Silent Scream (20 page)

“Who was hurt?” David asked, and saw pain flicker in Glenn’s eyes.

“Two young guys. One is scarred to this day. The other’s forty and pulls an oxygen tank behind him like he chain-smoked for
fifty years. They got caught inside. Ran out of air. Both of ’em nearly died. It was big news when it happened, but now… just
one of those historical footnotes. That poor lady died, and we were really sorry about that. But we lost two good men that
day. And Preston Moss just disappears. Lousy coward.”

“Lousy coward who could really stir up a crowd.”

“That he could. I can’t believe he’s back.”

“Maybe he’s not. But I need you to keep quiet on this. Not a word, Glenn.”

Glenn pursed his lips. “All right.”

The outer door downstairs slammed. “David?”

David jumped to his feet and looked down the stairs to the entryway where his mother stood, arms laden with grocery bags.
“I’ll get those, Ma.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “And you mind your Ps and Qs, old man. She’s my mom.” He jogged
down the stairs and took the bags from her hands. “You gonna feed an army?”

“Just you. And Glenn.” She followed him up the stairs. “And the new mothers in 2A.”

“The Gorski sisters in 1B planted a garden. Kept me in tomatoes all summer.”

“Then we shall feed them as well. But aren’t you going out tonight?”

His front door had closed again, and he nudged it with his hip. “Yep. But Glenn has a yen for Italian, don’t you, Glenn?”

She smiled when she saw Glenn. “I make a fantastic carbonara. You’ll love it.”

David shook his head, and Glenn cleared his throat.
“Can’t cook in the boy’s kitchen. He just laid that medallion on the floor. But we could go to Martino’s.”

David put the grocery bags on his table and dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “They have tablecloths,” he said, then grabbed
his laptop. “Don’t stay out past eleven. You need any mad money in case the old goat gets fresh?”

She swatted at him, laughing and blushing prettily. “Get out of here.”

Monday, September 20, 6:10 p.m.

Abbott’s afternoon meeting had been mostly a rehash of what Olivia had already known. The only new information was that Ian
had found smoke in Henry Weems’s lungs, but not that much, indicating Weems was probably not in the building while it was
burning. Still, that negated the theory that the gunman had shot him, then set the fire.

Which meant they had at least three arsonists. Barlow had background checks on the Rankin construction company employees.
Six had felony records, none for arson, and eight in ten appeared to be teetering on the verge of bankruptcy.

So much for narrowing down the motive. Barlow had asked for help processing the employees and Abbott said he’d free up Noah
Webster. That made Olivia happy. Noah was a damn good homicide detective and easy to work with.

Abbott told them Special Agent Crawford of the FBI had finally returned his call. Crawford was up north, on reservation land,
but would be back and in their office by
oh-eight tomorrow. Crawford had been extremely excited to hear about the glass ball.

Now she sat next to Kane in Ian’s office in the morgue. Tracey Mullen’s father had arrived, but their sign language interpreter
had not. They’d wait to start the ID until they could clearly communicate with the girl’s father.

“Whose turn is it?” Kane asked.

“Yours. I told Mrs. Weems, and we each told one of the Mullens this morning. So it’s your turn to take the lead with the dad.”

“I figured as much,” Kane said glumly. “What do you have going on tonight?”

“I’m getting your field glasses back,” Olivia said dryly and Kane’s brows went up.

“Good,” was all he said and Olivia was relieved.

“I heard from Mr. Oaks at the school for the deaf,” Olivia said. “Apparently he was using one of those videophones Brie told
us about, because the conversation went a lot faster. Oaks said that he’d be glad to work with us in asking the kids what
they knew. Offhand he couldn’t think of anyone we should be looking at, though.”

“It’s possible Tracey’s partner doesn’t go to the school,” Kane said.

“True, but it’s a place to start.”

“Just like the Gators nail art,” Kane said. “That was nicely done, by the way.”

She smiled. “You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll take the lead, aren’t you?”

“Did it work?”

“No.” They came to their feet when a woman knocked on Ian’s office door.

“Hi, I’m Val Lehigh. I’m looking for Detective Kane.”

“That’s me,” Kane said. “You’re our interpreter?”

She had a few streaks of gray in her hair and was firmly built, comfortably capable, and dressed completely in black. “I am.
Have you ever worked with an interpreter before?”

“I have,” Olivia said.

“Yes, but a long time ago,” Kane said.

“Good. Then I’ll cover the bases quickly. I’m here in an official capacity and have taken an oath of confidentiality. Nothing
I hear or see will be repeated. I will voice everything the deaf individual signs, even if it is an aside, meant only for
me. I will sign everything you two voice, even if you mean it only for each other. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “Have you done a corpse identification before?”

“Yes. Didn’t like it, but we don’t get to pick where we go, any more than you do.”

“Tracey Mullen’s body is in pretty good shape,” Olivia said and watched some of the tension leave the woman’s shoulders. “Except
of course, that she’s dead at sixteen.”

Mr. Mullen jumped to his feet as soon as the three of them entered the waiting room. His face was haggard, his eyes red from
weeping. His signing seemed frantic, but Val didn’t seem fazed.

“I’m John Mullen. I’m here to see my daughter. Where is she?”

“I’m Detective Kane and this is my partner, Detective Sutherland,” Kane said, glancing from the corner of his eye at the interpreter,
then returning his gaze to the grieving father. “We are very sorry for your loss.”

“What happened?” he signed. “I need to know what happened to my child.”

“She was in a condo when it caught on fire,” Kane
said. “We’re not sure why she was there. She was trapped inside and did not survive.”

“She didn’t burn,” Olivia added and Mullen’s shoulders sagged, as close to relief as one could expect under the circumstances.
“She died of smoke inhalation.”

“She was alone at the time of her death,” Kane said gently, “but not before. We’re wondering if you might know of any boyfriends,
anyone she knew living in this area.”

Bewildered, his signing slowed. “No, no one. She lived in Florida. She was supposed to be safe in Florida. Who was she with?”

“We’re trying to find that out, sir,” Kane said. “Can you tell us if your daughter wore a hearing aid, in addition to her
cochlear implant?”

Still bewildered, he shook his head again.

Then the hearing aid belonged to the male she’d been with. “When was the last time you physically saw your daughter, sir?”
Olivia asked.

“This summer for four weeks. I get…” He clenched his fists, then relaxed them to begin signing again. “I got every other Christmas,
Thanksgiving, spring break, and six weeks in the summer.”

“But she stayed only four weeks?” Kane asked.

Mullen hesitated. “She went to camp for the other two weeks.”

Okay
. “Which camp, sir?” Olivia asked.

“Camp Longfellow, in Maryland.” His face crumpled as his steady stream of tears became sobs. “Please, please, let me see my
daughter.”

Kane glanced at Olivia and she nodded. She had no more questions for now. They’d definitely check Camp Longfellow as soon
as this ID was done. Olivia touched
Mullen’s shoulder and led him to the family viewing room. The green light was on in the room’s uppermost right corner, the
sign that the ME was ready on the other side.

Kane pulled the curtain, and it took only seconds for Mr. Mullen to numbly nod. Then he closed his eyes and cried, silently
rocking himself. All alone.

Kane pulled the curtain closed while Olivia swallowed hard. There had been no viewings with Pit-Guy’s victims. There hadn’t
been enough left of the victims’ bodies and DNA had been used for identification instead. Now, standing with Tracey’s father,
she realized that had been the one positive in the entire nightmare. She hadn’t had to watch the impotent grief of the families
as they gazed on their loved ones through a sterile window.

She touched Mr. Mullen’s arm again, gently, as she’d learned to do when Brie wasn’t wearing her processors. He struggled for
control, then met her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she signed. It was one of the few signs she knew, a tightened fist rubbing over her heart, as if to soothe the
pain. She signaled to Val. “I have a message from the firefighter who brought her out. He wants you to know that they’re very
sorry. They tried to save her, but by the time they arrived, it was too late.”

“How long before they arrived?” Mr. Mullen signed, his chin lifted. Olivia would have taken it for belligerence if she hadn’t
seen it before, on too many grieving parents. It was the rush of anger, the need to blame. It was human.

“Five minutes from the time they got the call,” she said. “The ME thinks Tracey was gone before the firefighters even got
the call. The firefighter who brought her out risked his own life.” Olivia thought about the gaping hole that went four floors
down. If David had stepped the
wrong way when he climbed through the window to get Tracey… She couldn’t think about it. “Everyone did everything they could.”

“Thank you. When can I take her home?”

Val voiced his question and Olivia wanted to sigh. She hated child cases, but the heartache was made worse when there was
shared custody of a minor child.

“Your wife will arrive tomorrow,” Kane said, stepping in. “You two will have to decide the final arrangements.”

Mullen’s face went as hard as stone. “I understand.” Then he marched from the room, his body trembling, from grief or fury
Olivia didn’t know. Probably a mix of the two.

“Will you be available tomorrow?” Olivia asked Val. “We’ll want to ask the parents a few more questions, when they’re sitting
together in the same room.”

“You can request me,” Val said. “I’ll let the office know.”

“We may need you all morning,” Olivia said, thinking of their visit to the deaf school. “We’ll have some interviews to conduct.”

“I’ll clear my calendar.” Val sighed heavily. “Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to leave.”

Olivia knew the feeling. The morgue was not her favorite place. “Sure.”

When they’d signed out both the interpreter and Mr. Mullen, Olivia turned to Kane. “She went to camp.”

“He hesitated before he told us that,” Kane said. “What is Camp Longfellow?”

“Let’s find out.” They went to Ian’s office and found him coming out of the cold room, having put Tracey’s body away. “Ian,
can we use your computer for a minute?”

“Sure,” Ian said. “What’s up?”

Olivia slid into the chair at his desk. “Tracey Mullen went to camp this summer.”

Ian nodded. “Where she could have met a boy her parents didn’t know she knew.”

“Oh, the things parents don’t know their kids know,” Kane murmured.

“I know I gave my mom a million gray hairs,” Olivia said ruefully as she paged through the Google results for Camp Longfellow.
“Here it is. It’s a camp for deaf high school students. I wonder why Mullen hesitated about that.”

“Maybe Mrs. Mullen didn’t know he’d sent Tracey,” Kane said. “Sounds like they didn’t agree about much when it came to raising
her. Ian, how long ago were those fractures made and the damage you mentioned to her left hand?”

“Sometime in the last three months, I’d guess.”

Olivia sighed. “So it could have been dad, mom, mom’s new husband, anyone at camp, or anyone Tracey met on her way to Minneapolis.
No help toward finding who beat her or in finding our eyewitness either. Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”

And tonight an interesting night
. The day was finished. She’d been anticipating and dreading this moment in equal measures.
Get up. Go. At least you’ll know
.

Ian cleared his throat. “As much as I know you
love
my morgue, I’m going to have to run you out. I still have one more autopsy before I can go home. So be gone.”

Embarrassed, she pushed to her feet wearily. “Sorry, Ian.”

Kane waited until they were at the front door before speaking. “I do want my field glasses back,” he said
mildly. “Just in case you were thinking of canceling on Hunter.”

Her cheeks heated. “I wasn’t. Exactly.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to. But if you need to talk…”

Touched, she patted his shoulder. “I’m okay, but thanks.” She was almost to her car when she heard him yell from the other
side of the morgue’s parking lot.

“Don’t forget the lipstick,” he called, and made her smile.

Monday, September 20, 8:30 p.m.

D
avid’s jaw clenched as he cast his line off the end of Glenn’s dock. With quick, vicious jerks he reeled the line through
the dark water of the lake, knowing he was never going to hook a fish as angry as he was, and not giving a damn.

Olivia hadn’t come. Hadn’t called or texted. Nothing.

Maybe this was her way of getting back at him. If so, he deserved it.

Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, despite the cooler temps of the fall night. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms,
tossed his shoes into the dirt at the other end of the dock, and now stood in his bare feet casting for a walleye he’d never
catch, going over each minute of that one night again and again, and trying very hard to stay calm.

Then his shoulders jerked forward. He’d hooked one. A damn big one. Reflex had him reeling—just as he heard the low roar of
a vehicle approaching. He kept reeling as he listened, wondering if it would keep going, like all the cars had up until this
point.

It didn’t. It stopped out front, the engine idling. Minutes ticked by and the engine continued to idle.
Turn off the car, Olivia
. Then he let out the breath he’d been
holding when she did. A door slammed in the stillness of the night.