Silent Scream Page 14

  “Sorry,” Austin signed. But it wouldn’t bring Tracey back. She was gone.

  Oaks frowned. “Austin is suspended for five days. He can return next Monday.”

  Austin closed his eyes. He hated this, lying to his mother. But if he told her… He remembered the man in the boat. He’d shot that guard. If he knew I saw…

  Austin had been ready to tell the truth so many times. But as the shock over losing Tracey had worn off, he started remembering the way the guard’s face looked as he fell. And the way the shooter’s teeth had gleamed in the moonlight as he’d smiled.

  And every detail of the shooter’s face when he’d pulled off his ski mask.

  He’d been ready to tell. But if he did, the man might kill him, too.

  People who get involved, who tell the truth, get hurt. What do I do?

  His mother stood up, her back hunched over. “Get your backpack,” she signed.

  His backpack. He’d left it behind, in the fire. It had some of his books, his papers. Tracey’s things. My hearing aid. He only hoped the fire had been hot enough to burn all the papers up. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d been there. But he needed his hearing aid. His mom didn’t have the money to buy a new one and they’d lost their insurance a long time ago. What am I going to do? For now, nothing.

  He stood. “Lost it,” he signed back carelessly.

  His mother looked at him, defeated. Not again. He knew she wanted to say it, to scream it. But she just shook her head, her signing weary. “Let’s go home.”

  Monday, September 20, 3:25 p.m.

  Brie stopped at Barlow’s car where Olivia, Barlow, and Kane read personnel files. “He must have escaped,” Brie said. “There were no human remains in the structure.”

  “Then we have a witness to the fire at least,” Olivia said. It was more than they had after reading through Rankin’s personnel files. There were a few performance reviews. One or two drug tests. Nothing popped. So knowing Tracey’s partner hadn’t died with her was the best news they’d had all day.

  Barlow handed Brie the bag containing Tracey’s clothing. “Can we track the girl?”

  “Of course,” Brie said formally.

  Olivia put the file she’d been reading in the box in Barlow’s car. “Can I watch?”

  Brie smiled at her. “Of course,” she said, her voice substantially warmer.

  Kane dropped his file in the box. “I’m in.”

  Brie pulled Tracey’s shirt from the bag and let GusGus sniff it. “GusGus, it’s time to work.” The two set out, the dog’s nose to the ground.

  Olivia and Kane followed, Barlow a few paces behind them, video camera in his hand. GusGus led them to the other side of the condo, where Weems’s body had been found. He picked up the scent, winding through the trees, stopping at the chain-link fence. It was another one of the three slices in the chain link that CSU had found.

  “We can keep going,” Brie said.

  “Please do,” Barlow said. “I’d like to see how they accessed the property. From here, you can’t get to the dock. Lots of thorns.”

  Brie nodded. “If you pull back the fence, Liv, we can move through.”

  Olivia did and GusGus and Brie kept going and they followed. A few times the dog lost the scent, but Brie would let him sniff the shirt again. Finally the dog sat, abruptly.

  They stood on a bank of the lake. A deep crease in the mud ran into the water.

  “They had a boat,” Kane said, crouching to examine the track in the mud. “Small. Wider than a canoe. Probably a small rowboat.”

  “Somebody had to know about this little stretch of beach,” Olivia said. “The shoreline between here and the dock is covered in thorn bushes, just like you said, Barlow. This is the closest place to land a boat, other than the dock.”

  “Tracey wasn’t local,” Kane said, “but the guy she was with might have been.”

  “Or at least has stayed at one of these cabins at some point.” Olivia strained to see across the lake. “For now, let’s assume Tracey’s guy is local. If we can’t find him, we can broaden the search to cabin renters—permanent and the holiday crowd.”

  Brie was staring at the mud. “He pushed this boat into the water, but I don’t see any footprints. We got a good crease of the boat’s keel. We also should have a shoe impression. Unless he came”—she handed the dog’s lead to Olivia and walked a wide half-circle around them—“from this way,” she finished. Gingerly she moved the thick bushes aside. Then looked up with a grin. “Shoeprint. Score.”

  Kane followed her path and looked over her shoulder. “Size ten shoe. Nice.”

  The single word was high praise from Kane. Brie turned to search the area. “See the path, the trampled twigs and leaves that stop ten feet farther than he wanted to be?”

  “He was scared,” Olivia said quietly. “Running from a burning building. I wonder if he knew Tracey hadn’t made it out.”

  “Oh.” Barlow put down his camera and stared at Brie’s profile. “I know what else he was.” He walked to Brie’s side and bent slightly, his gaze focused on her ear.

  Stiffening, Brie pulled away and glared at him. “What?”

  Barlow straightened and looked at Olivia. “Cochlear processors worn behind the ear don’t have ear molds,” he said. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”

  Olivia frowned. Then understood. “Oh. God. You’re right. As many times as I’ve seen you hook that on your ear, Brie… I can’t believe I forgot, too.” She glanced up at Kane. “Brie’s processor is held in place by a little hook that grabs here,” she explained, touching the topmost fold of her ear. “Not a pink mold like David found in the rubble.”

  “Molds are used by hearing aids, not implants,” Brie said. “You found a pink mold?”

  “In the rubble,” Barlow told her. “The ear mold was still recognizable.”

  “She wouldn’t have a hearing aid and an implant at the same time?” Kane asked.

  “Perhaps,” Brie said, understanding now as well. “Some people use both, depending on the kind of hearing loss they have. What kind did the victim have?”

  “According to mom, Tracey was profoundly deaf, but her father refused to consider the cochlear implant. They’d tried hearing aids with Tracey, without any benefit.”

  “He’s deaf, the father?” Brie asked. “The controversy against implanting kids isn’t as hot as it used to be, but it still exists. Many deaf people don’t see their deafness as something that needs to be ‘fixed.’ They’re protective of their culture, their language, and many see implants as a threat.”

  “I got that when I talked to the dad,” Kane said, “even through the relay operator we had to use. He was angry, especially at his wife. Of course he was grieving, too, and it was almost impossible to get any nuance over the phone.”

  Brie’s mouth curved ruefully. “It gets easier, with practice. Next time, use a videophone operator if you can. If the father has a videophone, he can sign to the operator instead of typing into the TTY. That way the interpreter’s voice can give you some of the emotion, because they’re seeing the signer’s face. I’ll show you how to connect.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Kane said.

  “Getting back to the mold?” Barlow asked impatiently. “Was it the girl’s or not?”

  “If she was born profoundly deaf,” Brie said, “and wasn’t wearing it before the surgery, chances are good it didn’t belong to her. You’ll have to confirm that.”

  “If it wasn’t hers, the backpack we found may not have been hers either,” Kane said. “And the hearing aid may belong to whoever she was with before the fire.”

  “We know from the hair he left on Tracey’s body that he’s Caucasian with dark hair. He’s probably local, probably deaf or hearing impaired,” Olivia said. “Narrows it down.”

  Brie nodded. “And if he’s her age, you’re in more luck. He’ll be enrolled in school, and the district will have paperwork on his disability.”

  “Where should we start?�
� Olivia asked.

  “I’d start with the school for the deaf.” Brie checked her watch. “School’s out for the day. Some of the kids live in the dorms, so you could check there, but you’re going to want to go through the principal, whose name is Oaks. I’ve found him very helpful.”

  “You went there?” Kane asked. “I thought you lost your hearing as an adult.”

  “I did, so no, I didn’t go to that school. I work with the school’s vocational program, teaching a vet-tech class. When they graduate, the kids have a skill.”

  “So you know these kids,” Kane said.

  “Some of them. They also have classes in cooking, mechanics, and farming. A lot of teens think they want to be a vet, but transfer when they have to sweep out kennels. Those kids usually go into cooking.” Brie smiled. “It’s sugar to shit, just in reverse.”

  Kane chuckled. “So can you help us talk with these kids?”

  Brie hesitated. “My signing is slow. You should get an interpreter and try on your own first. It’s possible the male you’re looking for isn’t local or is graduated already, but the deaf community is close-knit. If he still lives here, somebody will know him. You just may need to be patient. They’re sometimes protective of their own.”

  “Kind of like cops,” Kane said.

  “Exactly.” Brie looked at Barlow, her brows lifted. “Anything else, Sergeant?”

  “No,” Barlow said, his manner as stiff as hers. “Thank you and your dog.”

  “You’re welcome. Call me, Liv. We can grab Paige and go to Sal’s for a drink.” She took the dog’s leash from Olivia with a pointed look. “Like old times.”

  Like old times. Before Pit-Guy. Before I started avoiding my friends. “I promise.”

  “I have witnesses,” Brie warned. “Come on, GusGus. Let’s go home.”

  Olivia turned to Barlow, who looked grim. And as tired as she felt. Earlier he’d extended an olive branch… Well not a branch. More like a twig. She’d up the ante a bit. “You did the right thing by calling Brie. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  Barlow’s smile was tight. “I didn’t at first. The first four SAR teams I called weren’t available.” He let out a breath. “How do you want to go forward?”

  “We’ll look for Tracey’s partner,” Kane said. “You keep working the inside angle, checking the personnel. See if any of the employees were suspicious.”

  “Or deaf or hearing impaired,” Olivia said. “What if the guy Tracey was with worked for Rankin and Sons? What if he was letting her hide there? He may have had a key.”

  “Good point,” Barlow said. “What about the Feds? Did Abbott hear from Agent Crawford?”

  “If he had, he would have called. Hopefully he’ll hear something by five,” Olivia said. “What about the size ten shoeprint in the mud?”

  “I’ll get CSU to take a plaster cast of the print and the keel crease,” Barlow said.

  “And we have just enough time to check with Ian before our five o’clock meeting,” Kane said. “He should be done with Weems’s autopsy by now.”

  It was a few minutes till four. A trip to the morgue, an afternoon command meeting, back to the morgue to stand with Tracey’s father during the official ID, then…

  Up to David, who would be waiting at a cabin on a different lake, a half hour away. Why there? Because he wants to take up where we left off.

  Which was damn appealing, both for her bruised ego and her lonely libido. Still, she clearly remembered the single name he’d groaned that night they’d spent together. And it wasn’t mine. If he did want a rerun, she wasn’t anywhere close to knowing how she’d respond. Well, girl, you’ve got about two hours to figure it out.

  Monday, September 20, 4:35 p.m.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asked the lady at the counter while he kept watch on the rest of the shop from the corner of his eye.

  She looked up from her BlackBerry, a dreamy smile on her face and a twenty in her hand. “No, this will be fine. You have a nice day.”

  He made change that she didn’t bother to count. “You do the same. Buh-bye.”

  He watched the woman go, no doubt in his mind what had put the dreamy smile on her face or where she was headed. He wondered if her husband knew that she was cheating on him or that the phone she clutched in one hand held her lover’s e-mails expressing his undying ardor, demonstrated at the local motel every Monday after work.

  Breaking into her e-mail had been child’s play. Every time she waited in line, she checked her e-mail, just like three-quarters of his customers did. Everyone seemed to have one of those handy smartphones these days, and the lure of free Internet was too sweet to pass up as they waited in line.

  Of course, anyone logging in to the “free” wireless Internet service he offered also received a sweet little Trojan that mined all of their e-mail passwords, bank account passwords, contact lists, anything they had stored on their cell phone or laptop.

  He’d latched on to several of his current clients by stealing their e-mail info and logging into their accounts. My, my, the e-mails people sent, and kept. They were enough to make him blush. Hot, hot, hot. And perfect blackmail fuel. Cheating on your wife? For shame. Pay me and no one need ever know. It was so damn easy.

  It had taken him only a few of Eric’s e-mails to realize he’d hit a gold mine. Eric and Joel had already been e-mailing back and forth about their anger over the condo development and how it encroached on the wetlands. Eric hadn’t seemed the type to care about wetlands, but through their e-mails, he could see how Joel had reeled him in.

  Joel was an enthusiastic do-gooder, but he also knew which of Eric’s buttons to push. For once in your life, live, Joel had written. Take a risk. Be a champion. Do something that will make a difference. My father says you’re boring and safe. Is that how you want to live your life? Do you want to become like our fathers?

  Who were both incredibly, stinking rich.

  Too bad Joel had a conscience. He could have become a great salesman. Eric, on the other hand, had little imagination but a very thorough mind. Once led to a point, he’d run with it, just as he’d run with the idea of being a hero for once in his life.

  Eric had become the leader, and quickly the plan had taken form. He’d enlisted help from Albert, his lover who’d gone along for the ride, probably for lots of reasons, most of them selfish. Then Joel brought in his own lover, a name that stopped me in my tracks. Mary. It was a name he hadn’t seen in some time. One he could have gone a lifetime without seeing again.

  He might have left her alone forever if she’d stayed put. Worked her little job. Taken her frivolous little classes. But she hadn’t stayed put. She’d met Joel and had gotten involved in this delightfully escalating disaster. As soon as he’d seen her name in Joel’s e-mail, he’d known this was far bigger than blackmail. This was revenge.

  And that the girl in the window had died? It made the pot all the sweeter.

  Unfortunately, though, the girl’s death was bad for business today. He’d had the normal crowd at the counter and the register had been ringing almost nonstop, but the fire and the girl’s death were dominating all the “private” conversations. People said the damndest things in public, believing no one could hear them, that no one paid attention.

  But I’m always paying attention. That’s why I’ll be rich. Nonchalantly, he drew his remote from his pocket. It looked like an iPod, from the circular thumb wheel on the device to the earbud he wore in one ear.

  It wasn’t anything so frivolous as an iPod, although he, too, enjoyed his tunes. Just not when he was working. He spun the wheel with his thumb, rotating through all the hot zones. He’d wired the whole place and with his handy surveillance gadget could listen to any conversation. It was like an auditory zoom, an indispensable piece of equipment for any blackmailer, and a real steal on eBay.

  He got most of his tips through listening in on conversations. Then he hacked into their e-mail to get the real goods—the documentation that would make hi
s marks pay and pay again. Unlike Barney Tomlinson, the majority of his marks paid.

  But like Tomlinson, when they didn’t, he took care of them. Permanently.

  His shift would be over soon and he could take care of Tomlinson, then pick his spot to watch the College Four Minus One in action. He leaned down to close his laptop and jumped, startled when his pocket buzzed. It was one of the disposable cells in his pocket. It was Eric, he saw, once he’d found the right phone. He flipped the phone open to read the text.

  Joel is dead. There are only three of us. Job on schedule.

  Eric was taking him at his word, afraid the video would be leaked if all four of them didn’t show. The boy was afraid. That was good. By tomorrow, he’d be terrified. That was better. For now, he’d play with them a little bit, get that hook set in even deeper.

  how do i know you’re telling the truth? he typed. prove it.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, September 20, 4:40 p.m.

  Eric needed to prove Joel was dead. He glanced at Albert, who was studying the map of the street where Tomlinson’s warehouse was located. He could ask for proof, but they’d agreed not to speak of it. Besides, Albert was still angry with him.

  Eric remembered the ridiculous note that had popped into his mind that morning. Please excuse Joel from extortion-related arson, because he is dead. He logged on to the local TV news’ Web site. Earlier, the account of Joel’s “accident” had said only that the victim had been a Minneapolis university student. Hopefully they’d updated.

  They had and the article listed the victim as Joel Fischer, aged 20. Twenty. He should have had his whole life ahead of him. They all should. And we would have if we hadn’t listened to goddamn Joel. Quickly he texted back, including the article’s URL.

  Here is proof. He waited for a moment, then read the return text.

  my condolences.

  Yeah, right, Eric thought, tossing the phone to his sofa. “How’s it coming?”

  Albert looked up from the map with a cold look. “You do your part. I’ll do mine.”

  They’d split the duties, engaging Mary in the planning as little as possible. The one thing they agreed on was that they didn’t quite trust Mary. They would pick her up tonight, right before it was time, giving her no opportunity to leak their plan.