Silent Scream (53 page)

She began to pray, silently mouthing the words that she’d said so often for others.

“What are you saying?” the woman snapped.

“I’m praying.”

“Well, stop. Nobody’s going to hear your prayers anyway.”

“I’ll know,” Phoebe murmured. “That’s enough.” They’d be looking for her, she knew. She wouldn’t let herself fear. Instead
she’d focus on landmarks so that when she got away, she could find her way back.

The woman turned on the radio, tuning it until she found the news.

“Two college students were found dead today,” the announcer reported soberly, “one in his apartment, the other in his university
dorm. Police are searching for Mary O’Reilly for questioning regarding these deaths. If you have any knowledge of the whereabouts
of Mary Francesca O’Reilly, please call the police.”

Phoebe glanced at the woman. “I’m assuming you’re Mary.”

Mary’s jaw was taut. “Shut. Up. And. Drive.”

• • •

Wednesday, September 22, 2:15 p.m.

Olivia found David sitting on the floor of Jefferson’s realty office, his face pale beneath his tan. A nasty row of stitches
lined his jaw. There was blood on his shirt.

She crouched beside him. “Are
you
all right?”

His eyes were blank. “Glenn saw Mary’s name on her pay stub and she hit him. I chased her and she shot at me. She’s not a
good shot.”

Olivia touched his wrist, felt his pulse racing wildly. “David, are
you
all right?”

He closed his eyes. “I chased them, but I wasn’t fast enough. She took my mother.”

She slid her hand over his forearm. “Is this your blood on your shirt, or Glenn’s?”

“Glenn’s.”

“I thought you were on duty today.”

His mouth quirked bitterly. “If I had been, this wouldn’t have happened. Damn cat.”

“You’re not making any sense, David.”

“OTJ accident. Mom and Glenn picked me up at the firehouse. I was supposed to rest, but I didn’t listen. I got information
on Lincoln’s Web site. He’s had it for ten years under a dead professor’s name.”

“You said Mary paid some of Lincoln’s bills. You tracked her credit card?”

“Yes. And then I called you with the information. Hours ago.” His tone took a slightly accusing edge and he looked away. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” she said gently. “How did you know about Lincoln’s brother?”

“Lincoln called his cell yesterday.”

Oh.
“You checked Lincoln’s cell log while you waited for us yesterday, didn’t you?”

He nodded, unrepentant. “Priorities. Yours was catching a killer. Mine was making sure there wasn’t another Lincoln out there
to come to my place, hurt my people.”

He would do that, protect his people. “When did you find out Mary was the secretary?”

“Truman mentioned her name when we were meeting. I didn’t know before. I would have called you. I wouldn’t have put my mother
and Glenn in danger.”

“I know. We’ve got the state police helicopter in the air, searching for her car.”

He pinned her with his gaze. “Why were you looking for Mary? Tell me.”

Olivia sighed. “We think she killed at least one of the arsonists, maybe all three.”

David closed his eyes, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “With the gun?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. She couldn’t shoot worth a damn. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me going, knowing she’s not comfortable
with that gun. Maybe she won’t…” He stopped, battling for control. “Oh God. She’s got my mother.”

“I know,” Olivia murmured. “We’ll find her.”

“Mary applied for the job here to get close to Lincoln. Truman says their last receptionist tumbled down some stairs.”

“Oh no.”

He opened his eyes, terrified but functioning. “She talked to Lincoln. That must be how she found out about the glass balls,
about the
VE
scratched in the pole.”

“How did she find him?”

“Through the Web site, I guess. Let’s ask Lincoln.”

She nodded. “I will.”

“I’m coming.” The look he flashed her was full of fury. “Don’t consider telling me no. You might need me again.” His mouth
twisted bitterly. “I’m the cat-saving fireman.”

“Olivia.” Noah was standing at Mary’s desk, studying the contents of her purse. Noah was also pale. Phoebe Hunter was like
Eve’s mother. But Noah had proven himself under pressure. Olivia knew he’d keep it together. “Phones. Lots of phones.” He
held up an MP3 player in his gloved hand, turned it around. “It says, ‘number one.’”

“Play it,” David said tersely.

Noah did, while Olivia and David watched, huddled around the earpiece that was connected. A tinny rendition of the
Mission Impossible
theme could be faintly heard, then Olivia saw the first photo and understood.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s Tracey Mullen.” It was her face in the condo window, her mouth open on a silent scream as
she pounded the glass.

“Somebody videotaped this,” David said, horror in his voice as Tracey slipped from view, her hands trailing down the glass.
“I saw the tracks of her hands on the window.”

The camera panned back to four figures, their faces clearly visible in the moonlight.

“Joel, Mary, Eric, and Albert,” Olivia said. “Joel’s fighting to get back inside. Eric and Albert hold him back, then Albert
hits Joel in the head.”

“Then Albert and Eric drag Joel away,” Noah said. “Just like we thought.”

Olivia watched Mary take a last look up at the window, then follow Albert and Eric to the fence where
they shoved Joel through. “Just like we thought,” she murmured.

“Someone videotaped this,” David repeated. “They just watched while Tracey died.”

Noah blew out a breath. “We have a fifth man.”

The video changed. “Tomlinson’s warehouse, before the fire,” David murmured.

“This is the connection,” Noah said. “The fifth man was blackmailing them.”

The video stopped and the three of them stood for a moment, silent. Then Olivia sorted through the phones until she found
one that said “#2” on the back.

“Lots of texts. Attachments. Photos. Tomlinson’s warehouse burning, Eric’s body, just like we found it.” She opened the next
attachment.

“Dorian Blunt’s house,” David said. “Before the neighborhood went up in flames.”

“And one of Albert, dead,” Olivia said. “The text says ‘Fuck you.’ I guess Mary was tired of being pushed around. This is
how they’ve been communicating with the blackmailer. We need to call Abbott.”

Noah did. “Bruce, we have a fifth person involved….” He listened with a frown. “How did
you
know?” He looked at Olivia. “Austin Dent is in the precinct. Abbott showed him pictures of Joel, Eric, and Albert, and he
said the man he saw wasn’t any of them.”

Olivia gathered the contents of Mary’s purse. “Tell him we’re coming in.” She looked up at David. “Should I have someone drive
you to the hospital to meet Glenn?”

“No, I need to talk to Lincoln. If I don’t do something, I’ll go insane.”

She nodded, hoping Abbott and Donahue would concur. “Okay. Let’s go.”

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

S
low 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.”

“What
ever
.” 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.