C. Lawrence - Silent Screams

He had to make the voice stop before his head burst. He had to make God happy, and he knew of one way to do that-thanks to his Master. He looked at his watch. It would be dark soon, and then his work could begin.

"Oh, yeah, he'd be just a dream in court," Butts said, rolling his eyes.

He was sprawled in one of the chairs facing Chuck's desk. Lee sat across from him in the matching one. They were in Morton's office the next day, comparing notes. Chuck was perched on the windowsill, arms folded. Nelson sat in the captain's chair behind the desk, his fingertips drumming the arm of the chair. Detective Florette sat in a straight-backed chair in the corner, his posture as disciplined and rigid as the starched cuffs of his immaculate white shirt.

"A lot of credible sources make lousy witnesses in court," Chuck pointed out. "You know that as well as I do, Detective Butts. We both cover the Bronx, for Christ's sake."

"Excuse me, Mr.-uh, Willow, is it?" Butts continued. "Can you tell me who, if anyone, in this courtroom is an informant working for the FBI? Oh, I see-that man in the long black robe? And how do you know that? Oh, because of the microchips they planted in your brain?"

"All right, Detective, knock it off," Chuck said wearily. "Obviously this guy isn't usable in court. The question is, is it a lead we can work with?"

Nelson shrugged. "He may turn out to be the only eyewitness we have so far."

"Unless that really was the Slasher that Campbell saw at the funeral," Butts pointed out.

"I don't see how it could have been anyone else," Florette pointed out. "That last text message seemed pretty conclusive."

By now they had all been told about the text messages Lee had been receiving; there was general agreement among them that the killer was probably sending the messages about Laura, though Chuck remained skeptical.

"You said this Willow character didn't get that good of a look at this guy, right?" Butts asked.

"Right," Lee agreed.

"But you did-assuming it was him," said Nelson. "Any hits on the families with the sketch of the guy you saw?"

"No. None of them recognized him."

Chuck picked the police artist sketch up from his desk and held it aloft. Even now, looking at it sent a shiver up the back of Lee's neck. The artist had captured the intensity of his stare, the look of both loss and danger in his eyes.

"Why don't you take the sketch to this Willow character, and ask him if it looks like the man he saw?" Chuck asked.

"All right," Lee replied, "but he said it was too dark to make out any of the man's features." What he didn't say was that he had no idea how to get in touch with Eddie-Eddie always called him, usually from a pay phone on the street. Lee had never mentioned Eddie by name, nor did he say how they had met. He referred to Eddie as "a reliable informant." No one had pressed him for more information. Everyone in law enforcement had their sources, and they weren't often choirboys.

"Let's say we identify the guy that this Willow fellow saw as being the same guy you saw at the funeral-and let's assume he is the UNSUB," Florette said. "You said before that chances are he could have a record, but maybe not?"

"Right," Nelson said. "Sexual killers often begin with break-ins, burglaries, that kind of thing-and sometimes they're Peeping Toms before they 'graduate' to more serious crimes."

"He's already graduated," Chuck pointed out.

"And do you think those text messages came from him?" Butts asked.

"I think it's likely," Lee answered. "Otherwise, the timing does seem too coincidental."

"How about your idea that there's more than one perp?" Florette asked.

"Yeah, what about that?" Chuck asked.

"I still say that's an incredible long shot," Nelson protested. "It's just not-"

The phone on Chuck's desk rang. He grabbed the receiver.

"Morton here." He listened, his face darkening. "No, I don't have any comment on the case."

He slammed down the receiver. "Damn press-they're all swarming around like flies on honey." He sank down in his chair and leaned rested his elbows on the desk. "Look, I don't have to tell you that forensic evidence on this case is not exactly piling up, so we have to try different angles. What about the churches?" he said to Florette. "Any luck there?"

"Well, staff interviews haven't gotten us much-no one saw anything unusual, that sort of thing. Detective Butts and I have been looking into the congregations, but that's taking a while."

"Right," Butts agreed. "So far no one fits the offender profile. And no one recognizes the sketch of the guy Lee saw."

"We've also been looking for something these churches had in common," Florette answered. "Maybe something that links them in some way."

"And did you find anything?" Butts asked.

"Nothing obvious, other than they're both Catholic churches. But then we looked into all the programs going on at the churches-most of them have lots of meetings, you know, support groups and the like."

"Right," Nelson said. "There's a support group for everything these days. Mothers Who Lactate Too Much, Adult Children of Republican Parents-you name it."

"But most of those groups are anonymous," Lee pointed out.

"Exactly," Florette replied. "So there's not much we could do there-at least for the time being. We'd have to have a lot more evidence linking this guy to membership in one of the groups."

"Which we don't have," Butts pointed out, extracting a battered cigar from his pocket.

"Right," Florette said. "But then we started looking into the charitable works the church is involved in-feeding the homeless, that kind of thing."

"We know that Marie Kelleher volunteered at her church once a month," said Butts.

"Any leads there?" Nelson asked.

"Our first thought was that maybe he works for one of these organizations," Florette replied.

"Okay," Chuck said. "Definitely stay on that-we'll check all the employees you can dig up against the profile we've got so far."

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Chuck asked.

The answer was curt and businesslike. "Internal Affairs."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Chuck said, opening the door. "This is not a good time."

"It's never a good time for IA," Butts muttered.

The man was tall and stern-looking, with an impassive, long-jawed face. He reminded Lee of a cross between his grade school principal and Abraham Lincoln.

"Dr. Campbell?" he said, looking at Lee.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Ed Hammer, Internal Affairs. I'm investigating the matter of a brutality complaint by a Mr. Gerald Walker, who was being interrogated in this facility on-"

"Yeah, we know who he is," Chuck interrupted. "Get to the point, please."

"Were any of you present during the interrogation?"

"I was," Butts said. "And I can tell you-the guy is a class-A creep."

"That may be, Detective…"

"Butts."

The man checked a notebook he was carrying. "Detective Butts, would you like to tell me why you haven't returned any of my phone calls?"

"I got more important things to worry about. Let me tell you something, Lieutenant Hammer: this guy was askin' for it. I woulda whaled on him myself in a minute."

"So you saw Mr. Campbell abuse the suspect?"

"Abuse, my ass!" Butts snarled, his cratered cheeks reddening. "He barely touched him."

Lieutenant Hammer looked at Lee. "Is that how he got the black eye?"

"Look, Lieutenant," Butts said, biting out the words, "Walker is a crybaby as well as a wife beater."

"Will you come down to our office and make a statement?"

"You bet!" Butts snapped back, grabbing his coat.

Chuck waved Butts back to his chair. "Just a minute, Detective." Then he stood up and crossed the small space between himself and Hammer, putting his face very close to Hammer's.