The Scorekeeper

by Dustin Stevens

  All four of them stood with their attention on the door, nervous energy infusing the air between them.

  “We ready?” Jacobs asked.

  “Do it,” McMichaels replied.

  “Ready,” Reed answered.

  Nodding once, Jacobs took one more bounce, readying himself to surge forward. Halfway through, he paused, some of the tension sliding from his body as he took a half-step forward, extending a hand to the door.

  “Just in case,” he said, grasping the door handle.

  To the surprise of every person there, it turned easily, the hinges letting out just the slightest moan as it swung inward.

  “I’ll be damned,” McMichaels muttered, inching up onto the back edge of the landing.

  Under most any other circumstances, Reed might have reacted the same way. He may have even managed a small chuckle, the action of breaching so ingrained in all of them that they barely even paused to check and see if the door was open.

  As it stood, his mind forced its way to the next step in the progression.

  “Clear!”

  The word was so loud, so fierce, that Jacobs visibly flinched before him. Jerking upward, he pulled his body to the side, Billie’s dark fur brushing against him as she streaked into the house. Instantly swallowed by the darkness therein, Reed surged ahead, practically pushing Jacobs through as they spilled inside, McMichaels bringing up the rear.

  Just as they had at the previous location, Reed advanced no more than a few feet. With his back to the door, he extended his gun before him, listening to the sounds of Billie bounding through the space.

  To his right, the two officers entered as well, each staring into a small living room that opened directly into a kitchen ahead of them.

  Unlike the last stop, the place did have furnishings, though it appeared nobody had touched them in quite some time. A battered sofa sat along the far wall, a scratched coffee table before it. Serving as end tables were stacks of newspapers bundled tightly with twine. Beside him was a box television that looked to have been manufactured in the sixties, a pair of wooden sconces on the wall that appeared much the same.

  “What the hell is that smell?” McMichaels whispered.

  “Neglect and old age,” Jacobs muttered.

  Reed said nothing as Billie finished her sweep, finding the home free of anybody. Presenting herself before him, she paused, letting him know the place was clear, before turning back toward the hallway.

  The original plan was for them to clear the house before handing it over to the officers. Every part of Reed had believed that when he offered it, had even wanted things to play out that way.

  Given how much air Della Snow had left, and the things he still needed to get to, any chance they could conserve time had to be utilized.

  Now standing inside the house, there was no way he couldn’t follow his partner. No possibility that he could walk out without seeing what the light emanating from the back bedroom was trying to show them.

  Not after seeing what had been in the house in Grove City, scribbled on the walls at Della Snow’s apartment.

  The hallway was positioned on the left edge of the kitchen, extending out in a straight line. To the right was just a single door leading to the backyard, a pair of windows framing it to either side. On the left, a series of doors filed by, the first for a bathroom, the next a small bedroom.

  Passing each of them with barely a glance, Reed followed Billie as she pushed ahead, her midnight hue nothing more than a shadow.

  With each step, the light coming from the rear of the home seemed to grow stronger, beckoning them forward. Spilling out into the hallway, it gave just the slightest of flickers, again giving the impression of firelight as Reed drew near.

  Ahead of him, Billie made it as far as the threshold before pulling up and looking his way. Light reflected off her eyes, two glowing discs in the semi-darkness of the hall.

  Swinging out to the right, Reed put his shoulder against the outer wall, moving slowly as the back bedroom came into focus.

  “Oh my God.”

  The words were faint and low, barely more than a grumble as he stood pinned in the corner of the hallway, staring through the open door into the back bedroom. Inches before him, Billie did the same, the two of them almost paralyzed as they took in what was spread before them.

  “What?” Jacobs asked from a few feet back.

  “You good?” McMichaels added, their combined voices snapping Reed from his trance.

  Looking their way, Reed lowered his weapon, tasting the salty sting of sweat on his lips.

  “You guys have got to see this.”

  Without another word, Reed stepped into what was designed as a rear bedroom. Made with room enough for a standard bed, dresser, and desk, most all furniture had been stripped away. In their place was nothing more than a single wooden table along the back wall, LED candles of every size and shape covering it and a large swath of the surrounding floor.

  Spray painted above it on the wall was the phrase NOW THISIS A SHRINE.

  And spread out away from the same standard block letters Reed had seen twice already were enough photographs to cover the entire rest of the wall.

  Every last one of them of Della Snow.

  Walking directly into the room, Reed bypassed the spray paint and the candles. Instead, he focused on the photographs, the locations and clothes Della was wearing showing they had been taken over a number of different days and likely a large period of time.

  “Holy shit,” Jacobs whispered, following him in order. “Yeah, this is a shrine.”

  “A severely messed up one,” McMichaels said, entering behind his partner.

  To either comment, Reed could only agree in silence. His gaze continued to work over the pictures before him, staring at the unwitting young girl merely going about her life, the images depicting her walking with books in hand or a bag over her shoulder, a yoga mat protruding from the end of it.

  Each one managing to heighten the animosity he was already feeling.

  “We’ve got to move,” he whispered. “There’s a lot to do and not much time to do it.”

  One at a time, the images continued searing themselves into his mind, fighting away any form of a coherent thought.

  “Call it out,” McMichaels replied.

  Forcing himself to look away, to turn and put the pictures behind him, if for only a moment, Reed said, “We’re going back to the car and get those socks, and then Billie and I are going to scour the grounds as quick as we can.”

  “You think she’s here?” Jacobs asked.

  “No,” Reed replied, “I think this guy is just messing with us again, but if she is and we didn’t at least try...”

  For an instant, he let his voice trail away, not wanting to even consider the outcome.

  If not in the court of public opinion, then at least in their own collective psyche.

  “I need one of you guys to call Earl. Tell him what we’ve got, ask him to do whatever he can.”

  Both men nodded in agreement.

  “And I need the other one to call Grimes, tell him what the message says and about the pictures. Ask him to add it to the searches he’s been running.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  One picture, in particular, was nestled at the front of Reed’s mind as he jogged across the ragged grass of the front lawn toward his sedan. It looked to have been taken some time in the last couple of months, while the weather was still chilly.

  In it, Della Snow was talking on the phone, walking down the street in a pair of yoga pants and an Oregon State Beavers sweatshirt. She was smiling, with her head thrown back, white teeth flashing beneath dark skin and even darker sunglasses.

  At a glance, the photo was nothing remarkable. It was merely another young woman out for a stroll. She could have been coming from the gym or on her way to Starbucks.

  Someone young and vibrant, moving without a care in the world.

  Which was exactly the part that had struck such a
chord with Reed.

  This wasn’t a woman that was glancing furtively over a shoulder. Not someone that had any reason to believe she was in danger or should be alarmed about those around her.

  She was just a person, out enjoying the sorts of protections that was supposed to be afforded her. That people like he and Billie went to work every day to protect.

  And they had failed her.

  They had failed her that day, just as they were failing her tonight.

  The thought spurred Reed forward as he bounded across the uneven ground, moving at a diagonal before stepping over onto the driveway. Keeping his pace even, he made his way to the car in just seconds, Billie a few strides ahead, seemingly aware of what came next and ready to get started.

  Jerking the driver’s side door open, Reed pulled the plastic bag out and ripped open the top, the adhesive clinging for just a moment before parting in either direction. Careful not to touch anything inside, to contaminate it with his own scent, Reed bent at the waist, holding the bag out before him.

  Extending her neck, Billie thrust her nose down into the sack, taking several deep breaths. Once she had imprinted the smell in her mind, she pulled back, letting him know that it was locked in.

  “Search.”

  The command was issued in a low and firm tone, Billie moving into action as if a jolt of electricity had passed through her. Starting with her tail, her entire body spasmed slightly, coiling into position before setting off up the driveway.

  Tossing the sack back into the car, Reed shut the door. Jogging to catch up, he fell in behind her, opting against using either of the leads, wanting Billie to have the freedom of movement she needed.

  Moving her head from side to side in a sweeping motion, Reed could hear Billie taking in deep pulls of air, checking for the scent. Going at a pace that was just less than a trot, she made her way straight up the driveway and into the backyard, not once even glancing back to him as she went.

  More than once Reed had seen her in such a state, locked in and looking for a particular smell. It was the same way he sometimes felt when working a case, a parallel that Riley would have pointed out with great pleasure every chance she had if she was still around to do so.

  Completely focused on the task at hand, Billie shot across the backyard, making three swipes through, careful to miss nothing.

  Not once did she alert, or even slow down.

  “Dammit,” Reed said, slapping lightly at the leg of his jeans and leading her over toward the woods. Stopping at the rear corner of the property, he fell back, letting her pull ahead, working along the fence line that led toward the road.

  Watching her go, Reed could feel that same heavy feeling in his stomach setting in. Just like he had testified earlier in the day, nothing on the planet was as adept at tracking as his partner. If Della Snow had been by recently – even if she was being carried – Billie would be able to recognize it.

  The fact that she was pounding straight head now was not a good sign.

  Making their way past the corner of the house, Reed could see McMichaels and Jacobs moving about in the corner bedroom. With the overhead lights now on, their silhouettes stood out plainly behind the curtains, each man no doubt doing what he had asked them to.

  Two more people that he had roped into things, still somehow seeming no closer to Della Snow than when they started.

  “Down,” Reed said, stopping Billie just a few feet from the road, knowing there was no point in her going any further.

  What they were looking for wasn’t here, just like it wouldn’t be at their next destination.

  But that didn’t mean they weren’t about to head there anyway.

  Chapter Fifty

  The image on the screen was from the bedroom in the corner of the small house just outside of town. Inserted into a camera no larger than the head of a sewing needle, it was embedded deep inside the heating vent overlooking the space, well back from the entrance.

  If a crime scene unit team was extra thorough – and knew where to look – it might be able to spot the tiny electronic device.

  Given everything that was going on though, the ticking clock that every person involved must no doubt be feeling, The Scorekeeper felt reasonably certain he was safe.

  If given his preference, it would have been placed in one of the tree branches just outside the window, but concessions had to be made. With the display he had put together, there was no way to hide it from plain sight other than pulling the curtains closed.

  And in doing so, blocking any chance he had of hiding a camera outside.

  Placed several inches back inside the duct, the field of view on the camera was partially obscured by the horizontal metal strips of the outer grate. Taking off an inch on the top and bottom, he was left with a band no more than four inches tall spread the width of his screen.

  The feed was projected back in standard black-and-white, the lack of color made up for with remarkable clarity. Seated on the front edge of the sofa, he could see every minute detail of the display he’d worked so hard to put together, right down to the positioning of Della Snow in each one.

  Following her and taking so many pictures was not something he had enjoyed, or would have ever even considered prior to all this. Sitting in his car, his camera resting in his lap, had made him feel like a pedophile.

  Like every person that happened by could peer right in at him, all trying to match his face with the most recent entry in the sex offender registry.

  The act alone, on its face so simple, would have been enough to land him back in trouble. And that was before everything else was taken into consideration.

  Still, it had been necessary, a means to an end that could not be achieved otherwise.

  Using real candles would have been preferable, but there was no way to know when the police would have shown up or even if they ever would have made it. Using the credit card at Bingham’s was such a tenuous act, the sort of thing that may or may not have ever caught their eye.

  A final and deliberate tripwire, it was the sort of thing that would definitively tell him if he’d made the right call. The fact that he was now watching the scene play out only proved it had been, that all the media attention spent in the last year and some had been correct.

  An admission that couldn’t always be made, it sent a jolt of exhilaration through The Scorekeeper. With it came the thought, the hope, that perhaps the salvation he craved so desperately was within reach.

  Staring at the screen, The Scorekeeper watched as the two men looked everything over. Neither was in uniform, but it was clear they were both officers, each carrying the trademark look that was so ingrained in men of their ilk.

  Short haircuts, certain physiques, even the way they spoke with their lower jaws thrust out. These were men that enjoyed a certain modicum of power over others and were not afraid to assert it.

  The Scorekeeper had seen so many more like them than he ever cared to, these just two more on the already heaping pile.

  Watching them go about their tasks, it was clear there was little they represented for him. They were simple clock-punchers, much like the pair that had entered the house in Grove City hours before.

  To men like them, there was no deeper meaning, no hidden connection with everything. They took things at face value, seeing only exactly what was before them.

  Which was exactly what had landed him in the position he was in so many years before.

  But it wasn’t as if they were the ones in this situation he really cared about. Much like the others, he wasn’t concerned with who rotated through on the periphery, so long as the centerpiece remained the same.

  Leaving the live feed, The Scorekeeper rewound the video to the beginning of the motion-activated footage. Starting with the sudden appearance of the dog, a massive black streak that tore through the room and was gone again, The Scorekeeper let it play in real time, settling his focus on what came next.

  On the detective and his reaction to what he saw.


  Stepping into the room, his eyes didn’t widen like those of the other two. He didn’t grit his teeth or flex his hands into fists. Instead, he kept his features impassive, staring at the spread.

  He took the necessary time to see what was before him. To process things as they were being explained. To step forward and look at the pictures, actually seeing what was there before making any snap decisions.

  With him, there was a chance. Just as he had suspected.

  The first The Scorekeeper had ever heard of Reed Mattox was almost a year and a half prior. Popping up on a case involving a serial killer, the first thing that had caught The Scorekeeper’s attention was the fact that it occurred in Franklinton.

  The second was that he was new to the area, becoming the first K-9 detective in the precinct. With the passing of each successive month, it seemed the detective was back in the news, always in connection with some high-profile case.

  At first, The Scorekeeper had been hopeful. The man was competent, was not tainted by previous experiences in the area. He was fresh eyes in a place that so desperately needed them.

  Just as fast, such thought had dissipated, replaced by the man’s seemingly constant connection to the salacious. He was a glory seeker, the kind that only took cases where he would be guaranteed to get his face on the news.

  For a period of time, The Scorekeeper had given up on him, had moved his search elsewhere, hopeful for someone that would give him the absolution he desired.

  And time and again, such a search led him back to Reed Mattox and the amazing wizardry of his partner.

  Now, he could only hope that they would lead him to where he most desperately needed to go.

  Redemption.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Adam Gilchrist was sitting at his desk on the first floor of the 8th Precinct as Reed and Billie burst through. Shoving the front door open with more intensity than anticipated, it swung back hard, slamming into the wall behind it. The audible rattle of metal hitting brick echoed out, causing the young man to visibly flinch as he jerked his attention up.