” he said gently and she relaxed. “This boy’s lived a long time. Seems a shame to end his roll.” Pulling
on gloves, he took the hook from the fish’s mouth and put him back into the water, holding on until the fish gathered enough
strength to swim away on his own. “I catch and release most of the time anyway. Only so many fish one man can eat. Let’s go
inside. I’ll clean up and then we can talk.”

“And I’ll get better answers?”

“Yes.” And he hoped he got answers, too. Ones he could live with.

Monday, September 20, 8:45 p.m.

Barney Tomlinson sat at his desk in his office at the back of his warehouse, blearily staring at the P&L statement on his
computer screen. Blindly he reached for the glass on his desk and, finding it empty, reached for the bottle he kept in his
drawer.

It was empty, too. With a throttled oath, he chucked the bottle across the room where it bounced harmlessly against the wall.
Cheap liquor in plastic bottles.

That’s what his life had come to. Cheap liquor, and no more of that.
I’m ruined
.

His wife had put a hold on their funds. Some fancy lawyer was going to become rich…
on my money.
He dropped his head to his hands. “My goddamn money.”

I hope the little whore was worth half your money
, his bitch of a wife had sneered. She’d probably get what she was asking. Half of his money. His own lawyer didn’t seem hopeful.
When there were pictures involved…

Those damn pictures.
He’d
sent them. That damn blackmailer.
Who ruined my life
. He peeked between his fingers to look at the pictures her lawyer had given his lawyer. Barney remembered that night. The
sex had been good. Not great, but good. More than anything, Shondra had listened to him. Made him feel… important. Young.

Now that his money was gone, Shondra was gone, too. His bitch of a wife had gotten a good chuckle out of that. He wished she
were dead. Shondra
and
his bitch of a wife. He’d thought it through, looked at all the angles, but every way he looked at it, he’d be the first
suspect. At least when the dust cleared, he’d have half of whatever was left.

“Excuse me.”

Barney looked up, brows crunched. A man stood in his doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked familiar, but Barney couldn’t
place him.

“We don’t allow soliciting here,” Barney said. “You’ll have to leave.” He started to stand, then sank back into his chair
when the man casually pulled a very large gun from his pocket. He was wearing black gloves. Barney’s heart began to beat like
all hell. His eyes darted around, finding the phone at the edge of his desk. Too far away to grab.

No one was here. His employees had gone home. Nobody would hear him scream.

“W-we don’t keep cash here,” Barney stammered. “B-but I have a watch.” He started to take it off but the man lifted his gun
higher.

“I don’t want your watch, Barney,” the man said mildly. He rounded the desk, shoving the gun’s barrel against the back of
Barney’s head.

“Who are you?” Barney demanded, then he knew. “
You
. You took those pictures. You fucking black- mailed me.”

“Well, technically it was only attempted blackmail. You never paid me, after all.”

“What do you want? I have no more money. You ruined me.”

“No, Barney.
You
ruined you. You stick your cock in places it ought not go, you gotta accept the consequences.” The man actually sounded amused.
“Buh-bye.”

Buh-bye
. He’d heard it before. Now he knew who this guy was. “You’re—”

He stepped back from Tomlinson’s body, now face-first on the desk. What was left of his face, anyway. He searched Barney’s
pocket, finding keys, his BlackBerry, and the disposable cell he’d provided. Pocketing the keys and BlackBerry, he walked
around the desk, careful not to step in any of Barney’s brains. Pausing at the door, he snapped a picture with the disposable
cell, then checked to be sure he’d gotten a good one.

He had, indeed. Barney was well centered and the blood contrasted well with the white papers strewn over the desk. It would
make a nice visual aid for the next bozo
who ignored him. And for the College Four Minus One if they balked.

He hoped the cops would find the hollow-point bullet that had exited Barney’s head and tie it to the dead cop-turned-security-guard.
It would let him pull the noose a little closer around the necks of Eric and his friends.

He pulled Barney’s office door closed and, pulling the ski mask over his face, left the way he’d come in. He wasn’t too worried
about the cameras. After listening to Albert and Eric discuss their plans, he’d concluded the two had the cameras covered.
Besides, the only video that would matter after tonight would be the video he took.

On his way out he unlocked the cage that held Tomlinson’s dog, just as Tomlinson did every night when he left. The dog didn’t
like Tomlinson at all. The warehouse manager handled the hound, feeding it and putting it back in its cage where it would
pace all day. He hoped Eric and Albert didn’t plan to kill it. It was a beautiful animal.

He closed the back gate and yanked on the twine Tomlinson kept tied to the door of the dog’s cage, just as Tomlinson did every
night. The dog bounded out with a ferocious growl, jumping at the fence, teeth bared. Truly a magnificent animal.

Buh-bye
, he thought as he got into Barney’s car and drove away. He’d park it a few blocks over, then retrieve his own vehicle. That
way when Eric and the gang arrived, they wouldn’t see the car and think anything was amiss—like that Tomlinson was dead inside.
They’d start the fire, and by morning, his grip on them would be even tighter.

• • •

Monday, September 20, 8:57 p.m.

“I’m in.” Eric was hunched over his laptop, staring at Tomlinson’s company server.

“About time,” was all Albert said, his gaze glued to the television set. He’d been watching the news to get a feel for where
the cops were on the condo investigation.

Eric let Albert’s words roll off his back. He couldn’t worry about the two of them right now. He had to figure out how to
get past the alarm or there would be no “them” to worry about. It had taken a lot longer than he’d expected to break into
Tomlinson’s server, but he was nervous and not thinking, which explained most of the delay.

Opening a folder labeled “Maintenance,” he nodded. “The alarm’s an old design. The documentation here is from a system they
bought ten years ago.”

Albert’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care about the make and model. Can you turn it off?”

“Yeah. It’ll be easy. I just have to—”

Albert held up his hand. “Shh. It’s nine.”

On the television, the anchor looked grim. “Good evening. We have an update on the fire that destroyed the lakefront condo
last night. Police have identified the female victim as Tracey Mullen. Tracey was just sixteen years old.” The screen split,
a photo of a pretty young girl with big brown eyes appearing next to the anchor’s face.

Eric’s stomach turned inside out and he was glad he’d eaten nothing for hours.
Tracey Mullen
. He stared at the face on the screen, but what he saw was her face pressed against the glass, her mouth open on the scream
that echoed in his mind. Next to him, Albert had tensed and Eric wondered if the guilt was eating him like acid, too.

The screen changed to a video of a woman with bright red-orange hair wearing a jacket with
SAR
printed on the back and holding the leash of a German Shepherd. The woman and the dog entered the burned-out condo while
three others looked on—a blond woman, a dark-haired man, and a tall guy wearing a fedora. Hat Squad, Eric thought. The guy
with the hat was a homicide detective.

“This was the scene this afternoon as a cadaver dog searched for additional remains in the building,” the anchor’s voice said.
“Fortunately, they found none.”

Eric released a breath. At least they’d killed no one else. The girl was a tragedy, but she shouldn’t have been there to begin
with.

The video changed abruptly, now grainy and far away. “News 8 has obtained this video, taken with a bystander’s cell phone.
You’re looking at the cadaver dog, who, after searching the burned building, continued tracking on the other side of the property,
ending up at this stretch of beach. Police captain Bruce Abbott had no comment as to the relevance of the dog’s find on the
ongoing investigation.”

The anchor reappeared. “In other news, a fatal car accident claimed the life of Joel Fischer early this morning. Joel’s car
ran off the road between his home and the university, where he was a prelaw student. No one else was injured. Funeral services
will be tomorrow afternoon….”

“The dog found where the blackmailer left after killing that guard,” Albert said coldly.