Silent Scream (37 page)

Tuesday, September 21, 6:30 p.m.

“That was nice,” Glenn said quietly.

David glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the highway, where traffic was stop-and-go. He’d been so lost in his
own thoughts that he hadn’t realized the older man had been as well. “Yes, it was.”

“Your mother just took that girl under her wing. Evie, I mean.”

“That’s how it is back there, in Chicago. Our family
is bigger than just blood relatives. And we take care of each other.”

“And yet you left.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Because of the name you said during… you know.” Glenn cleared his throat. “The unrequited thing.”

David found himself smiling at Glenn’s embarrassment. His own father would have been the same way. “You ready to talk about
Lincoln Jefferson?”

“I think that’s wise,” Glenn said, relief in his voice. “Your cop friend back there didn’t have any ideas?”

“No. But I was wondering why someone would want to help Lincoln. What would they get out of it? Lincoln said he broke into
your place to find proof I’d been paid or commanded to lie, to set Moss up.”

“Which is crazy.”

“It is, because Lincoln is. Who else would be upset that we’d sullied Moss’s name?”

“Moss, for one. If he’s still alive. Or one of his other followers. There were a hell of a lot of them,” Glenn said. “You’d
have to find the one who had contact with the schizo.”

“One might have that,” David said slowly, “if one had checked Lincoln’s cell phone.”

Glenn’s brows shot up. “And who might have done a thing like that?”

“Me. I checked his pockets after I tied him up. I was making sure he didn’t have any other weapons while I waited for the
cops.”

“Prudent.”

“I thought so. I found Lincoln’s cell, checked the log, and wrote the numbers down.”

Glenn laughed. “I stand corrected, boy. You did good.”

“We’ll see if the numbers yield anything. The other thing I was thinking about was the Moss Web site.”

“That piece of trash,” Glenn muttered.

“True, but somebody put hours and hours into building and maintaining that site. Somebody who treasured Moss and wouldn’t
want to see him linked to two gunshot murders. I’m wondering how to track ownership of that site.”

“Wouldn’t the FBI already have done that?”

“I would have thought so, but Lincoln seemed to have passed under their radar.”

“True. Didn’t you tell me your friend Evie did Web site work? A little hacking?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to drag her into this. She’s finally got her life steady.”

Glenn waited a full minute while David frowned. “And? Who else, boy?”

David sighed. “I know someone in Chicago who’s great with Internet spying, but I hate to ask him for anything.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the husband of the unrequited thing.” Who, to David’s constant consternation, was a hell of a nice guy. He’d
always wanted to hate Dana’s husband but had never been able to summon it.

Glenn winced. “Oh. What about that nephew of yours? He goes to college. I bet he knows something about the Internet.”

“I’m sure Tom knows quite a lot, but he’s not the hacker type. He might know someone who is, though. I’ll call him.”

“You do realize you aren’t going to make your karate class tonight?”

David sighed. Traffic was snarled. “I got a decent
workout this afternoon with Lincoln, so I can miss once. I’ll call Paige and tell her I’m not coming.”

“Then we can work on those phone numbers and the Web site.”

“I was thinking that.”

Tuesday, September 21, 6:30 p.m.

Austin Dent paced his bedroom floor, checking his phone every few minutes. School had been out for three hours.
Three hours.
Where the hell was Kenny? All he had to do was get to the mailbox in the middle of town and drop a goddamn letter in.

Getting to town was no problem. The two of them had done it dozens of times when they’d been given off-campus public-library
passes. That was one of the perks of being in high school. You got more freedom than the little kids who lived on campus.

He stopped pacing, raked his hand through his hair. Why hadn’t Kenny texted?

Trying to calm down, Austin slumped onto the worn-out sofa in the living room and turned on the television news. And frowned.
The closed-captioning sucked on this channel. They used some kind of computer speech detector and it was always getting the
words wrong. Half the stories made no sense.

He switched to the national cable station where the captioning was more consistent. It was annoying to have to depend on the
captioning. A lot of kids he knew didn’t bother with the news. But Austin wanted to know what was happening in the world because
one day he’d go to college, make something of himself.

He shook his head. College?
Yeah, right
. There was no money for college. And after this suspension? He could kiss the scholarships he’d been trying for good-bye.
If they think you did that fire, you’ll go to jail and nothing else will matter.

But I didn’t do it. I was only trying to protect Tracey
. His chest hurt to even think of her, which meant it hurt all the time.
She trusted me. I promised to help her
.

Why didn’t I do something?
He remembered the bruises with vivid detail. He’d picked her up at the Omaha airport and had wanted to kill someone.

“Let me take you to a hospital,” he’d begged her but she’d refused.

“They’ll make me go back.” Her eyes had been so determined, even as she signed with one hand, because her hand was sprained.
Sprained
.

Austin had never felt such hate before, but he did when he thought of a monster twisting her arm until it fractured and her
hand until it sprained. Someday, when all this died down, he’d make sure the monster paid. But it wouldn’t bring Tracey back.

And then, there she was. Her picture on the news. A scream rose from deep within him, but he kept it chained. Silent.

She was only sixteen. A runaway from Gainesville, Florida, the captioning read. But she’d been so much more. She’d been sweet
and smart and funny.
And scared.
She’d been so scared.
I promised her she’d be safe.

A second picture joined Tracey’s on the screen and Austin flinched. It was the guard he’d watched get shot in cold blood.
Henry Weems.

Fuck
, he thought, his heart plunging as he read the
captioning flowing across the screen. A retired cop.
They’ll want revenge. They’ll take it out on me
.

He jumped to his feet, turning his back, unable to watch any more. He turned off the television, then went back to pacing.
Kenny, where the hell are you?

Tuesday, September 21, 6:50 p.m.

Olivia brought the car to a stop. “I thought the Fischers’ house would be bigger.”

“Me too,” Kane said. “Mr. Fischer is a rich man.”

She bit at her lip thoughtfully. “I wish we had a warrant. They’re going to be mad enough that Ian put the skids on Joel’s
burial. I don’t think we’ll find them terribly cooperative. I’ll call the ADA one more time.”

“He’s gonna yell,” Kane said glumly.

Olivia’s lips twitched as they did whenever he used that tone. “Let him yell.” She dialed Brian’s phone, prepared for the
yelling.

“No,” the assistant DA said without preamble. “Judge said no.”

“No way,” Olivia whined. “Really?”

“Look, I’m sorry. You need to get more before we have cause to search.”

“Okay. Thanks for trying.” She hung up and looked at Kane. “No warrant.”

“I got that,” Kane said dryly. “At least we can tell Abbott that Lincoln’s clean of these two fires.”

“Luckily Blue Moon had video showing Lincoln there until closing both nights. I don’t think Crawford would have believed the
bartender’s word on it.”

“We’ll still want him for B and E and attempted assault
on Hunter, but on the fires, Lincoln is the Fed’s problem. Joel Fischer is ours.” Kane got out of the car, tossing back a
careless, “It’s your turn.”

“It is not. I did Louise Tomlinson. The Fischers are yours.”

Kane made a face. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Have I ever?” she asked as they walked up the Fischers’ driveway.

“Not once.”

Olivia stopped him before he knocked on the door. “Wait. Take off your shoes.”

Kane frowned. “Why?”

“They’re not sitting
shiva
yet, because the burial was delayed. But the house may be prepared. No leather shoes. It’s just respect.”

“How do you know this?” Kane asked, toeing off his shoes.

“Our next-door neighbors growing up were Orthodox. When they had a family death, my mom and I visited, took food. Take off
your hat.” She did the same.

He obeyed. “Look, Liv, if you know all this, maybe you should take this one. It’ll go smoother if I’m not bungling it out
of ignorance. I’ll take the next two. I promise.”

She shot him a disgruntled look. “I hate it when you make sense. All right.” She knocked and waited, dread mounting. Informing
parents was never easy. When the deceased was a potential suspect… This wasn’t going to be pretty.

The door opened, revealing a man with a full beard, wearing a black suit. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’m Detective Sutherland and this is my partner, Detective Kane.” She flashed her badge. “We’d like
to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Fischer.”

“They are in mourning. They cannot be disturbed.”

Olivia put her hand on the door as it began to close. “Excuse me,” she said. “This isn’t a social call. We realize they are
in mourning, but we must speak with them. Now.”

Displeased, the man opened the door. “I am Rabbi Hirschfield. Come in.”

“Thank you.” Olivia sat down on the love seat the rabbi indicated, Kane at her side. In a moment a red-eyed couple joined
them, sitting on the adjacent sofa. The rabbi stood in the doorway to the kitchen, almost as if standing guard.

“We’re the Fischers,” the man said indignantly. “Are you going to release his body now? We’d like to bury our son.”

“I know this is difficult,” Olivia began. “The medical examiner found something in your son’s autopsy that required further
investigation. That’s why we’re here.”

Mrs. Fischer lifted her chin. “We’ve already been told about the narcotics supposedly found in our son’s body. We don’t believe
it.”

Oh, great
, Olivia thought.
They’re going to believe this even less
. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am. The medical examiner has no reason to lie.”

Mrs. Fischer flinched slightly. “I didn’t say he lied. He made a mistake. My son was not some druggie. He was a good boy.
With a good family.” Her voice broke and tears rolled down her cheeks. “He was the champion of causes, not some junkie.”

“What kind of causes, Mrs. Fischer?” Olivia asked gently.

“All kinds. He raised money for AIDS—ten thousand dollars in his senior year of high school. All by himself.
We said we’d give him the money, but he said he wanted to raise it himself. He worked for charities. He volunteered in Temple.”
She was sobbing. “He wanted to make the world a better place and I won’t let you tear him down.”

Her husband gathered her close and frowned at them. “You have to leave.”

“Not yet,” Olivia said soothingly. “Please, try to listen to me. I need your help.”

“With what?” Mr. Fischer snapped as his wife tried to stifle her sobs.

“Sir, was your son involved in any on-campus groups? Clubs?”

“No.” Mr. Fischer looked confused. “Why?”

“Did he ever talk about wanting to save animals, wetlands, the environment?”

“Of course.” Mr. Fischer was patting his wife’s shuddering back. “He cared about all those things. Why?” he repeated, more
suspiciously.

“The thing the medical examiner found was lung damage to your son’s airways. He’d been in a building fire. Recently. Within
twelve hours of his death.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Mrs. Fischer pulled away from her husband, her eyes now wide, horrified, and angry.
“He was
not
. I know what you’re saying, that he somehow started that fire that’s been in the news. Where that girl died. But he didn’t.
He was
not
in a fire.”

Olivia stayed calm. “Yes, ma’am, he was. The medical examiner wanted to be very sure. He tested Joel’s blood and found traces
of cyanide. That happens when someone breathes in burning plastic, as in a structural fire. We’d like to understand what happened.
Did Joel seem upset Monday morning?”

Mrs. Fischer was shaking her head. “He was
not
in a fire. He was
here
. With us.”

“All night?” Olivia asked.

Mrs. Fischer’s chin lifted again. “All night,” she insisted.

But Mr. Fischer’s eyes had skirted away.

“Is that right, Mr. Fischer?” Olivia asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. But it wasn’t a firm reply.

Olivia glanced at the rabbi, who now looked more worried than affronted. “Would it be all right if we looked in Joel’s room?”
she asked.

“Leave,” Mr. Fischer demanded. “Or I’ll report you for harassment.”

Olivia and Kane stood. “My partner has been very patient with you, sir,” Kane said sternly. “Denying the facts will not change
them.”

“If he set that fire in the condo, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Olivia said, still quietly. “I can’t begin to understand
what you’re feeling, but if it were my son, I’d want to know. We will find out, with or without your help.”

“A girl died in that fire,” Mr. Fischer said unsteadily. “You want our help pinning her death on our son? What do we look
like to you?”

Olivia glanced at the rabbi, then turned to look at the mirrors covered with black scarves, the low stools set to the side
in preparation for
shiva
. “You look like people who would do the right thing. The moral thing.” She let the comment stand for a moment. “Last night
I stood beside the father of the girl who died while he identified his daughter’s body. He cried, too. He wants answers and
I will get them for him.”