Scream Catcher (23 page)

For now the rain falls steadily. Not heavy or light. Just steady.

Coming from out of the distance, well above the glowing phosphorescent deep water beyond the bay, Black Dragon spots bursts of lightning that flash against a bruised purple and black sky. Directly to his right, he spots the screen door that accesses the home’s kitchen. The first time he infiltrated the home, he did it the easy way—by simply walking through the front door after having tripped the lock. He planned on using a basement window as a second point of entry. But now he spots a far easier way of entering the home.

Laid out like a snake atop his tight belly, the invisible Black Dragon slithers, makes his way for the open kitchen door.

* * *

Lake George Village Precinct

Thursday, 9:33 P.M.

Or so thinks Lt. Daniel Lino as he bolts out the front door of the L.G.P.D. precinct. Through the darkness and the rain he recognizes the throngs of tourists and villagers being led by the uniformed cops to both ends of the now cordoned off Main Street. Bright battery-operated spotlights combine with the cruiser’s flashers, the explosions of colored light bouncing off the exterior front facades of the blacked-out businesses that line the west side of the street.

Lino avoids the mostly drunk and rowdy tourist crowds completely by cutting across an alley that reaches from the south end of the village to its central point. He makes a left, then a quick right, before peeling back a partially detached chain link fence, squeezing himself through and entering into yet another alley—this one narrow, dank and deserted.

He enters this place in direct defiance of Blanchfield’s orders to stay away from Lennox at all costs. But now that the GPS surveillance bracelet has somehow been removed and reported discarded under the Brook Trout Bridge, the prosecutor’s order of “stay away” is hereby revoked. Added to that is the issue of the missing evidence. Is it possible that a now free Lennox has somehow managed to get his hands on the forensic evidence? Has the killer stolen it with the intent to destroy it?

Maybe the rules of the game have changed but Lino is still playing, no matter what. That’s the way he sees it as he approaches the dark alleyway.

* * *

Pulling the mini Maglite from his jacket pocket, he shines the narrow beam onto the wet pavement, then runs it up the exterior brick wall to his right, then up the brick wall to his left. It’s here he discovers the single metal-paneled door that leads to the basement apartment. Approaching the door with caution, he draws his service weapon.

Rainwater drips off his brow onto his cheeks and mustache. He tastes the water between his lips. He knows that in all likelihood the surveillance bracelet assigned to Lennox has somehow been tampered with. One simply could not forcibly remove the metal alloy and heavy plastic device without triggering a series of remote alarms. He also knows that the only way Lennox could have unfastened the bracelet was by acquiring the code that unlocks it. That code could only have come from someone on “the inside.”

In his mind, Lino has a very good idea who that insider might be.

There are other things to consider. For instance, every cop is consumed with the blackout. Not a single officer of Lake George law is available to enter into the hunt for Lennox—assuming he’s fled the village in the first place. Not even Mack is around to help in the hunt. At least not directly. Mack has more personal matters to attend to, like the safety and well being of his family. Because if Lennox is on the loose and looking for vengeance, then Mack will make certain to protect his son and his son’s family. Above all else, that will be the old Captain’s priority.

What all this means is that the task of finding and apprehending a now loose Lennox falls into Lino’s hands alone. There’s an emergency in Lake George and it’s up to the Lieutenant to answer the call. Which gives him every right in God’s world to conduct an illegal search and seizure on the premises of Hector Lennox.

“So what the fuck are you waiting for, Daniel?” he asks himself aloud as he raises his right leg high, kicks the door in.

* * *

For the first time in what must be weeks, Lino has to laugh.

Because after all that thought, all that deliberation, his illegal search and seizure will not be considered illegal after all. As it turns out, Lennox has been anticipating his arrival.

“The proof is in the pudding,” Lino sadly whispers to himself.

Not pudding exactly, but what resembles pudding. Shining the light onto the floor and walls, a white foamy substance covers everything. Like the metaphor suggests, it almost looks as though Lennox managed to pump in gallons upon gallons of pudding or maybe vanilla frosting, sprayed it over every square inch of wall, ceiling and floor space. From where Lino is standing in the open doorway, he can see a table covered with computer equipment that now is dripping white foam. The small couch, the kitchenette counters, the sink full of dishes, even the barred window is completely frosted with the white foam. Judging by the dozen or more empty fire extinguishers huddled in the corner beside him, the Lieutenant knows precisely the source of the foam.

“Lennox knew we’d tear his door down eventually,” he whispers to himself. “So he decided to leave us a little present. Something to slow us down a little.”

In his mind Lino’s already picturing the team of white, HEPA-suited Crime Scene Investigators who will be required to spend hours and hours sifting through the white goop. Their mission will be to find even a small shred of evidence that might shed some light onto the how, where and when associated with a brand new kill game.

Stepping back out into the alley, Lino closes the door behind him. He knows that by making a check on his extended family, Mack has already placed himself on Lennox’s trail, whether he knows it or not.

At a jogger’s pace, Lino cuts through the fence on his way back towards the L.G.P.D. precinct. It’s now imperative that he make contact with Mack before the man unknowingly steps into an ambush.

Assembly Point Peninsula

Thursday, 9:50 P.M.

Jude and Rosie stand together at the edge of the property where the grass ends and the lake begins. Without a word, he watches her fall to her knees, raise a garden spade, plunge it into the soft, rain-drenched earth. While he shines the flashlight over the worksite she pulls out a narrow divot of dirt and grass, sets it off to the side.

Watching her work, he begins to worry.

“Easy Rosie. Remember the baby.”

She offers no response.

The rain falls while the lake laps against both the dock pilings and the stone retaining wall. When the small hole, or grave, is ready, Jude hands his wife the paper-towel-shrouded fish. Gently she takes it into her cupped hands, places the creature slowly down into the hallowed earth. Pausing to gaze at the fish, she then looks up at him from down on her knees, damp face pale in the bright flashlight. She is giving off this droopy-eyed solemn look. The look tells him that maybe he should be saying something on behalf of Charlie. But standing there in the rain and a darkness interrupted by brilliant bursts of lightning, he can’t think of a thing to say. It’s just a fish. He feels silly trying to think of something to say on behalf of a dead pet fish.

A long silent beat passes with all the strained slowness of a teardrop falling from a chin. Finally Rosie reaches out, pushes the soil back into the divot. She replaces the sod on top of it. Somehow she manages to locate a small rock inside the narrow circle of white flashlight. Gently she sets it at the head of the little fish grave.

Standing, she wipes the muddy palm of her left hand onto her leg, leaving a dark smear on the exposed skin of her thigh. That’s when he reaches out and with nervous apprehension, sets an open hand onto her damp back, rubs it up and down.

With the rainwater streaking down her brow into wide, wet eyes, Rosie says, “We just did a good thing for Charlie.”

It’s all that needs to be said. Or so Jude tries to convince himself. But then he just wants to get the hell out of the elements, get back in the house, back to his son, lock the door behind them, get the night over with as quickly and uneventfully as possible.

They turn back for their home. But as they walk over the soft, water-logged lawn, he gazes up at Jack’s bedroom window, observes the candle flame that flickers and dances against the little boy’s bedroom walls. The dancing seems oddly in synch with the now far away lightning that strikes the open water of the lake. He reaches for the screen door, makes a mental note to blow the candle out before crawling into bed.

Assembly Point Peninsula

Thursday, 10:00 P.M.

Back inside the kitchen, Jude locks the door.

Facing the now lifeless home security enunciator panel, he can only hope that the power comes back on line sooner than soon.

Rosie pours dry food into a stainless steel bowl for Atticus the cat, sets it down onto the kitchen floor. She then replaces the water and seed bowls inside the cage where Nigel the pet canary lives. To the sorrowing sounds of her teary sniffles, Jude heads downstairs into the laundry room to make certain the door that leads into the garage is locked. He doesn’t make it all the way down before Rosie calls out to him. She’s going to bed.

He wants to remind her of their bath. But then judging by her state of mind, thinks better of it.

* * *

Flashlight in hand, Jude crosses over the basement floor, past an Everlast heavy bag that hangs by a chain from a steel I-beam, past the Olympic free weights, past the treadmill, until he enters the separate boiler room. Raising the flashlight he aims the round beam of light up towards a rectangular push-out window which is embedded into the concrete wall at ground level. When the white light strikes the cat’s blood red eyes, his heart shoots up into his throat.

Startled, Atticus hops up on all fours legs. She arches her back, shows her white fangs, lets out with a hiss. When she hurls herself down from the narrow interior window ledge directly onto the concrete floor, Jude automatically lurches back, slams the back of his head against the aluminum-paneled boiler.

“Jesus H. Christ, Atticus,” he cries out. “What’s got you so nervous?”

But it’s a dumb question considering the seemingly never-ending electrical storm; considering the blackout.

But of course, the cat pays him no mind whatsoever. She simply scoots off through the dark basement and up the stairs, no doubt in search of food.

* * *

Heartbeat having resumed its normal rhythm, Jude heads back down to the dock in the rain, pulls and yanks on the stern and bow ropes that tie down the Lund motorboat, checks to make sure the outboard engine has been cranked up, its propeller blades far above the rocky bottom. He then makes his way back up to the house to check and recheck every door and window lock until completely satisfied that no one is getting in.

Not without a struggle.

Up on the top floor corridor he sets his ear against Jack’s bedroom door, listens for anything unusual. But he makes out nothing. Nothing that is, other than the reassuring noise of the boy’s steady inhaling and exhaling. Quietly he opens the door, tiptoes inside, blows out the bedside candle.

* * *

Entering his own bedroom at the far end of the hall, Jude is more than a little surprised to see that in the ten minutes it’s taken him to inspect the dock and the house, Rosie has managed to fall asleep

From where he’s standing at the foot of the king-sized bed, he sees that she’s set out another pill for him. To wash it down: a bottle of beer.

Or maybe Jude is reading too much into the gesture.

Maybe Rosie knows that he could use a cold drink by now. A cold
hard
drink.

He sits himself down carefully onto the edge of the bed, swallows the pill, chases it with a swig of cold beer. For a brief moment he’s mesmerized by the dancing candlelit shadow projected against the stacked log walls. Until he glances down at his wife, long dark hair still wet from the rain, half her face buried in the down pillow, half exposed. As the sky rumbles outside the home, he watches her quiet way of breathing in and out while she tries to sleep.

Rising, coming around to Rosie’s side of the bed, Jude bends, kisses her on the cheek.

She stirs, mumbles, “Are we safe now?”

He can’t be sure if she’s awake or dreaming.

He stands, still feeling the warmth from her cheek on his lips.

“Everything is secured. We’re safe.”

But in his head, Jude pictures his father.

Back to his own bedside, Jude drinks down the rest of his beer. For a split second he considers slipping out of the damp jeans and T-shirt, crawling quietly under the covers.

But not tonight.

It’s just a matter of time before Ray or Mack or somebody pulls up in the driveway. When it happens, he will be dressed and ready to greet them. In the meantime, he’ll close his eyes, ignore the demon inside him, and try to get some rest. Tomorrow promises to be one hell of a trying day.