Silent Scream (55 page)

“A cop, I think. You can check with security downstairs. They might have a record of it. It was after we came back from winter
break. Mid-January. He said something about it being ten years and mending fences. Mary threw the money in his face, told
him she never wanted anything from him, and ran to her room, crying.”

“What did Daddy do?” Olivia asked.

“Picked up the money. I was kind of hoping he’d leave it, but he didn’t.”

“What about the doctor brother?” Noah asked.

“I saw her taking a sleeping pill once. Said she’d had trouble sleeping and her brother called it in. I asked if he could
call me in a script and she said she’d ask. She never volunteered and I never brought it up again. Like I said, we weren’t
close.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said.

Downstairs, they asked the receptionist if she could track the cop’s visit last year based on Mary’s name and the approximate
date.

“Of course. We can sort by the form of ID used,” the woman said. She did the search, then turned her screen. “The visitors
that week. Only one used a badge.”

Olivia stared, then looked up at Noah, stunned. “This changes everything.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:15 p.m.

“How can I help you?” Mrs. Annie Walsh greeted them with a warm smile, instantly making David think of his mother.
Please.
His heart swelled to fill his throat, choking him.
Please don’t let her be hurt. Please. I’ll do anything.

“Gentlemen?” Mrs. Walsh stared at the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

David cleared his throat harshly. “We’re looking for information on a woman who lived in one of your rental properties. Her
name is Mary O’Reilly. It would have been at least three years ago, maybe more.” He gave her the address.

“No, I never rented to any O’Reillys at that or any of my properties.” She started to close the door and David held up his
hand, watching fear flicker over her face.

“Please, we’re not criminals. My mother is missing. Her name is Phoebe Hunter.”

“My grandmother,” Tom added. “It’s been on the news today.”

Mrs. Walsh’s eyes widened. “Oh my. I did hear about that. You poor boys. But I can’t help you. I don’t know any O’Reilly family.”

David pursed his lips, thinking. “Her name was Mary Francesca. Maybe—”

“Mary Fran? Oh, of course, I remember her. Poor lamb. She’d lost her mother. That was before they came to live in my property,
though.”

“How?” David asked and she hesitated, pity in her face. “Please, ma’am.”

“It was a nightmare. Her father had left the house, to work. There was an intruder, and Mary Fran’s mother was killed. Bludgeoned,
I’m afraid. Mary’s brother was badly injured. He lived, though. I think he was trying to protect their mother. Mary was found
hiding in a closet, the phone in her hand. She’d heard the whole thing.”

“She called 911?” Tom asked.

“No, she didn’t. That’s the story I heard anyway. I never asked them if it was true.”

Panic was slowly chipping away at David’s composure. “When did this happen?”

“Lord, must’ve been ten years now. Maybe eleven. Mary Fran was only twelve or thirteen, and Jonathan was sixteen or so.”

“Could we get the name of her father, of Mr. O’Reilly?”

“I told you, there was no O’Reilly. Mary Fran’s last name was Crawford.”

David’s mouth fell open. He blinked, not believing he’d heard right.
Not a coincidence.
“
Crawford
?”

“Who’s Crawford?” Tom demanded. “David.”

“He’s FBI. He chased Moss for years.”

Mrs. Walsh nodded. “Yes, that was his work. He left to investigate a case, and one of the criminals he’d put in jail was released
and came back to harm his family.”

“Mrs. Walsh, do you have an address or phone number for the brother, Jonathan?”

“I haven’t heard from them since they moved. I wish I could help you. I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am, you’ve helped us more than you know. Thank you.”

“Mr. Hunter,” she called as they turned to go. “I’ll be praying for your mother.”

“Thank you,” David managed. As they were running to the car, David dialed Olivia, grimacing when he got her voice mail again.
“Olivia, it’s David. Call me. Agent Crawford is Mary O’Reilly’s father. She has a brother.
Call me
.”

They got in and Tom pulled into traffic. “Where now?”

“We find Crawford. Go to the jail. I’m betting he’s there, waiting to talk to Lincoln.”

“Why hasn’t Crawford said anything?” Tom asked furiously. “He has to have heard about Mary on the news. About Grandma. Why
hasn’t he said anything?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell planning to ask. Drive faster, kid.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:30 p.m.

He woke with a start, squinted at his alarm clock and groaned. He’d slept much longer than he’d planned. Rubbing his hands
over his face, he grabbed his phone to check his texts. No word from Austin. Damn kid. Where the hell was he?

He aimed the remote at the television and the news filled the screen. Same old, same old. Fire, arson, dead cop, injured firefighter…
He waited, then relaxed.

“Sixteen-year-old Austin Dent is still missing. Police ask anyone with any information…”
Excellent.
“We continue to follow the story of the abduction of a woman by Mary O’Reilly.”

What the hell?

“Mrs. Phoebe Hunter, of Chicago, was forced at gunpoint to become O’Reilly’s getaway driver. O’Reilly was fleeing authorities
who wish to question her in the deaths of two university students.”

He stood slowly, pushing his laptop to the bed. “What the hell?” he whispered.

“O’Reilly is believed to be driving a black Lexus. She is armed and considered very dangerous. If you have information, please
call MPD at the number on your screen.”

He tossed his phone to the bed and went to stand in front of the television, fists on his hips. “What the fucking hell have
you done now, you stupid bitch?”

He went still at the knock on his door. Quickly he
logged out of his bank account, shut down his laptop, and pushed the bag of phones under his bed. Maybe it was Girl Scouts.
Maybe they’d go away.

But they knocked again, harder. “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

He gritted his teeth, recognizing the voice.
Thank you, Mary. So fucking much
. He pulled on a pair of pants and walked shirtless to the door. Through the peephole he could see the man he hadn’t wanted
to see in years.

The man still wore a tie and had his hair in that same 1960s flattop. He still wore a black suit, shiny shoes, and a gun at
his hip. And he still carried a badge that he took way too seriously. One of these days it would be the death of him.
I hope
.

The knocking grew louder as did the man’s voice. “Open. This. Door. Now.”

So he did, standing with his head tilted to one side, his most flamboyant smile on his face. “Hello, Dad. Long time no see.”

Wednesday, September 22, 5:45 p.m.

C
rawford looked at him in disgust. “Thank
God
I’m not your father. Are you alone?”

“Very. Come on in.” He aimed Crawford a seductive look, just for old times’ sake.

It was all an act, of course. It had always been an act, conceived at first to piss Crawford off. Then later he’d realized
that the macho cops in his shop didn’t make eye contact when he flirted. It made him invisible. Just the way he liked it.

“Shut up. Look, all I want to know is, have you seen your sister?”

“No, but I saw the news. Naughty, naughty Mary. This is not gonna look good for you.” He tilted his head again, smiling. “Maybe
that was her plan all along.”

Crawford’s jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter. “Fine. That’s all I wanted to know. Now we
don’t have to see each other, ever again.”

He shrugged lightly. “I’m surprised you knew where to find me, quite frankly.”

“I’ve always known. This is my town. You don’t sneeze without me knowing.”

He wanted to tell Crawford what he didn’t know. “Oh. Because
you
carry a badge.”

“You,” Crawford ground out, “will never amount to anything.”

His eyes narrowed, anger long denied now bubbling up. “You’re right. Good thing you have one perfect son. But wait. He doesn’t
speak to you, either, and weren’t you kind of demoted? This isn’t
your town
anymore. Too bad you can’t find Mary. At least you’d have one decent arrest before they put you out to pasture. Fresh triple
homicide’s gotta be worth more than a twelve-year-old single. See y’later. Buh-bye.”

Through his curtains he could see Crawford march to his car. But then the man stopped and looked up with a frown before getting
in his car and driving away.

His gut clenched. He knew that look. Knew it was Crawford’s I-just-discovered-a-truth look.
What did I say?
He wasn’t sure.

And then he knew. “Oh, shit,” he breathed. “Oh, shit.” He grabbed a shirt, shoes, and his laptop. And his gun. Mary had only
been linked to Albert and Eric in the news. Not Joel.
I shouldn’t have known it was a triple homicide
.

The police were watching for the white van, so he jumped into his car, going the direction Crawford had gone. Maybe Crawford
would think he’d meant that Phoebe Hunter was the third of Mary’s homicides. Maybe. But he couldn’t take that chance.

He caught up with Crawford and slowed his pace, staying far enough back that he couldn’t be seen. He’d wait till Crawford
stopped, then he’d take the bastard out.

He’d always wanted to, ever since his mother brought Crawford home. He’d been nine and had hated him then. His hate had grown
considerably since. He hadn’t realized how much until he’d seen Crawford’s face again. He
wondered what had set Mary off. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to leave the glass balls at each fire. She’d known what the
discovery of the glass balls would mean. Exactly who it would bring.

Mary had always been a manipulative little bitch. She was improving with age.

Putting a bullet in Crawford’s head would be almost as good as putting one in Mary’s, which would be his next step. Because
he had a pretty good idea of where she’d go.

Wednesday, September 22, 6:00 p.m.

“Pull over and let me out,” David said urgently, pointing to the police department. He’d been calling Olivia, Noah, and Abbott
for twenty-five minutes with no success.

Tom pulled over. “I’ll find a place to park and come up.”

David had one foot on the pavement when his body went rigid.
Crawford
. “There he is.” Fury exploded and he ran at Crawford, who had only a second to register alarm before David had him off the
ground by the lapels of his black suit. “Where is she?” He shoved Crawford up against the brick wall.
“Where the fuck is Mary?”

“David!” Tom was behind him, pulling him away. “Let him go.”

Crawford’s face was crimson. “Get your hands off me. This is assault on a—”

David shook Crawford hard, his vision going red at the edges. “The next words out of your fucking mouth better be where we
can find Mary. Because she has my mother.”

“David!”
Olivia ran from the parking garage, Noah at her side. Dodging oncoming cars, she crossed the street and grabbed his arm.
“Not like this. Let him go.”

David lowered Crawford to the ground, slowly releasing his lapels. His fists dropped to his sides, but he didn’t retreat an
inch. “Tell them, Crawford. Tell them about Mary.”

“David. We know about Mary and her brother. Take a breath.” She took his fist in her hands, held it, calming him. “We’ll get
what we want to know. Trust me.”

“Arrest him,” Crawford sputtered. “That was assault on a fed—”

Olivia turned, eyes flashing. “If you say
federal agent
, I will walk away and let him take you apart, I swear to God. You sonofabitch. You had to have known what she did.”

Crawford’s eyes flickered. “I don’t know where she is. I talked to her brother and he doesn’t know either. Leave me alone.”

“She’s your
daughter
,” Tom cried, his voice shaking. “She has my grandmother.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Crawford said coldly. “I can’t help you with your relative.”

David heard popping inside his brain. “Your daughter has killed three men and has injured my friend. Her arsons killed five
people, wiped out a neighborhood, and may have put my partner in a wheelchair. So you’d better find a way to help us.”

“You’d better consider your answer carefully, Agent Crawford,” Noah said, his face like stone. “Your family appears to mean
little to you, but it means a lot to us.”

“She is not my daughter. I married her mother, got her two psycho brats,” he spat.

“Because their mother was murdered,” David said. “What case were you chasing the night an ex-con broke into your house and
bludgeoned your wife to death?”

Crawford stepped back, hitting the brick wall. “Preston Moss.”

“Barlow said you were a man obsessed,” Olivia murmured.

“No, I was doing my job. I was chasing a man who’d set fires, who’d killed.”

“You are going to stop chasing Moss,” Olivia said quietly, “and start chasing Mary.”

“I don’t know where she is.” His eyes gleamed, slyly, David thought and felt a shiver of repulsion skitter across his skin.
“But I can give you something else.”

“What?” Olivia demanded.

“My sources say that you’ve identified Mary and her three cohorts,” Crawford said, “but there’s someone else involved. Someone
who knew she killed the Fischer kid. I’ll tell you if you give me Lincoln Jefferson.”

She looked up at Crawford in disbelief. “You want Moss that badly? You have no idea how much I want to turn away and let David
kill you with his bare hands. I’m done with your games, your need-to-know, and your
quid pro quo
. You’re sick. You don’t deserve your badge.” She pulled out her cell, walked a few paces. “I’m calling my captain.”

“Wait.” Crawford followed, closing his hand over hers. “Don’t call him. I’ll tell—”