Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

“I know where you’re going. It wasn’t Mr. Shewster I spoke to during either phone call. They were all business when they spoke. Malcolm’s more of a codger.”

Oh, boy!

Thirty-five minutes later, after he had thanked Rita for detailing everything she remembered about both her likely encounter with Angus and her entire conversation with Shewster, Driscoll rejoined Margaret and Thomlinson. They informed him that Forensics had arrived to sweep the place and that a team of officers was going door to door seeking any further information on Angus. He headed for the door.

Two questions gnawed at him: Why hadn’t he gotten a call from Danny O’Brien telling him that their electronic shadow had followed the Shewster vehicle when it ventured out for the rendezvous? And why was Shewster so fixated on the PC Haven receipt for Angus’s computer purchase?

Just before he got his foot out the door, Adeline brushed past him. He’d been a cop for a long time. She was either taking something out of his breast pocket or putting something in. Because her awkward sleight of hand hadn’t been missed by Margaret, Driscoll, as a courtesy, would wait until he was alone to see what the lady had passed him. He believed he knew what he’d find. Adeline was no artful dodger. The Lieutenant never kept anything in that pocket. Until now.

When Driscoll returned to his office, there were three messages from Danny O’Brien, the TARU technician, staring up at him from his desk. He picked up the phone and called.

“TARU,” a voice answered. The Lieutenant recognized it as that of Steve Halley.

“They finally let you out from under, Steve?”

“We all need a breath of air now and again, Lieutenant. Even short timers like me. I take it when it’s offered. I’m awful sorry to hear about your wife. You holding up okay? How’s your sister?”

“She and I are fine. Thanks for asking.”

“If you ever need another soul to turn to…”

“I know. It’s nice to hear it.”

“Hold the line. I know Danny’s been eager to talk to you.”

“Thanks.”

The Lieutenant had a great deal of respect for Halley. He’d lost a son to leukemia a dozen or so years back. After burying the boy, he went home and poured every drop of liquor on hand down the drain of the kitchen sink. His cabinet was well stocked. He rescued two lives that day. His and his wife’s. Bleak are the days of a whiskey widow. Bleaker are the nights of a mother who buries a child she bore. He no longer had Sean. But he’d be damned if he’d continue to steer his wife to an early grave.

The booming of voice of Danny O’Brien sounded in the Lieutenant’s ear. “Hi, Lieutenant. I know you’ve got a long list of people to explain to. I want to help you do that. We followed the limousine down Fifth and into the park. According to the GPS tracking device, midway through the park, the vehicle stopped. Then sat there. We figured his car broke down or blew a tire. Though unlikely, he may have been meeting someone there. We sent an Aviation copter over the site. Couldn’t make out much through the cluster of trees. We had a blue and white enter from Central Park West and cruise through. Zip! No stationary car. But the GPS still had him sitting there. The patrol car continued through, then turned around, and circled back. Nada. But they reported a patch of rough road. A series of potholes, right about where we had the GPS sitting. We believe we know what happened. Although the unit wasn’t sighted at the scene, there are sewers on both sides of the roadway. We had the Environment Protection Agency dispatch a truck. They dredged both sewers, eventually finding the GPS in the northern drain.”

“You got another unit? One with Krazy Glue?”

“We’ve got the next best thing,” said O’Brien. “Sorry about-”

“No need to apologize, Danny. Some guys have all the luck.”

“And excellent timing.”

“The guy’s crafty. I’ll give him that. But he hasn’t perfected the art of disappearing. Not yet.”

Driscoll hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. One mystery had been unraveled. What Shewster was going to do with a PC Haven receipt still had the best of him.

It was nearing three in the morning. All Angus heard was the tapping of keys and his sister’s snoring, which sounded, for the most part, like a muted motor with a rough idle. But her sudden guttural outbursts were annoying the hell out of him. Had he been in bed, he’d grind his heel into the fleshy part of her thigh. That shut her up in a hurry.

Right now, though, he wasn’t in bed. He was pounding away on the notebook. He’d slept very little over the past week. His ass ached from its constant contact with the hard wooden stool he had placed next to the barrel that supported the laptop. His eyes hurt from peering into the dull luster of its twelve-inch screen. But he was on a mission, a tedious, time-consuming one that required intense concentration. Therefore, he would not, could not, tolerate her snoring. So he puckered his lips and let loose a high-pitched whistle every time his sister snorted like a wild boar that had its testicles shocked by a Taser.

It always prompted the same response: “What? What is it? What?” with his sister nearly leaping from her skin.

And it always worked, allowing him to return to the mundane and irksome task at hand. He had learned much about the Lieutenant over the course of the last seven days. But he was yet to find what he was looking for.

“Jesus H. Christ! There it is again! Where the hell is that high-pitched whistling coming from?” Cassie grunted, eyes half open, spotting Angus quietly pecking away at the keys. A pencil behind his ear. A pad of paper at the ready. His gaze riveted to the screen.

“Angus, didn’t ya hear that?”

“What?”

“That freakin’ whistle!”

“I ain’t heard a thing. Go back to sleep, Lovee. You must be dreaming.”

She muttered something intelligible, dislodged a wedgie, and let her head hit the pillow.

Was I dreaming? Maybe.

“We’re never gonna get back home,” Cassie whispered, huddled next to her brother in the last pew of the church. “Not to Carbondale. Not to the loft. They musta cloned that Driscoll guy. He shows up everywhere! The guy probably walks on water.”

She looked around the church. There were a handful of visitors, some lighting candles, some standing before one of many statues, the rest seated. They all looked the same. Same height, same clothing, same sinister look on their face, skeleton-like. They were humming. “We’re running outta places, Angus. We’re gonna hafta move to another planet!”

“If you’d like.”

Huh? Why was he so polite and agreeable? “We might need another country.”

“That’s a can-do.”

“Yeah, right. Like we’re gonna be able to hail a taxi, say ‘JFK, please.’ You know what kinda security they got at airports these days? And the last time I looked, JFK was still in New York City! They probably got dogs there that look like Driscoll. We’re screwed, Angus. Unless Scotty can beam us up to the Starship Enterprise, we’re screwed.”

“Look on the bright side. We have each other.”

“Jesus, Angus, you’re creepin’ me out.”

“Ya know what I always wanted to do when I grew up?” he whispered.

“I got this one! Trade in your feathers and become a cowboy.”

“Cute. You’re so adorable. I always wanted to become a millionaire, silly.”

“Go on! They laid off security at Fort Knox?”

“Lemme show ya. Hand me the phone.”

Sitting on the pew was a phone. Not a cell phone. A freaking landline phone. Cord and all! She was leaning over trying to figure out what it was connected to when she heard Angus speaking on it.