Silent Scream (34 page)

Donahue met her eyes and Olivia had the sense the woman was reading her mind. Discomfiting. “If he’s diagnosed schizophrenic,
then yes, he’s certifiably crazy. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be held accountable for what he did today or twelve years
ago.”

“Special Agent Crawford wants to talk to him,” Kane said. “Dig Moss’s whereabouts out of his brain.”

Donahue frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The door closed sharply behind them. “It doesn’t matter,” Crawford said smugly. He was standing next to Abbott, who looked
worn out.

“We are to cooperate with the FBI,” Abbott said stiffly. “So let the man through.”

What followed made them all cringe. Crawford was twice as belligerent with Lincoln as he’d been with them, repeating his demand,
“Tell me where Moss is,” again and again. Within minutes Lincoln was cowering and rocking in his chair.

Donahue crossed her arms over her chest. “What is he doing?” she asked angrily.

“Crawford’s an old-fashioned sink with two spigots,” Barlow said. “One hot, one cold. This morning we got cold. A few times
during the day, he went hot. It was not fun.”

“But you’re not a schizophrenic off his meds,” Olivia said. She looked at Abbott, frustrated. “Don’t let him break Lincoln’s
brain before we can talk to him.”

A few seconds later, Crawford himself gave Abbott an official out when he grabbed Lincoln’s collar and yanked him so that
he sat up in the chair. “You will answer me.”

Abbott stepped into the room. “Special Agent Crawford, you have a phone call.”

“I’m busy. Take a message.”

Abbott shook his head. “I’m sorry. You need to take this call. Please.”

Crawford thrust Lincoln away in disgust. “I’ll be back for you,” he said angrily, then followed Abbott into the observation
room. “What the fuck?” he exploded as soon as the door was closed. “How dare you? I was going to break him.”

“We don’t want him broken,” Abbott said. “He is our witness.”

“He’s wanted for a goddamn federal crime,” Crawford said, getting in Abbott’s face. “Are you going to give him milk and cookies?
What kind of department do you run?”

“A successful one,” Abbott said quietly, not moving a muscle, not backing down. “Now, we will question him, but we’ll follow
the advice of our psychiatrist.”

Crawford’s expression became one of blatant disrespect. “And she’ll say he’s crazy, that he can’t be held responsible,” he
said sarcastically. “Then be my guest.
Try the milk-and-cookies approach. See if you can
cajole
a confession out of him.”

“Under this kind of duress,” Donahue said, “no confession you pull from him will hold weight in court anyway. His defense
attorney will leap all over this. I don’t think you want that, Special Agent Crawford.”

“I don’t want him. I want Moss,” Crawford uttered slowly as if they were all stupid.

“Then we need to calm Lincoln down,” Kane said. “Liv, you up to try?”

“We both tried to calm him down back at David’s,” she said. “The only person he listened to was David Hunter.”

“The firefighter?” Crawford asked, narrowing his eyes. “What did Hunter tell him?”

Olivia looked at Abbott, purposely ignoring Crawford. “David’s been reading Moss’s speeches since he caught the ball. The
uniforms had cuffed Lincoln and had him facedown on the carpet. David started quoting Moss’s speeches, word for word.”

Abbott’s brows lifted. “Some memory.”

You have no idea
, Olivia wanted to say, but swallowed it back. “Apparently so. He thinks Lincoln might be the guy who built the Web site shrine
to Moss.”

“Where is Hunter now?” Abbott asked.

“Filling out a complaint,” Kane said. “You want him in there?”

There was a crash in the interview room. Lincoln had rocked his chair until he tipped and hit the floor. Now he lay on his
side, rocking and chanting,
“Valla Eam.”

Abbott sighed. “Go get Hunter. What can it hurt?”

“We’re not going to get back to the deaf school before school’s out,” Kane said, “but I want one more go
at Kenny. I’ll bring Hunter, then tell Oaks we’ll be back after dinner.”

“Val sent me a text saying she had a three o’clock interpreting commitment when I told her we were running behind,” Olivia
said. “She’ll be busy for a while longer. I’ll tell her to be back at the school around seven.”

“I’ll get the fireman,” Kane said. “Don’t do anything exciting without me.”

Tuesday, September 21, 4:45 p.m.

D
avid stood at the window looking at Lincoln, who was rocking in his chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go in and talk to him,” Olivia said. “Like you did at the cabin. Calm him down. Then I’ll come in and try to find out if
he knows anything about these two fires. After that, we want to know if he knows where Moss is.”

“How long has he been schizophrenic?” David asked.

“Why does that matter?” Special Agent Crawford demanded.

David already didn’t like him, but that wasn’t his business.

“Since he was twenty-one,” Donahue said. “A common age to manifest.”

“And right about the time he met Moss,” David said. “Lincoln was ripe for the picking by a radical cultlike leader, wasn’t
he?”

“Likely,” Donahue agreed. “He would have been frightened and confused by what was happening in his mind and reached out to
a group that helped him stay grounded.”

“SPOT?” Crawford snorted. “A radical environmental group kept him
grounded
?”

“They probably welcomed his zeal,” Donahue answered,
as if Crawford hadn’t dismissed her. “When he was ‘up,’ he would have been quite an asset.”

“And seeing a charred body that he’d helped kill?” David said.

“Would have pushed him over the edge, putting horrific images in his mind.”

“Understandable,” David murmured. “I’ve seen a few charred bodies and it’s an… unforgettable sight.”

“Hunter,” Crawford said mockingly. “Do you feel
sorry
for this man?”

David looked him in the eye, gratified he had to look down several inches to do so. “This man killed a woman and permanently
damaged the lives of two good firefighters. I don’t feel sorry for him.” Which was true when he thought about it like that.
“Satisfied?”

Crawford had a sour look about him. “Yes.”

“Then I guess I’m ready to go in.” He walked into the room, pausing at the table. He had to remind himself that the pathetic
man before him had violated Glenn’s belongings, was going to steal his laptop, and had been armed with a lethal weapon. Still,
he couldn’t push Lincoln’s eerie whisper from his mind.
Always there. Always there
.

Did he feel sorry for the man? When he thought about the whisper, yes, David found that he did. But he struck all pity from
his voice. “Hi, Lincoln.”

Lincoln’s rocking slowed, but it didn’t stop, nor did his chanting of
Valla Eam
.

David sat and began reciting one of Moss’s speeches, as he’d done before. Within a few minutes the chanting had slowed. After
another few minutes, Lincoln was reciting along with him. Finally David stopped. After finishing the paragraph, Lincoln fell
silent.

“Lincoln, the police wanted me to talk to you. You got upset. What happened?”

Lincoln scrunched his eyes closed. “He yelled. In my ear. In my head. It was loud.”

“I’m sorry,” David said quietly. “I don’t like it when people yell at me either. Lincoln, you know you’re in trouble, right?”

Lincoln nodded, saying nothing, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Detective Sutherland drove you down here. Can she talk to you now?”

The man didn’t open his eyes. “No.”

“Then, you have a problem,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “You broke into my house. You had a gun. The police want to know
why.” And after the adrenaline had settled, David realized he wanted to know who’d told Lincoln he was there. “Detective Sutherland
won’t be loud in your head. You need to stay calm.”

David rose when Olivia came into the room. “Hi, Lincoln.”

Lincoln still didn’t open his eyes. “He stays. Cat-saving fireman stays.”

Olivia’s blond brows rose. “He saves cats?”

“Little old ladies’ cats in trees. He stays.”

She motioned to a seat and David sat. She sat next to him, across from Lincoln. “He’s not your lawyer, Lincoln,” she murmured.
“I read you your rights. You have the right to an attorney. David Hunter is not your lawyer.”

“I know. He stays. He understands.”

She met David’s eyes, a frown in hers. “What does he understand?” she asked, but Lincoln was silent. David shrugged, unsure
of what to say in front of the man.
Unsure what he’d say were he alone with her. Yes, he understood. But he wasn’t proud of it.

“Okay,” Olivia said softly. “I want to talk to you about the glass ball.”

“No. He’s listening.”

“Who?”

“The loud man. Where is Moss? Where is Moss?”

“No, he’s not. Special Agent Crawford had to leave. He’s not listening.”

David wasn’t sure if she was lying or not. Apparently Lincoln wasn’t either. Lincoln opened his eyes, searched her face plaintively.
“He wants Moss.”

“Yes, he does,” she said. “But I want to talk about the glass ball.”

“It was Mother Earth,” Lincoln said dreamily. “Defend her.
Valla Eam
.”

“You left them at fires, these balls,” she said.

“Yes. Marked.
Valla Eam
.”

Olivia leaned forward. “How were they marked?”

“On the pole.”

She frowned slightly. “On the pole?”

“On the pole.
Valla Eam
.” He sang it and Olivia tilted her head, watching him.

“Okay. Did you mark the big glass ball that was left at the condo?”

Lincoln blinked, seeming genuinely surprised. “No.”

“How did you know about it?”

“News.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Blue Moon.” He sang again, this time singing the melody to the old song.

Her eyes sharpened. “The bar? On Hennepin? When did you leave?”

“Bells. Last call.” He called it, like a train conductor.

“I understand. Lincoln, how did you know it was David who caught the ball?”

“Firemen. But the old man said he didn’t live there in the old house.”

“How did you know he was in the cabin?”

“The girl told me. Baby smiled.”

The girls in 2A. “One of my tenants,” David whispered to Olivia and she nodded.

“Lincoln, do you know where Preston Moss is?”

Tears filled his eyes. “He left but she stays. Always there. Always there.” And then he began to rock again, his eyes clenched
tightly.

“Who stays?” she asked, but Lincoln was gone again, back into his own mind.

“The woman he killed,” David murmured. “She’s always there, in his mind.”

“I think we’re done here,” she murmured. The two of them went to the observation room and David closed the door. “I don’t
think he’s involved in our fires,” she said.

David searched the room. Crawford was indeed absent. “Where’s the FBI guy?”

“He got pissed when you said you were sorry he yelled at Lincoln,” Kane said. “Stomped out. What did he mean by ‘marked on
the pole’?”

“The pole of the world?” Barlow said, frowning. “But there was no mention of that in any of the documentation I’ve read on
SPOT.”

“Let’s see if our glass ball has a mark,” Abbott said. “As for this guy, psych ward at the jail. Fifteen minutes till our
five o’clock. I’ll see you all in my office. Mr. Hunter, thank you. We appreciate your help this afternoon.”

“You’re welcome.” Abbott and the others left, leaving
him alone with Olivia who had been watching him carefully since they’d left the interview room. “What?” he asked her.

“What did you understand, David?”

He wanted to sigh. Wanted to run. Wanted to look away, to lie. Instead he answered as honestly as he could. “I guess that
what he saw that night still haunts him.”

Her gaze hadn’t wavered. “I’ll see you later. I have to finish an interview after our meeting, so it’ll be nine before I’m
finished for the night. Where will you be?”

His heart rose from his gut to slam against his ribs. “Where do you want me to be?”

She hesitated. “The cabin was nice. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” She turned to go, then turned back. “You promised to
answer my question tonight.”

His heart kept rising. Now it was in his throat, choking him. “Yes, I did. Who am I?”

“Exactly. That’s what I want to know. Come on, I have to sign you out.”

Tuesday, September 21, 4:55 p.m.

He stepped out of his van and took a great gulp of fresh air. The interpreter’s screams still rang in his ears and his stomach
still churned. If only they’d just
tell
, it would make it so much
easier
.

She’d tried to stay silent, begged for her life, sobbed about her children, but in the end,
thankfully for both of us
, the interpreter hadn’t held out all that long.

He had a name and a description. Kenny Lathem, sixteen, sandy blond hair, brown eyes, about five ten, wearing blue Converse
high-tops. He wasn’t the boy they’d
been looking for, though. They were looking for someone with dark hair and size 10 shoes.

But Kenny knew something and the cops were going to try talking to him again tonight to find out just what he knew.
I have to find him first
. Trouble was, the kid lived in a dormitory, in a damn school.
How am I going to get him out? How will I communicate with him?

The interpreter was quite dead, but he wouldn’t have trusted her. He’d use paper and pen. But first he needed access to the
kid.

He flipped open the woman’s phone and smiled at the latest text she’d received. Olivia Sutherland was tied up, wanted to meet
back at the school at seven.

I’m so sorry
, he typed back.
I can’t help you. I have a commitment tonight.
That would keep the cops from worrying when she didn’t show at seven. Then he found the most recent text she’d sent to her
sons. That wasn’t hard to find. She’d told them to do their homework before watching TV after school.
Have an appointment tonight
, he typed.
Dinner in the fridge.
He had no idea if there was dinner in the fridge, but she’d sent texts like this in the past. The kids were teenagers. They
wouldn’t starve.