Scream Catcher

by Vincent Zandri

  * * *

  But then, like a sudden shift in climate, something amazing happens: just as quickly as the prosecutor came down on Jude, she offers up a sincere apology.

  “Please forgive me if I seem curt or edgy in my methods,” she explains, her face once more retaining much of its attractiveness—its tan softness, its hazel-eyed charm. “It’s my job to attack your story in the precise manner the defense will pry it apart, event for event, word for word.”

  Now working up a gentle smile.

  “Listen, if I didn’t believe the man wearing a surveillance bracelet wasn’t Hector Lennox, I never would have agreed to an early arraignment. I would have put it off until we received all the forensic proof to further back up our claim.”

  Cool sweat goes from dripping to pouring down Jude’s back. He’s having trouble swallowing. He finds himself eyeing the small patch of second growth woods that conceal the perimeter of the gravel pit. It’s like waiting for Lennox to once again appear. This time in pursuit of another victim and more screams.

  “Lennox is representing himself,” he swallows. “How can he possibly wage a competent defense?”

  Blanchfield crosses arms; eyes the same patch of woods that Jude eyes.

  “I’m certain he will question your sanity as a former officer who was forced into resignation for botching a hostage crisis. Acting as Christian Jordan he will take great offense to having been accused of serial killing. He will be the falsely charged, the victim of shoddy justice, perhaps the victim of an elaborate setup. He’s being foolishly picked on while the real killer eludes the police. Worst of all, Jude, he will establish reasonable doubt in the mind of Judge Mann, and that is something we—I—cannot defeat, regardless of strong circumstantial evidence.”

  … When Burns presses the trigger, the shotgun blast causes Jude to shed his strength, lose his balance. He’s down on his knees on the cabin floor when the blond-haired mother takes the full load of buckshot to the face; when the empty casing is ejected from the smoking chamber, when a fresh one is locked and loaded …

  Minutes later a timeline reenactment is set up in which all available people are assembled to recreate the events of the previous morning. With Mack acting the part of the victim, Lino plays Lennox. They are to be as accurate as possible, right down to Jude’s engaging in three solid rounds of speed bag work.

  It seems like a great chance for the former cop to get it right. But what he discovers instead is that a physically exhausted man trying to make out the faces of gunman and victim as they plow through the gravel pit, then the woods surrounding it, and onto the parking lot proves a next-to-impossible task. And that’s without the dark of night or the driving rain.

  The distance is just too great; the exterior spotlight too dim.

  The only scenario that carries any weight is the quick look he got of Lennox as the beast slowed the sedan, drew down the passenger-side window, aimed the sound-suppressed .22 cal. at Jude’s face and fired.

  But even then it’s possible that Judge Mann is not about to trust Jude’s testimony.

  In light of his having lost consciousness for an estimated twenty-three minutes (and in light of the Burns incident; in light of Cop Job), it’s more likely that the judge will continue to deem the testimony as unreliable. Or at the very least, questionable.

  “No wonder Mann approved a conditional bail,” Mack comments.

  Lino purses his lips.

  He adds, “Mann is probably convinced that the real killer is still out there somewhere. That we’re just jerking ourselves off.”

  Jude says nothing. Not a word.

  He knows then that what the morning’s exercises boil down to is this: instead of giving him the self-confidence to testify, he’s left feeling like a failure. Not only as a reliable witness, but as a mentally stable human being.

  * * *

  Later, as Jude slips back into his father’s Jeep Cruiser, he silently asks himself the sixty-four thousand dollar question: If my testimony is considered so unreliable, why keep me on as the prosecution’s star witness at all?

  As the cops silently pull out of Sweeney’s, it’s a question Jude might pose to Mack or even Lino. But fearing an answer he does not want to hear, he keeps his trap shut.

  24

  Lake George Road

  Wednesday, 9:20A.M.

  P.J. Blanchfield pulls the Porsche over to the side of Lake Road. The car has hardly stopped in a screech of burning rubber and spitting gravel when she opens up the door, leans her head out and vomits.

  When emptied, her breathing having returned to normal, she closes the door, wipes her face with one of the paper napkins stored in the glove box.

  You bitch. You fucking selfish, lonely bitch!

  What the hell are you doing? What right have you got to put this man’s life in jeopardy in order to protect your own? Jude Parish is a father and a husband. He’s got a fucking baby on the way. He has all those things that you willingly gave up for the “career.” He’s a good man. You know he’s not an unreliable witness; that the man suspected of the murder in back of Sweeny’s Boxing Gym is Lennox.

  You know the Black Dragon is not dead. You know that this arrest and investigation has been orchestrated by the criminal himself.

  The master puppeteer.

  The kill gamer.

  The scream catcher.

  You know that he is free and that he will harm Jude. He is free because he can tug your strings. He can manipulate you and you, in turn, can work the law to suit your own purposes; to protect your blueblood future by hiding your redneck past.

  Now Lennox will use Parish as his victim in the next kill game.

  Why do you sell your soul?

  Because you are too afraid to bring Lennox down.

  No, that’s not right.

  The more accurate truth is that you are too afraid of going back to the nobody you once were, and in the end the scream catcher will not collect just one new set of screams, he will collect the screams of an entire family, including those of a pregnant woman and a ten-year-old boy.

  Blanchfield looks out over her left shoulder onto the pristine Adirondack lake. The calm flat water shimmers now in the morning sunshine. For a split second she considers throwing the soiled napkin out the window. Instead, she sets it down onto the empty seat beside her.

  Give a hoot, don’t pollute.

  She inhales a deep breath. But even the sweet mountain air cannot cauterize the foul bile taste in her mouth. Restarting the engine, she thrusts the gear stick into first. Before pulling back out onto Lake Road, she catches sight of her own eyes looking back at her angrily in the rearview. She pulls away from them. But not before bursting into tears.

  25

  Assembly Point Peninsula

  Wednesday, 6:45 P.M.

  Evening comes down hard.

  Jude plants a smile on his face regardless when he sits down with his family for an indoor picnic. Which means that instead of firing up the grill, they cook cheeseburgers on the gas stove in a hot skillet filled with sautéed onions and mushrooms. They set out a bowl filled with Cape Cod potato chips. Beside it, a small platter of garden lettuce, slices of tomato, thick rings of Vidalia onions. From where he sits at the table, it’s impossible not to see out the picture window onto the lake and the L.G.P.D. patrol boat stationed out in the bay. Between Ray Fuentes and the patrol boat, the Parish family is guarded on two fronts should the unthinkable occur and Lennox somehow manages to free himself of his electronic guardian.

  Jack has constructed a gigantic cheeseburger, ketchup, mustard and mayo running down its sides. His round face is wide-eyed.

  Conquer and destroy.

  “You’re not gonna be able to get your mouth around that,” Jude observes.

  “I’ll force it in,” the boy insists. Picking up the burger two-fisted, he attempts a sloppy first bite.

  Jude opens the tab on a can of cold beer, takes a long hard pull.

  Easy on the beer, Parish. Your famil
y will get the wrong idea …

  Rosie is sitting across from him, with Jack between them at the head of the table. As afternoon has progressed into evening, Jude has grown worried about his pregnant wife. Her color isn’t good. And since he arrived home earlier that afternoon she hasn’t managed a single smile. Her words have been few. Twice Jude tried asking her if something might be the matter. And twice Rosie raised her hand up as if to wave the subject away.

  When Rosie gives you that wave, it’s a clear signal.

  Back off.

  She could not have chosen a worse time for silence.

  Jude feels the need to run through the disaster of the morning’s crime scene reenactment. He wants to tell her about Blanchfield, about how the prosecutor challenged his every word. His system requires venting, which means he wants to tell her how he feels more lousy than ever about his demon. He wants nothing more than to prove himself a reliable witness. He wants to earn their trust—Blanchfield, Mack, Lino and Judge Mann. He wishes it were possible to say all of these things to Rosie. But he knows that she’s in no mood to hear them.

  Something’s wrong.

  On her plate rests a thin hamburger patty. Nothing else.

  While Jude begins to fix his burger, he notices that Rosie is merely picking at her plain piece of meat with the tip of her fork. It isn’t like Rosie not to be hungry, especially at dinner time. She’s four months pregnant after all. Seems like she’s always hungry these days.

  “Rosie, do you feel sick?”

  No answer. But then she doesn’t have to answer.

  Because when her eyes roll back in her head and she falls out of her chair, Jude knows that his wife is in severe trouble.

  * * *

  “Dad!” Jack screams.

  “Go outside. Get Ray.”

  Jude, down on his knees, ear pressed against Rosie’s chest.

  “Rosie!” he shouts.

  Her heart beats rapidly.

  When Jude puts his face to her mouth he can feel warm breath circulating in and out. It’s clear she’s not fully passed out. He eyes are opening and closing. She’s trapped somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Rosie.”

  But she can’t speak.

  Ray bursts into the kitchen, Jack on his tail.

  “Let’s carry her out to the Jeep,” he presses. “No time for an ambulance.”

  They set out along the lake road for the five-mile drive south to Glens Falls. Ray radios ahead to the L.G.P.D. with news of the crisis, then calls ahead to the hospital warning of their arrival. When they get there, Ray pulls up to the Emergency room. Even as they exit the Jeep Cruiser, two orderlies are grabbing hold of Rosie, setting her onto a collapsible gurney, wheeling her inside.

  Jude, Ray and Jack follow close behind.

  But as they come to a room cordoned off with a green drape, a young nurse insists they back off, make room for medical staff. She orders them to sit tight in the waiting room. As soon as more information becomes available, she’ll let them know.

  Hurry up. Wait. Agonize.

  * * *

  An impossibly long hour goes by before Jude receives anything resembling an update on Rosie’s and the baby’s condition.

  But then a doctor enters the waiting room, spots Jude, makes his way over. He is a tall, African American man. Heavyset. Dressed in green surgical pullover and matching draw-string pants. He holds out his hand, introduces himself as Tom Walsh.

  He says, “Don’t worry. Your wife and baby are doing okay now.”

  A wave of relief passes through Jude’s body. From brain to toes and back again.

  He swallows, asks the doctor what might have caused her to pass out.

  “Rosie is suffering from symphysis pubis or SP,” Walsh explains. “In lay terminology, her uterus is prematurely separating itself from the pubic bone. It’s not life threatening to either mom or baby. But as you can see it can result in intense pain, swelling and tenderness. The trauma induced a high level of toxicity in her blood, causing her to enter into a semiconscious state.”

  “My wife hasn’t been complaining of pain.”

  “She doesn’t seem like the complaining type to me, Mr. Parish. I’ve prescribed a safe and effective muscle-relaxant for her. But for now, I want you to get her back home, put her to bed. Make sure she gets a lot of rest. She can exercise, but nothing strenuous. She can take Tylenol for any further discomfort.”

  When the doctor excuses himself, Jack, Ray and Jude make their way back to a side recovery space located off the emergency room. Rosie is in there, sitting up, a smile planted on her drawn, pale face, an intravenous line hooked up to her right forearm. Jude gives her a kind of gentle half hug. Jack holds her hand. Ray offers her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

  “You scared the daylights out of us, Mrs. P.,” he says.

  It’s then Mack comes rushing in through the sliding emergency room doors, face beaming confusion and worry. Rather than his usual uniform of blue blazer and khaki pants, he’s dressed in old gray sweats and sneakers.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Right on time, Captain,” Ray smiles.

  “I was at Iron Mike’s when I got the call,” Mack says. “Wednesday night power-lifting.”

  Jude fills the old Captain in. Just the highlights.

  “Close call,” says Mack afterwards. Then to Rosie. “You take care of yourself. No more jogging, no more digging in the garden. I don’t even want to see you making jewelry. Not until my granddaughter is born. You hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, Captain Mack,” Rosie smiles as her father-in-law bends down to kiss her forehead. “From now on my life is bed-rest and bonbons.”

  * * *

  An hour later the Parish family is back home.

  While Ray makes a check on the home’s exterior, Jude gets Jack to bed, brings Rosie up some Campbell’s chicken soup and crackers. But by the time he enters into the master bedroom, he can see that she’s already asleep. He sets the tray on the dresser. Then he pulls the comforter back over her, kisses her brow. She still feels warm. But the color has returned to her face.

  “Love you,” he whispers into her ear.

  Jude wonders if she can somehow make out his words in her sleep.

  She breathes gently.

  She is home now. Safe, dry, protected.

  Turning off the bedside lamp, Jude makes his way quietly back downstairs.

  * * *

  Inside his study he sits at his desk, pops open a beer. From his chair he can see the dark forest to the immediate south of his home. He can also make out the bay that surrounds the small peninsula. Although he can’t see them, he knows the lake patrol is keeping a solid watch on the home from the water. He knows that Ray is now back inside his Jeep Cruiser where he will keep watch until the early hours of the morning when the Lieutenant will be relieved by a uniformed officer.

  Jude swallows some beer, logs on to his e-mail account.

  He wonders if his anonymous guardian angel has managed to e-mail another warning. But there are no messages in the mailbox. Jude can only surmise that one warning was enough. Just a single warning about watching his back.

  No details.

  At this point he can’t help but think that the message might have been a crank. His e-mail isn’t all that difficult to get a hold of. His website address is printed along with his photo on the dust jacket of his book for all the world to see.

  He drinks some more beer, thinks about the day, about the disastrous morning crime scene reenactment, about the SP that nearly injured his wife, maybe threatened the life of his unborn daughter. He wonders if the pressure of his involvement in the Lennox case is already exacting more than its fair bite out of Rosie. He wonders if it’s all worth it. But then Lennox is a killer. He has to be stopped. The beast was tried once before and beat the system. If Lennox were to get away again, he might never be brought to justice. More people will die. Jude has to at least try to bring hi
m down.

  That’s why he is doing this.

  Or is it?

  Maybe Jude’s reasons for testifying against Lennox have nothing to do with putting a murderer away. Maybe they have everything to do with his pride. But then does restoring his pride and destroying the demon justify placing the lives of his family in jeopardy? What’s more important? His reputation as a man? Or the lives of his family?

  He swallows some more beer, feels the cool liquid entering into his system.

  But the alcohol isn’t having much of an effect. Up until tonight, Jude didn’t realize how much he cherished the thought of a baby girl coming into his, Rosie’s and Jack’s lives. Yet here he is placing everything that is dear to him on the line.

  By testifying he is gambling with his most precious possessions.

  Maybe he should have taken the doubting prosecutor’s hint and dropped out that very morning. He is an unreliable witness. His personal demon is well documented in his memoir. Maybe his testimony will never stand up in a court of law. Maybe he should get the hell out now while the getting is good.

  Fingering the now ratty bandage taped to his head, he yanks it off, and tosses it into the wastebasket beneath the desk. It’s his last bandage. Downing the rest of his beer, he heads back into the kitchen, pulls down his bottle of Celexa anti-anxiety medication from the cabinet over the sink. He pops one pill, swallows it with some water straight from the tap. Outside the picture window he can see the green and red running-board lights of the patrol boat. They make him feel safer. At least, they should make him feel safer.

  Before making his way upstairs, he turns on the house alarm via the wall-mounted enunciator panel off the rear kitchen door. Heading for the staircase he wonders if Lennox is turning in for the night. But then as a former cop, he knows the cold hard truth: like all predators, the night will be the Black Dragon’s time to hunt, if only in his mind.