Silent Scream

  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.”

  O
livia 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.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Wednesday, September 22, 5:45 p.m.

  Crawford looked at him in disgust. “Thank God I’m not your father. Are you alone?”

  “Very. Come on in.” He aimed Crawford a seductive look, just for old times’ sake.

  It was all an act, of course. It had always been an act, conceived at first to piss Crawford off. Then later he’d realized that the macho cops in his shop didn’t make eye contact when he flirted. It made him invisible. Just the way he liked it.

  “Shut up. Look, all I want to know is, have you seen your sister?”

  “No, but I saw the news. Naughty, naughty Mary. This is not gonna look good for you.” He tilted his head again, smiling. “Maybe that was her plan all along.”

  Crawford’s jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter. “Fine. That’s all I wanted to know. Now we don’t have to see each other, ever again.”

  He shrugged lightly. “I’m surprised you knew where to find me, quite frankly.”

  “I’ve always known. This is my town. You don’t sneeze without me knowing.”

  He wanted to tell Crawford what he didn’t know. “Oh. Because you carry a badge.”

  “You,” Crawford ground out, “will never amount to anything.”

  His eyes narrowed, anger long denied now bubbling up. “You’re right. Good thing you have one perfect son. But wait. He doesn’t speak to you, either, and weren’t you kind of demoted? This isn’t your town anymore. Too bad you can’t find Mary. At least you’d have one decent arrest before they put you out to pasture. Fresh triple homicide’s gotta be worth more than a twelve-year-old single. See y’later. Buh-bye.”

  Through his curtains he could see Crawford march to his car. But then the man stopped and looked up with a frown before getting in his car and driving away.

  His gut clenched. He knew that look. Knew it was Crawford’s I-just-discovered-a-truth look. What did I say? He wasn’t sure.

  And then he knew. “Oh, shit,” he breathed. “Oh, sh
it.” He grabbed a shirt, shoes, and his laptop. And his gun. Mary had only been linked to Albert and Eric in the news. Not Joel. I shouldn’t have known it was a triple homicide.

  The police were watching for the white van, so he jumped into his car, going the direction Crawford had gone. Maybe Crawford would think he’d meant that Phoebe Hunter was the third of Mary’s homicides. Maybe. But he couldn’t take that chance.

  He caught up with Crawford and slowed his pace, staying far enough back that he couldn’t be seen. He’d wait till Crawford stopped, then he’d take the bastard out.

  He’d always wanted to, ever since his mother brought Crawford home. He’d been nine and had hated him then. His hate had grown considerably since. He hadn’t realized how much until he’d seen Crawford’s face again. He wondered what had set Mary off. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to leave the glass balls at each fire. She’d known what the discovery of the glass balls would mean. Exactly who it would bring.

  Mary had always been a manipulative little bitch. She was improving with age.

  Putting a bullet in Crawford’s head would be almost as good as putting one in Mary’s, which would be his next step. Because he had a pretty good idea of where she’d go.

  Wednesday, September 22, 6:00 p.m.

  “Pull over and let me out,” David said urgently, pointing to the police department. He’d been calling Olivia, Noah, and Abbott for twenty-five minutes with no success.

  Tom pulled over. “I’ll find a place to park and come up.”

  David had one foot on the pavement when his body went rigid. Crawford. “There he is.” Fury exploded and he ran at Crawford, who had only a second to register alarm before David had him off the ground by the lapels of his black suit. “Where is she?” He shoved Crawford up against the brick wall. “Where the fuck is Mary?”

  “David!” Tom was behind him, pulling him away. “Let him go.”

  Crawford’s face was crimson. “Get your hands off me. This is assault on a—”

  David shook Crawford hard, his vision going red at the edges. “The next words out of your fucking mouth better be where we can find Mary. Because she has my mother.”