Karen Rose - Silent Scream

“Here it is.” Ian handed her a sticky note with the name of a manufacturer and the serial number written on it. “I had this big buildup planned. Gee, thanks.”

Olivia patted his arm. “I’m sorry. But this is really great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t run off,” he said when they started to. “There’s more.”

They followed him into the autopsy suite. The bodies here didn’t bother her like they did in the field. By the time they got here, she’d gone through the panic.

The girl lay on the table, a sheet covering her from neck to knees. The soot had been washed from her hair and her face was ghastly white under the glaring lights.

“So young,” Kane murmured.

“Probably sixteen,” Ian said. “Cause of death was smoke inhalation. Londo said he pointed out what appeared to be recent abuse trauma. Her X-rays showed fractures to her right arm and some damage to her left hand. She’d also been drinking last night. Her blood alcohol was point-oh-nine. She’d eaten tacos very shortly before the fire.”

“If she got food locally,” Olivia said, “we might track her last hours.”

“Or her partner’s,” Ian said. “She’d had sex very shortly before death. Within an hour, quite probably less.”

Olivia frowned. “Somebody was in there with her?” she said. “Having sex?”

“I take it you haven’t found another body,” Ian said.

“Not yet, but the first two floors are still a mess,” Kane said. Then he winced. “What about the guard?”

Ian shook his head and both Olivia and Kane breathed fast sighs of relief. “Wrong blood type. Plus, Henry Weems had a vasectomy ten years ago. Came through on his chart. The girl didn’t use a condom, and her partner had a very high sperm count.”

“Oh, good,” Olivia said. “I’d hate to have to break that to Mrs. Weems.”

“On the other hand,” Kane said, “we’re either looking for another body or…”

“Or her partner got away.” Olivia’s pulse kicked up. “If he got out, we could have an eyewitness out there.”

“When she fell, she hit her knees.” Ian pulled the sheet back, revealing bruises on the girl’s knees. “She also has a slightly sprained ankle. She could have fallen and gotten separated from this other person.”

“David said the smoke would have been so thick she couldn’t see, and she couldn’t hear her partner, as she didn’t have her processor on. Getting separated makes sense.”

“Is it possible the guy she had sex with is the arsonist?” Kane asked. “That maybe he held her there against her will and set the fire with her there on purpose?”

Ian shrugged. “Anything is possible, but the victim had no vaginal bruising or tearing, so it doesn’t appear the sex was forced. The initial urine screen didn’t show any of the typical drugs, and her BA wasn’t high enough to incapacitate her. Of course, the blood tox may come back with something. I’ll have that tomorrow morning.”

“What about the guy she had sex with?” Kane asked.

“Caucasian, dark hair. He left behind some pubic hair. Also, if they were together when the fire started, he may have some lung impairment from the smoke. It may be mild or severe, depending on how long he was exposed. You should check anyone admitted to hospitals for fluid in the lungs. It can sneak up after smoke exposure.”

“At a minimum, he could be very shaken up,” Olivia said.

“If he’s still alive,” Kane countered. “If he got caught in those flames, the firefighters could have walked right through his remains and not known.”

“What about the guard?” Olivia asked. “Please tell me he was sober.”

“As a judge. Blood alcohol was zero, urine was clean. I’ll do his exam after lunch.”

“Is that him?” Olivia asked, pointing at another sheet-covered body on a gurney parked off to the side of the room.

“No, that’s a car accident victim, brought in this morning. Kid wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Not much left of his face after going through the windshield. Don’t worry. Your guy comes first,” Ian said when Olivia started to ask. “I’ll call you when I know anything.”

Olivia held up the sticky note with the implant’s serial number. “Thank you. Really. Now we can get an ID.”

Monday, September 20, 11:30 a.m.

David knew he should be tired, but he was not. A fine energy sizzled over his skin, one that had nothing to do with the rush of walking into a fire and coming out unscathed. No, this was an awareness that he stood on the verge of something important.

Something vital. If he played his cards right, he might end up with something he’d never found, but always craved. Something he probably still didn’t deserve.

My own home. My own family. A wife, kids… all the things his family and friends had found, one at a time. As the years rolled by, he’d become the odd man out. The only one still single. The only one still alone.

He’d stayed in Chicago too long, watching while the woman he’d dreamed about for years got married and started a family with someone else. He’d tried to find someone to take her place. But there had been no one who came close.

Until one April night, two and a half years ago, when Olivia tumbled into his arms at her sister’s rehearsal dinner. And you had to go and blow it. Well, tonight he had the opportunity to fix whatever it was that had made her run. He wouldn’t fuck it up again.

He unlocked the front door to his apartment house. The walls in the entryway would be next on the paint list, he thought, looking around as he did every time he entered. But each time he entered, the place looked a little better. All it had needed was some “sprucing,” as his mother would say.

He’d bought the old building on something of a whim seven months before. His old friend Evie had lived here before finding her own happy ending, which she so richly deserved. Seven months ago, she’d asked him for help with her leaky roof. He’d fixed the leaks, then decided to stay, for a lot of reasons. The biggest of which was the way his chest had gone tight when Olivia had walked into his hospital room after the car he’d been driving had been forced from the road by a psycho killer. That day in the hospital, it had been two years since he’d seen her. He’d almost convinced himself he’d dreamed her and the night they’d had together.

But the moment he’d smelled honeysuckle, he’d known it was real.

So he’d decided to stay, to start over. To build something that was his own. In the last seven months he’d more than “spruced” this old building, gradually turning his ten apartments into showpieces urban professionals would jump to own-which had been his plan. Fix it, flip it, go on to the next. He looked at the names neatly stenciled on the row of antique oak mailboxes and had to smile.

It hadn’t worked out exactly as he’d planned, but he found he liked the way it had ended up a lot better. He jogged up the three flights of stairs to his loft apartment, thinking about the kitchen tiling project he’d left half done. He could put a big dent in it while he waited for Olivia to call. He needed to keep busy, or he’d lose his mind.

“David?” It was a small voice, sounding more like a child than the mother of one. Unfortunately, Lacey was both.

He looked over the rail to the second-floor landing to where the young woman stood, a baby in her arms. “Hey, Lace. What’s up?”

“It’s the refrigerator. It’s not cold. I know you’re just getting off shift, and I wouldn’t have said anything, but Mrs. Edwards said you needed to know. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” He walked down one flight of stairs and into the apartment he hadn’t quite finished rehabbing, although it was livable. Toys littered the floor, and cases of baby formula were stacked against one wall. But the place was clean, even though at the moment it smelled faintly of baby puke. Mrs. Edwards ran a tight ship on which each of her young mothers was responsible for the chores, but even Mrs. Edwards couldn’t keep babies from spitting up.