Silent Scream (30 page)

“Give me a copy of Tomlinson’s employee list,” Noah said. “I’ll do a cross-check against Rankin’s list. See if anything pops.”

Micki started to gather the photos, but Olivia stopped her. “When was this taken?”

“There were no time stamps that we could see,” Micki said. “The originals appear to be printed on photo paper on a printer,
not at a photo shop. Why?”

“Well, just that Hart, the manager, said Tomlinson golfed,” Olivia said slowly. “He should have tan lines on his upper arms
from his golf shirt, but he’s white as a ghost. All over.” She glanced at Kane. “When did Louise Tomlinson say she filed for
divorce?”

“She didn’t, but the files she copied from her husband’s computer were dated June fifteenth. Hart said she filed the very
next day.”

“That must be it,” she murmured. “He wouldn’t have had time to get much sun.”

“Why is that important, Olivia?” Abbott asked.

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right with what the wife told us.”

“Then we dig deeper into Mrs. T,” Kane said simply. “Anything from the gas cans?”

“A few prints,” Micki said. “We’re running them through AFIS, but they could belong to anybody. The gas cans were old and
rusted. If you find the arsonists’ car, we may be able to match rust residue from the cans, putting them at the scene.”

“Speaking of cars,” Barlow said, “we recovered Barney’s. It was parked about a half-mile away, keys in the ignition. We didn’t
find any prints on the keys.”

“So his killer took his keys?” Kane asked. “Then drove his car away?”

“Took his BlackBerry, too,” Micki said. “The manager said Tomlinson never went anywhere without it. We found footprints all
around the property, but with so
much foot traffic, they could belong to anyone, like the gas cans.”

“What about the shoeprint we found in the mud near the lake?” Olivia asked.

“The lab matched the tread to Converse high-tops, male, size ten,” Micki said.

“So, Tracey’s partner wore shoes when he ran from the condo fire, but Tracey didn’t,” Olivia mused. “Why? They’d just had
sex. Why did he have shoes on?”

“Maybe he was getting ready to leave when the fire broke out,” Barlow said.

“Which meant he wasn’t squatting with her,” Olivia said. “He had someplace else to be, but she was hiding out. More weight
to the theory that he’s local. We need to find him and find out how he got access to the building to start with.” She checked
her watch. “We’re meeting the sign language interpreter in half an hour. We’re going to the deaf school to see if anyone knows
this boy. The principal promised total support.”

“What about the girl’s parents?” Abbott asked.

“Mom’s supposed to call when she and stepdad get to the airport,” Olivia said.

“We met with the dad last night,” Kane said. “He ID’d Tracey and told us she’d gone to a Camp Longfellow this past summer.
It’s in Maryland. We’re wondering if this could be where she met the boy.”

“So get a roster,” Abbott said. “See if they had any campers from the Twin Cities.”

“I can take that,” Noah said, “while you’re out at the deaf school.”

“It might not be that straightforward,” Kane warned. “I checked out the Web site last night and I couldn’t find a contact
name. There are some e-mail addresses and one
toll-free number, but there’s a note on the page that says, ‘Leave a message and we’ll call you as soon as possible.’ I’m
thinking the camp’s not staffed year-round.”

“Wonderful,” Noah muttered. “Well, I guess I’ll have to dig.”

“I need to see the condo and the Tomlinson warehouse,” Crawford said.

Barlow slanted a look at Abbott, who nodded. “You can ride with me,” Barlow said.

Crawford’s jaw had tightened at Barlow’s double check. “Thank you,” he said coldly.

“You’ve been quiet, Jess,” Abbott said to the shrink, ignoring the Fed. “What are you thinking?”

“That there is a very big disconnect,” Dr. Donahue said. “The fires were set to burn stuff, not people. But in both, a person
was shot—Weems in the heart and Tomlinson in the back of the head. You’re right, Kane, Tomlinson was an execution. Weems…
not. It’s like the shooter was caught unaware by Weems, but shot anyway. And accurately. Like target practice. But Tomlinson…
that was revenge. Neither mesh with the fire. Right now, there seems to be a very divergent set of personalities in this group.”

“Or divergent agendas,” Olivia said.

Donahue nodded. “Quite possibly. The question is, are the divergent agendas acceptable to all the group members, and if not,
when will they splinter?”

“How many people are in this group?” Abbott asked.

“At least three,” Barlow said. “We found two sets of footprints mixed with accelerant at the condo door. But whoever killed
Weems did not set the fire. So at least three.”

Donahue nodded again. “The shooter not only brought
a gun to the condo, but he procured hollow-point bullets. He planned to kill, if he fired.”

“He killed Tomlinson from behind,” Olivia said. “He had to walk through the office door and around his desk. Tomlinson didn’t
happen on him like Weems did. He went there to kill Tomlinson. But why? And assuming this isn’t really about environmental
arson, why hide behind it?”

“Go find out,” Abbott said. “Keep me informed. Be back at five. Be careful.”

Everyone stood to go, then halted when the office door opened and Faye, their clerk, stuck her head in. “Turn on the TV. Channel
Eight. They know about the ball.”

With an oath, Abbott turned on the television, where a reporter stood in front of the wreckage of Tomlinson’s warehouse, holding
an orange in one hand.

“Sources tell us that the ball was about the size of this orange. They also tell us that a similar ball was found in the condo
fire. The ball is solid glass, with the map of the earth etched on its surface,” the reporter said. “This is important, as
it links these fires to the infamous SPOT organization, which destroyed an office building twelve years ago, leaving one woman
dead. SPOT’s leader, Preston Moss, is still wanted for the fire and the woman’s death. Moss disappeared and has not been seen
since.”

Abbott muted the sound when they rolled old footage. “Goddammit,” he snarled.

“It was all over the fire department, Bruce,” Olivia said. “I told you yesterday it was just a matter of time.”

“I know, but I was hoping for more time. This changes nothing about our plans, so go do what you were going
to do. I’ll deal with the press. Barlow, please impress on all the firefighters the importance of keeping quiet on this story.”

“They know, Captain,” Barlow said. “If the leak came out of the fire department, I’m sure they’ll deal with it appropriately.
But I’ll tell them again.”

“That firefighter,” Abbott said, “the one who caught the ball. What was his name?”

“David Hunter,” Olivia said. “I’ll call him, warn him.”

“Fine.” Abbott waved them to the door. “Go, get me some answers.”

Tuesday, September 21, 9:25 a.m.

D
avid pulled his pickup truck in front of a big sign that read
K-9 TRAINING
, and below it hung a much smaller sign in a child’s script that read…
AND
D
OGGY
D
AY
C
ARE.

“Come,” he said and Olivia’s German shepard jumped from his truck and ran to the door. Assuming the dog knew the way, David
followed. He knocked, but there was no answer. The door was unlocked, so he went in, setting off a beep and a flashing light
overhead.

“Hello?” he called. He could hear dogs barking from somewhere behind the wall. There was a reception counter, but no receptionist.
Then he heard it—a small moan of pain. He looked down at Mojo, saw the dog’s ears had pricked up. He’d heard it, too.

David saw a woman, facedown on the desk, red hair hanging down her back, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides. “Ma’am?”
he said but she didn’t respond. He took her arm to check her pulse, then jumped back when she leapt to her feet, fists clenched.

“Who are you?” she demanded and once he’d recovered his composure, he immediately recognized her from one of the pictures
on Olivia’s mantel.

“David Hunter,” he said. “You’re Brie, Olivia’s friend.”

She narrowed dark brown eyes. “You’re the jerk.”

David rolled his eyes. “Not anymore,” he said.

“Wait.” She stumbled to her desk, finding what looked like two hearing aids. Popping one behind each ear, she squinted at
his face. “Did you say ‘not anymore’?”

She was hearing impaired, he realized, and hadn’t heard him come in. “I did. See, she even trusted me with him.” He patted
the dog’s head, and Mojo licked his hand.

“You must be a sweet talker to have earned a second chance after what you did.”

Embarrassed, his cheeks heated. “I heard someone moaning.”

She sank into her chair. “That would have been me. Dying. Don’t talk so loud.”

He smiled. “You must have been in on the major mojitos last night.”

She put her face back down on the desk. “Don’t say that word ever again.”

“I might be able to help,” he said.

Blearily she looked up at him. “You have a gun?”

“Give me your hand.” He put pressure against the base of her forefinger.

“Voodoo?” she mumbled.

“Acupressure. It should help the nausea.”

“Oh. Paige does that.”

“I know.”

One brown eye opened, then narrowed. “How do you know?”

“Because I know her from the dojo. We train together.”

“Ohhhh. So that’s what was up with her last night. I bet Liv’s mad.”

“Jury’s still out on that. Any better?”

“Maybe. Why
did
you scream another woman’s name when Liv was doing you?”

For a moment the question left him speechless. “Because I’m a jerk.”

“Very good answer,” she mumbled. “For a jerk, you have really good hands.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Next time, maybe you shouldn’t have so many mojitos.”

“And maybe next time you should lay off the champagne,” she shot back.

He winced. “Touché. Can I leave the dog with you?”

“Of course. What are your intentions toward Liv?” she asked.

“Honorable.” He thought about what he hoped would happen later. “Mostly.”

One side of her mouth lifted. “All right. But she’s been hurt before. Don’t hurt her.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“I believe you. But even if you didn’t mean to, you hit her where it hurt the most.”

“I know. I know her fiancé left her for an old lover. And then I said… what I said.”

“Which was bad. But your being friends with Paige first was just the cherry on top.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because Paige is like a honey bee. It’s a little ego deflating, walking next to her. Worse for Liv, because she doesn’t see
herself like everyone else does.”

“Why?”

“From what I’ve seen, some of it was her mom. She was… demanding.”

“She told me her mother died the year before her
father,” David remembered. “But she talked like she’d loved her mother.”

“She did. But life was tense in their house. It can’t have been easy raising a kid alone—and an illegitimate one at that—back
then. Her mom was always, ‘Get an education, get a scholarship. Don’t depend on your face, use your brain.’”

“Good advice,” David said cautiously. “Isn’t it?”

“When it’s balanced. From what I’ve gathered during past mojito sessions, and what I saw myself, Liv’s mom put down her looks
and nothing she did was good enough.”

“Olivia strongly resembles her father, just like Mia,” David said. “That must have been hard for her mother, too, to look
at her daughter and see the man who’d tossed her aside. Still, that doesn’t make it less wrong or any easier for Olivia to
get past.”

“True. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to make Liv feel really pretty. Just say
her
name this time. Olivia. Say it with me now. O-li-vi-a.”

David’s cheeks grew warm again. “I’m going now. What about the dog?”

“I’ll keep Mojo with me. He was mine first, you know. But he flunked training academy and needed a home. Olivia needed company
after Doug left. It worked out. Hey, I heard you made a damn good save at the condo.”

“How did you hear that?”

“My dad was at the warehouse fire last night. He’s the vet taking care of that drugged guard dog. He said it was all the gossip.
So, you play ball?”

“Went to school on a baseball scholarship.” For one disastrous semester. “Why?”

“Because I play on a league and we need a fielder.
One of our guys broke his foot. We’re headed to the play-offs, but without him it won’t be easy. If you wanna come…”

He knew a “welcome to the group” when he heard one. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“We practice Thursday night.” She scribbled an address. “Here.”

“If I can, I will. Thanks for the history. Hope the head stops exploding soon.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. Don’t slam the door on your way out.”

He was back on the main road when his cell buzzed in his pocket. It was his mom. “I’m sorry, Ma. I should have called you
this morning, but I wanted to let you sleep in.”

“Where are you, David?” she asked, a tension in her voice he didn’t like.

“North of town. Why? What’s wrong?”

“The news reported on that glass ball. You weren’t mentioned, but word’s gotten out. A dozen reporters were here, wanting
to interview you on your ‘save.’”

“A girl died in that fire and a man was murdered. And they want the scoop on my catching a ball?” He blew out an angry breath.
“I’ll be home to take care of it.”

“No, don’t come home. That’s why I’m calling. Glenn told them to go away, that you didn’t live here. Glenn said for you to
go to the cabin for the day, that he’d drop off a change of clothes for you at the firehouse.”

“It’s not a bad idea. But what about you? I hate to leave you alone all day.”

“I’ve got a building full of people to keep me company. I got up early and made fresh bread. The Gorski sisters are adorable,
and those babies in 2A? Well, I got
my grandma fix for the day. Don’t worry about me. I’m having lunch with Tom and dinner with Evie, so I’m too busy for you
anyway.” She said it lightly, but it didn’t fool him.