Silent Scream (19 page)

Joel is dead. There are only three of us. Job on schedule.

Eric was taking him at his word, afraid the video would be leaked if all four of them didn’t show. The boy was afraid. That
was good. By tomorrow, he’d be terrified. That was better. For now, he’d play with them a little bit, get that hook set in
even deeper.

how do i know you’re telling the truth?
he typed.
prove it.

Monday, September 20, 4:40 p.m.

E
ric needed to prove Joel was dead
.
He glanced at Albert, who was studying the map of the street where Tomlinson’s warehouse was located. He could ask for proof,
but they’d agreed not to speak of it. Besides, Albert was still angry with him.

Eric remembered the ridiculous note that had popped into his mind that morning.
Please excuse Joel from extortion-related arson, because he is dead
. He logged on to the local TV news’ Web site. Earlier, the account of Joel’s “accident” had said only that the victim had
been a Minneapolis university student. Hopefully they’d updated.

They had and the article listed the victim as Joel Fischer, aged 20.
Twenty
. He should have had his whole life ahead of him. They all should.
And we would have if we hadn’t listened to goddamn Joel.
Quickly he texted back, including the article’s URL.

Here is proof.
He waited for a moment, then read the return text.

my condolences.

Yeah, right
, Eric thought, tossing the phone to his sofa. “How’s it coming?”

Albert looked up from the map with a cold look. “You do your part. I’ll do mine.”

They’d split the duties, engaging Mary in the planning as little as possible. The one thing they agreed on was that they didn’t
quite trust Mary. They would pick her up tonight, right before it was time, giving her no opportunity to leak their plan.

Before, the situation had been different, the four of them going over details again and again, here in his living room. Eric
had hacked into the construction company’s server and found everything they’d needed—blueprints, the guard’s route, the schedule
that had told them the adhesive was staged on floors one through three.

What were we thinking?
They hadn’t been. They’d been so caught up.

Tonight, Eric would take care of the dog, disable the electronic alarm and the video systems, and get them inside. Albert
would procure gas and matches, and, along with Mary, set the fire. A drive-by check had shown there were only simple recording
cameras. They’d wear ski masks to hide their faces.

And if they were caught?
Big deal
. How much would arson add to their sentence? Life plus a few years.
Big deal
. If they didn’t get caught, they’d bought time. They’d lure the fucking texter out and kill him, quickly and cleanly. It
was the only way to break free.

“It’s almost five,” Albert said. “Tomlinson’s warehouse will be closing soon.”

“Then I’d better call.” With the texter’s phone, Eric dialed Barney Tomlinson’s warehouse and a woman answered. “Hi,” Eric
said, “my name is John Davis and I’m with Airtight Security. We make video security systems.”

“If you’ll leave your number, I’ll have the manager get
back to you,” the woman said in a bored tone. “I’m not authorized to listen to sales pitches.”

Bitch. “We’re offering a special. We’ll install the cameras, then hook up a wireless router for free, then store and back
up all your feeds on our servers here.”

“We’ve got a system and it works fine. Old-fashioned video, pop in a new tape every month. Nothing fancy to break. Look, kid,
leave a number or I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” Eric blurted. “Don’t hang up, please. You’re my first call. My first job. I really need the money to pay for school.
Just let me practice my pitch. Please?”

She sighed dramatically. “Go ahead. God, I’m a sap.”

“Thank you. Are you sure your system works fine? Have you checked the video quality lately? Extreme temperatures can damage
the sensors.”

“The recorder’s inside,” she said. “No temperature problems.”

Damn.
He’d hoped for an outside unit. “You might think that, but if it’s near a loading dock or an external door, you’re letting
in Mr. Freeze several times a day.”

“Mr. Freeze? Look, it’s not near an external door. It’s in the electrical room, right next to the john. Your pitch sucks.
Better work it or you’re going to be very poor.”

She hung up and Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “The videotape will be in the electrical closet next to the bathroom. We’ll
take it with us. That way we don’t need to worry about disabling the cameras. Although we should still wear masks, just in
case.”

Albert still didn’t look up. “What about the alarm?”

“He’s got a dog. I’m betting his alarm system isn’t that advanced.”

Albert’s jaw clenched. “Don’t bet. Be sure.”

Eric wondered how he could make things right. Then
dropped his eyes to his laptop where he’d been trying all afternoon to hack into Tomlinson’s system. “I’ll do my best.”

Monday, September 20, 5:00 p.m.

David studied the face in his bathroom mirror. Laying the floor in 2A hadn’t taken long, and wound with nervous energy, he’d
done 2B as well. Now he was showered, cleanly shaven, and wearing a Sunday shirt and the trousers that went with his suit.
He’d even picked out a tie. He hated this feeling. This unsure, unsteady, oh-God-what-if-I’m-a-monster feeling. He hated not
knowing. At least that would soon be over.

He didn’t look in the mirror very often. Usually he shaved in the shower. For a long time after Megan died, he’d forced himself
to look in the mirror. Forced himself to come to terms with the man he was, not the man everyone saw.

People saw what they wanted to see, he knew. On the surface, he’d been blessed with a nice face. What could he say? He’d be
lying if he denied it. He knew women gave him second and even third looks. Sometimes he was even flattered.

But most of the time it was a pain in the ass. Nice women assumed he was a player or that they’d never have a chance. There
had been so few who’d taken the time to look beneath the face. To find out who he really was. Who he’d made himself to be.

“So who are you?” he murmured. But he had no good answer.

He wandered through his apartment, empty save the
absolutely necessary pieces of furniture he’d brought with him from Chicago. A table, a few straight-backed chairs, the easy
chair that sat in front of his TV. And the bed he’d bought right after moving in. A new bed. A big bed. Hopefully for a new
beginning.
Please.

He could tell himself not to worry, but it was folly. Looking for distraction that wouldn’t get him sweaty again, he grabbed
his laptop and dropped into his easy chair.

He’d thought about the glass ball off and on all day. David believed in fate, divine providence. That the ball had slid so
neatly into his glove had been no accident.

In his mind he saw the dead girl’s waxen face, her wide eyes staring up at them. In a few hours her father would have to identify
her body. Her life was ended, so young.

Just like Megan’s. He’d thought about Megan more today than he had in a long time. Nothing could bring her back, just like
nothing could bring the girl from the condo back. It was a waste. An evil, senseless waste.

For Megan, it had been because a selfish bastard wanted to control those weaker than himself. For today’s victim, it was because
a group of radicals wanted to save the environment. They might talk passionate, even selfless rhetoric, but under it all they
were selfish bastards, too. Seemed to be a common theme.

He wondered if they’d known the girl was there. He hoped not. Still he hoped Olivia found them, and quickly. He hoped they
went to prison for a very long time.

The ball that had slid into his hand had been their signature. He typed
glass ball
and
environmental arson
into Google and settled back to read.

He found an article on the group known as SPOT, then another. He found the account of how an innocent woman had died twelve
years before, during the last fire for
which they’d claimed responsibility, and his heart chilled. Surely they didn’t know the girl was there last night. He thought
about the guard, shot through the heart. That had been no accident. The arsonists were no idealists. They were murderers.

David found a link to a man recognized if not as the leader, then as their inspiration. Preston Moss. He’d been a university
philosophy professor. Hadn’t been heard from in twelve years. But before Moss had disappeared, he’d been prolific in his writing.

Someone had captured Moss’s articles on a Web site. Reading Moss’s words, David could almost hear the man’s voice ringing
in his mind.

“David? You here, boy?”

Abruptly David jerked his eyes from his laptop screen, blinking to refocus on his front door, which was opening. Glenn Redman
stuck his head in. “David?”

“Yeah, Glenn, I’m here. Come in.”

Glenn did, frowning. “I knocked three times. I saw your truck outside, so I knew you were here. You okay? You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.”

David’s mind was still caught up in the stirring words of Preston Moss. Stirring and frightening, the barely veiled advocation
of violence to make their voices heard if arson did not succeed. David rubbed his palm over his chest. His heart was still
beating hard.

“I was reading,” he said distractedly, then blinked again. “What do you need?”

Glenn’s frown deepened. “You tell me. You left me a note.” He produced it from his pocket, the sight instantly bringing David
back to the present.

“Right. I knocked earlier, but thought you might be resting.” Propping his laptop on the arm of his chair, he
brought one of the kitchen chairs into the living room, motioning for Glenn to sit in the easy chair. “I wanted to talk to
you about what you told my mom today.”

Glenn’s eyes narrowed. “Which thing?”

The way he said it had David’s brows shooting up. “About me catching the ball in that condo fire.”

“Oh, that.” Glenn’s frown eased, making David wonder what else Glenn had told his mother. “Heard it was a hell of a save.”

“It was. And it turned out to be important. The cops don’t want us talking about it.”

“To who?”

“Well, to the press for sure, but to each other, also. Loose lips and all that.”

“All right.” The older man regarded him steadily. “You’re looking pretty clean behind the ears. Sunday clothes. You going
out tonight?”

David’s cheeks warmed. He’d hoped he didn’t look that obvious. “Yeah.” He returned the old man’s stare. “You’re looking pretty
clean yourself, old man.”

“I was thinking your mama might like to see the town, but if you two got plans…”

David wasn’t sure if he should laugh or frown. “You got designs on my mom?”

“No,” Glenn said forcefully. Indignantly, even. “I just thought she might like to… Never mind.” He struggled to get out of
the deep chair and David waved him back.

“Sit. I’m not going out with my mother tonight. She’s out shopping.”

“You’re leaving her alone, her first night here?”

“Just for a little while.” Maybe. He was afraid to hope for longer than a little while with Olivia. “Where did you want to
take her?”

Glenn shrugged, embarrassed. “Dooley’s maybe. They got good wings.”

David shook his head. “My mom’s better than a place with big-breasted waitresses. Besides, you changed your shirt and shaved.
That calls for something special.”

“Like I can afford anything special,” Glenn groused. David shook his head again, saying nothing, and Glenn blew out a frustrated
breath. “Martino’s has tablecloths.”

David chuckled at his discomfort. “She’d like that. And you might see Lacey from 2A. Martino hired her. You like my mother
or something?”

Glenn’s cheeks went red. “She’s a nice lady. Back off, boy.”

“It’s just that… she doesn’t date.” It was true, he realized. “Not since my dad.”

“How long ago did your dad pass?”

“I was eighteen, so eighteen years ago. She was so strong, never complained. She was always there for us. I guess I never
thought of her ever… dating again.”

“It’s just Martino’s,” Glenn said in an overly patient voice. “I’m not gonna marry her.”

David looked at him, slyly now. “She’s awful pretty, my mama.”

“Don’t make me get out of this chair, Hunter.”

“Like you could without a winch. Just be nice to her, okay? She’s a good person.”

“That I could tell, straight off.” Glenn cleared his throat. “So where are you going?”

It was David’s turn to fidget in his chair. “Your cabin.”

“Dressed like that? You even spit shined your Sunday shoes.”

“I don’t spit. I have to talk to someone about something that happened a while ago.”

“What’s her name?”

He sighed. “Olivia.”

Glenn’s brows went up. “The one you slept with
and
whose sister you slept with? I also have ears like a bat. Just so you know.”

David closed his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with either of them. I think.”

“You think? You
think
?”

“That’s what I said.” And he’d said too much. “What time is it, anyway?”

Glenn glanced at the computer screen. “Ten to six.” Then he squinted, looking closer. He looked up, his eyes gone angry. “Why
are you reading about Preston Moss?”

David leaned forward. “You know Moss?”

“Not personally. I remember him. They left a glass globe at each of their fires,” Glenn said slowly. “That ball you caught
today. The cops think Moss is back?”

“They don’t know,” David said. “They’re trying to keep it out of the news.”

“I can see why. This guy was bad, Davy. He wore this veneer of sincerity, but in the end, he was just a thug.” His voice trembled.
“No more than a thug.”

“What happened, Glenn?”

Glenn closed the laptop. “They talk about the woman who died, who fell asleep in that building and couldn’t get out. How she
was charred black. They don’t talk about the firefighters who were hurt trying to knock that fire down. The building went
up, taking the buildings on both sides. We were lucky we knocked it down as quick as we did.”