Silent Scream

by Karen Rose

  Wednesday, September 22, 8:00 a.m.

  David was surprised to find Tom waiting for him in the firehouse lounge. His nephew lurched to his feet, his face bent in a frown. “Are you okay?” Tom asked.

  David signed in and headed straight for the coffee. “Hard night, but I’m fine.”

  “I heard on the TV about Zell. Any news?”

  “I called the hospital on my way in. They said he was unchanged.” David poured them both cups of coffee and handed one to Tom. “I guess we won’t know anything for a day or two. You remember Detective Kane, Olivia’s partner?”

  Tom nodded, his frown deepening. “I heard it on the news. They said he was saving some kid from getting kidnapped.”

  “Which is all mixed up in this glass-ball craziness.” And that a ball had not been found at last night’s scene had been nagging at him.

  “Poor Olivia. She’s got to be crushed.”

  “She is, but she’ll stand.” And so will I. She’d turned to him that morning, needing him. He’d been afraid that in the light of day he’d see contempt in her eyes. But she’d taken the worst secret he owned and put it in the past. He’d find a way to do the same.

  “I know. But still…” Tom sighed. “I’ve got a nine o’clock class, so I don’t have much time. I found a few things on that Web site we talked about. Can we talk here?”

  It was very quiet in the firehouse that morning, the mood depressed, common when one of their own was injured. Everyone was going about their business and nobody was paying attention to them. “Good a place as any. What do you have?”

  “The Web site’s domain name is registered to a guy named Hubert Leeds, established ten years ago.”

  “Two years after the last Moss fire. Who is Hubert Leeds?”

  “Professor Leeds. Taught at the same university as Moss. They were pals, according to a few articles I found.”

  “Taught? Leeds retired?”

  “No, he’s dead. Died of an aneurysm eight years ago.”

  “So the Web site just lived on?”

  “Not exactly. I’m not sure when the content was uploaded—you know, the speeches, the recordings, the pictures of Moss. But somebody has been renewing the domain registration. You can’t just let your URL expire or somebody could snap it up and use it for their own Web site. It was last renewed six months ago—and registered out for nine years. That’s the max.”

  “Who paid for it?”

  “Good question. That would have required a little deeper digging than I was comfortable doing. Credit cards and things like that.”

  “So we’re going to need help,” David said unhappily and Tom shrugged.

  “Ethan’s not a bad guy, David.”

  “I know, I know. Never mind. What else did you find?”

  Tom’s brows lifted. “You’re welcome.”

  David smiled. “Thank you. What else did you find?”

  “I got into the Web site pretty easily. I figured somebody had to be updating it and it was just as likely to be that Lincoln Jefferson guy as anyone. I played with usernames and passwords until I got it right. Didn’t take long. His username is AbeThomas, all one word. And three guesses to his password.”

  “Valla Eam,” David said.

  “You got it. I’m betting Lincoln worked with Professor Leeds to build the site. The professor probably gave him access to all the admin stuff—the registration, the site itself. Then when he died, Lincoln kept it.”

  “While he grew crazier and crazier,” David said. “So this Web site has been sitting there all this time? Don’t you have to pay for server space?”

  “This one’s hosted at one of these freebie places. The account’s in Leeds’s name. I checked hit activity and the site had a low level of visitors for the first half of last year. The real activity started last April, right about when the domain was renewed.”

  “So who’s been visiting?”

  Tom drew a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Names I was able to track. The rest are IP addresses I couldn’t track. You’re back to asking Ethan for help on those.”

  David read the list, then frowned at a name that kept appearing over and over again. “This name I know. Joel Fischer. Why do I know that name?” He closed his eyes, concentrating. “Oh yeah, I remember now. It was Monday when I was listening to the news reports on the condo fire. Joel Fischer died on Monday. Car accident.”

  “I remember him now, too.” Tom looked thoughtful. “He went to the university. The heavy Web traffic in April was probably research for a spring semester class.”

  He was at the fire, David thought. Then he’d driven his car off the road, unable to deal with the guilt. Joel’s home was the visit Olivia had made right before she’d come to the cabin last night, before everything hit the fan. “He’s important.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me how,” Tom said flatly. “Uncool, David.”

  David leaned over, murmuring, “He was at the condo fire, okay?”

  Tom’s brows shot up. “Really? He doesn’t seem like a smart criminal, then. He didn’t try to hide his visits to this site and he visited a lot. Of course, hits to the site have gone off the charts since yesterday when the story of the glass ball broke.”

  Olivia needed the information, but David wasn’t sure how he’d tell her where he got it. He scanned the list again. There was a name that was noticeably absent.

  “Lincoln’s name isn’t anywhere,” David said thoughtfully. “No wonder that Fed was so pissed. Lincoln’s been there, right under their noses for twelve years, keeping up the Web site. But they had to have known Professor Leeds had died. Why not investigate?”

  “If no new content was added after Leeds died, they may have assumed it was a static site. Maybe they stopped checking it. That’s all I got. Talk to Ethan about the credit card payment for the domain re-up. He has ways of tracking stuff.”

  “I don’t think all his ways of ‘tracking stuff’ are completely legal,” David murmured.

  “So? You want legal or you want to keep Grandma safe at your loft?”

  “You’re right. I’ll give Ethan a call. Thanks for your help, kid.”

  “Anytime.” Tom gave him a quick one-armed hug, then stepped back, amused. “You need to lay off the honeysuckle perfume, David. People will talk.”

  David’s cheeks heated. Olivia had jumped into the shower without her shampoo. He’d pulled back the curtain to give it to her and found her crying, a new wave of grief having hit when she’d found herself alone. He’d held her while she cried, washed her hair because he knew the massage calmed her. Then one thing had led to another and he’d made the day go away one more time.

  Tom barked a laugh. “You should see your face. I have to get to class. Call me if you need me.” He handed David a card. “Ethan’s cell.”

  David took the card. “Thank you. I mean it.”

  “No problem. Grandma’s still with Evie?” Tom asked and David nodded.

  “Yeah. Noah had to work last night, after Kane…” He sighed. “Anyway, she called Glenn and he stayed there during the night. I assume he’s still there.”

  “I guess it’s about time for Grandma, too. She’s been alone a long time.”

  It still made him wince. “Yes, she has.”

  Tom shrugged. “Hey, I had to watch my mom fall for your brother.”

  “But it turned out okay.”

  “Sure it did. And this will, too. You shouldn’t be complaining. If he’s good enough to be your friend, then he’s okay for your mom.”

  “You’re right. Hey, you know you could have called me with all this information.”

  “I know,” Tom said. “But I saw the fire on the news during the night and heard one of the firefighters was hurt. Grandma called me, told me it wasn’t you, but”—he shrugged uncomfortably. “Guess I needed to see for myself that you were all right.”

  David felt his throat close once again. “Well, I am. Get to class. And thanks.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

/>   Wednesday, September 22, 8:00 a.m.

  Olivia stood outside the doors to the police department, her fedora in her hand. On her way out of David’s cabin she’d seen it on the sofa and picked it up on a whim. No, not a whim. A talisman maybe. But she hadn’t been able to put it on her head.

  She was late but couldn’t make her hand reach for the door. She didn’t want to go inside. Didn’t want to see Kane’s desk or Abbott’s round table. Didn’t want to see the looks of sadness on everyone’s faces. Just get through today. Easier said than done.

  “Good morning, Detective.” It was Dr. Donahue.

  Great. The department-mandated shrink smelled blood in the water. “Good morning,” Olivia said and if she sounded a little curt, so be it. I have stuff on my mind.

  “Contrary to what you think, Detective, I’m not here to analyze you. I’m here for Abbott’s meeting.” She brushed by and, too late, Olivia realized her eyes had been red.

  Olivia followed. “Dr. Donahue.” The shrink kept walking, face averted. “Jess. Wait.”

  Donahue stopped, dug in her pocket for a tissue. “Can I help you, Detective?”

  For a moment Olivia didn’t know what to say, then searched her purse for a compact, handing it to Donahue. “Damage control.”

  Donahue swept powder under her eyes, but it was a token effort. “Thanks.”

  Olivia dropped the compact in her purse, then drew a breath. “I can’t go up there.”

  Donahue’s gaze was level. “Yes, you can. You have to.”

  “I have to get through today.” The words made her sneer.

  “As trite as that sounds, yes. Detective… Olivia, nobody said this would be easy.”

  Olivia looked at the elevator, watched people getting on. Knew if she got on with them, she’d go into full panic mode. She looked back at Donahue, whose eyes had softened with understanding.

  “Let’s take the stairs,” Donahue said. “Fewer people can see my face like this.”

  Grateful for the excuse, Olivia followed her. They’d climbed two flights when Olivia stopped. Donahue paused on the next stair and looked down, waiting.

  “I’m afraid of crime scenes,” she heard herself admit. “Afraid to look at the bodies.”

  Donahue looked unsurprised. “Was that so hard to say?”

  Olivia swallowed hard. “Yes. So was that the hard part?”

  Donahue’s mouth curved. “Hell, no. The hard part’s moving on, but at least now we can get to work. First, though, we have to get up these stairs.”

  And past his desk. Olivia stared at the hat in her hand. And put it on her head.

  “Nice,” Donahue murmured. “Very Ingrid Bergman.”

  Olivia pursed her lips, a new sob threatening to rip her in two. She gripped the handrail until it passed. Until she could breathe again. Then she made her feet move.

  The bull pen was eerily quiet. In front of her, Donahue moved like a soldier, eyes forward, feet almost marching. Olivia followed until she came to Kane’s desk. She made herself look at it, made herself remember all that blood on the ground. Then squared her shoulders and went into Abbott’s office where everyone was waiting.

  “So what do we have?” Olivia asked briskly, taking the seat next to Noah. “Has Austin Dent been transported down here yet?”

  Noah hesitated. “No. He’s gone.”

  Olivia slowly turned to stare at Noah’s profile. “He’s what?”

  “Gone,” Abbott said. “State police got to his house last night and found he’d left through a back window. We’ve had an all-out hunt for this kid for the last four hours.”

  A spurt of fury geysered inside her. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “My decision,” Noah said. “You needed to sleep. Gut me later, but I’d do it again.”

  “I backed him,” Abbott said quietly. “There wasn’t anything you could have done. We’re sweeping fields, doing road stops. Every agency is searching.”

  “Who is Austin Dent,” Donahue asked, “and why did he run?”

  Abbott quickly brought the doctor up to speed while Olivia’s mind raced.

  “The shooter has Kenny’s phone,” she said. “He used Val’s phone to text me so I’d think she was okay. He could have lured Austin away. He could have him right now.” She looked over at Abbott. “He takes their cell phones. Tomlinson, Val, and Kenny.”

  Barlow looked up then. “And Dorian Blunt’s. We haven’t found his phone yet.”

  She looked around the table, saw this wasn’t a new name to the rest of them and tried to stow her annoyance. “Who?”

  “He was found in the house that was the arson target last night,” Barlow said. “At least we’re pretty sure it’s him. Ian’s going to get dental records this morning.”

  “Why do you think it’s him?” Olivia asked. “And who is he?”

  “Because we found his wallet in his pants,” Barlow said. “His license was buried in a stack of credit cards. The edges were all melted together, but when the lab separated them out, we could make out his name.”

  “He’s an accountant,” Noah said. “His wife said he went out to meet with a client last night and never came back. She didn’t know where the meeting was or who the client was. She said that he seemed desperate when he left, that their savings are drying up and they’ve got a lot of debt. She hadn’t heard of Tomlinson, had no idea why her husband would have been in that house. So far we don’t have a connection to Tomlinson or Rankin and Sons.”

  “Lots of debt, just like Tomlinson,” Olivia said. “Did they use gasoline?”

  Barlow nodded. “Outside, but not on him, just like Tomlinson. He was found sitting at a desk in a home office. He was facedown.”

  “Back of the head with a hollow-point?” Olivia asked, trying not to think of Kane.

  “Yes,” Micki said. “Slug is in ballistics.”

  But it would be a match. Olivia had no doubt. “He’s been a busy bastard,” she said coldly. “Three in one day, assuming he got to Val. Kenny would have made it four. What have we done to communicate with Austin?”

  “His mother has sent him texts, telling him that he’s not in trouble,” Noah said. “We had Kenny send one, too, from a new account. We canceled Kenny’s old account so that the ‘busy bastard’ can’t use it. I woke up the construction manager at Rankin and asked him to get me the names of all the carpenters who’d worked on the condo. We called until we found the one who’d employed Austin last summer. We had that guy send a text, too. We’ve tried to get everyone he might trust to tell him to contact the police, that he’s in danger and not in trouble.”

  “So, everything anyone could do,” she said quietly. “Everything I would have done.”

  “We even had Bruce record a personal message, and we sat a sign language interpreter next to him,” Noah said. “Hopefully Austin’s still alive to see it.”

  “And Kenny?” she asked.

  “His parents are here,” Abbott said. “They’ve agreed to stay in a safe house until we can arrange for more long-term protection or until we catch the busy bastard.”

  “Has anyone talked to him again? He was in the guy’s van. Maybe just a minute, but maybe he saw something that could help us.”

  “Not yet,” Noah said. “We can do that today, you and I.”

  “Okay.” She looked down at the table, tried to organize her thoughts. “The hat you found at the scene last night. The one the shooter left behind. Anything?”

  “Yes,” Micki said. “A few hairs and face putty around the hat’s brim.”

  “He changed his face,” Olivia said. “So even if we got a sketch artist with the dorm staffer or Kenny, it wouldn’t be accurate. Joel Fischer was at the condo fire, but he was dead before the Tomlinson fire. Let’s find out who he hung with. What did you find in his bedroom?”

  “The glue on the shoes is definitely the carpet- padding adhesive used to start the condo fire,” Micki said. “He was there, in the condo.”

  “And he was hit on the hea
d,” Olivia said. “Just like Weems. I think they carried him away from the condo because he was unconscious.”

  “Which would explain only one set of tracks at the fence,” Micki murmured.

  “Different agendas,” Donahue said thoughtfully. “Joel changed his mind.”

  “Kane and I thought so,” Olivia said and the room went silent. She dropped her eyes for a moment, waited until her chest eased, then lifted her eyes and forged on. “Kane found a note stuck in one of Joel’s textbooks. It was from a girl and it was signed ‘M.’ He also had a friend named Eric Marsh. Maybe either this girl or Eric know who Joel might have fallen in with. What did you find on his cell phone and his laptop?”

  Micki frowned. “We didn’t find a laptop in his room. Or a cell phone.”

  “He would have had the cell phone with him when he died,” Noah said. “The morgue didn’t send one over with his clothes?”

  Micki shook her head. “No, I’m certain they didn’t. No cell phone.”

  “Let’s go to Joel’s classes,” Olivia said, “see who he knew. He should be buried today. Maybe his friends will come to the service.”

  “I had the cadaver dog at the fire scene last night,” Barlow said. “The dog’s handler is the daughter of the vet who took the guard dog from Tomlinson’s. Brie said the dog’s going to pull through.”

  “One bonus,” Olivia said, her smile wan.

  “Oh.” Micki searched through her folder. “I got the lab results on the dog. He was given oxycodone. A lot of it.”

  Olivia frowned. “Really? That’s what Ian found in Joel. Joel OD’d on oxy.”

  “We didn’t find any evidence of drugs in Joel’s room,” Micki said. “We vacuumed every surface and haven’t gone through the dust yet, but there were no visible signs. There were no pill bottles in his car either.”

  “Somebody else had the pills,” Olivia said, “because they gave them to the dog Monday night. What if Joel didn’t take them voluntarily either?”

  “Sounds like we need to start with Ian,” Noah said. “Find out if it’s possible to know how he ingested the oxy that killed him.”