Karen Rose - Silent Scream

She and the dog started into the building and Kane’s brows went up. “GusGus?”

Olivia smiled. “Yeah, like the mouse in the Cinderella cartoon. GusGus. He’s certified as a cadaver dog and SAR and a list of other things as long as your arm.”

Kane sighed. “She’s addicted to cartoons, too? What were they serving in the academy canteen when you all came through?”

“Cartoons can be brilliant social commentary,” Olivia said archly, knowing Kane was teasing. Mostly anyway. “And sometimes,” she added quietly, “it’s just escape.”

“That I’ll buy,” he replied, just as quietly.

Some women craved ice cream. When Olivia was stressed, a few episodes of the Road Runner relieved her tension. Something about that anvil crunching the Coyote’s umbrella made her laugh, every time.

She’d watched a lot of the Road Runner over the last seven months. It had become habit during the weeks of informing the families of the victims they’d found in the lime pit. Come home, walk Mojo, slide her “Best of Road Runner” DVD in the machine, then sit and stare at the screen until she’d fallen asleep.

Their killer had kept their driver’s licenses as souvenirs, making initial identification a lot easier. The killer had been quietly murdering women for decades.

Sometimes the families had moved. But focusing on details like tracking next of kin kept Olivia from focusing on the horror of finding the remains of victim after victim. At times it ran like a slide show in her mind. Bones, bones, and more bones.

The bones actually weren’t so bad. It had been the first bodies they’d pulled from the pit that had been the worst. Lime decomposed a body in a matter of days. But the killer had killed too many at the end. Decomposition was slowed for those final victims.

She briefly closed her eyes, remembering the rotting flesh. How it would simply… fall off the bones as the body was moved.

If there was a body in the burned-out condo, there wouldn’t be much left. It would look like them. Her anxiety returned in a harsh wave and with it, the fierce need to run away. But she didn’t, forcing herself to stand her ground. It would get easier. It had to.

She wondered how Kane coped, but he’d never shared, so she’d never asked. He’d just done his job. Like me. Because that’s what we do.

“We know where the arsonists exited,” Barlow said. “The arson dog sniffed a trail of accelerant to that door.” He pointed to a stairwell door, on the same side of the building as the window on which David had first spotted the girl’s shiny handprints.

“Did you find footprints?” Olivia asked, but Barlow shook his head.

“Only smudges. The arsonists stepped in the carpet adhesive and tracked it to the door. Unfortunately, the adhesive on their shoes picked up dirt, so the impressions aren’t crisp. No tread, no feel for shoe size even, although there do appear to have been two individuals.”

“So if we find their shoes?” Kane asked.

“You’ll find traces of the accelerant and the glue,” Barlow said. “If there’s any ash or dirt still mixed in with the adhesive, we’ll be able to match the composition to what we found here, so we can place them at the scene. The dog tracked the accelerant trail across the construction yard to that cut in the fence.” He pointed to one of the three slices in the fence that Micki had told them about, the one closest to the road.

“So they escaped by the road,” Kane said, frowning. “Not by the lake. Henry Weems’s killer shot him while standing between Henry and the lake.”

“I thought of that. The handler took the arson dog around the condo, including the area on the other side of the building where Henry Weems was shot. No accelerant on the ground, anywhere. His shooter might have left by the lake, but it’s equally possible he walked back around the building to join the others, escaping by the road.”

“So,” Olivia said, “whoever shot Henry didn’t step in the adhesive or was never in the condo to begin with.”

“Could have shot Henry, then gone into the condo to set the fire,” Kane theorized.

“If Weems inhaled no smoke, that’s a possibility,” Barlow said. “But if Ian finds smoke in his lungs, it would have to be after.”

“Ian’s doing the cut this afternoon,” Olivia said. “If Weems was killed after the fire started, and there were two arsonists inside, then we have at least three arsonists. The question is, were Tracey and her sex partner involved with them?”

“And is her sex partner still alive?” Barlow added.

“And if the arsonists came out through that side door,” Kane continued, “did they go in the same way? How did Tracey Mullen get in?”

“The side door lock hadn’t been tampered with,” Barlow said, “but that doesn’t mean anything. On a construction site, people prop doors open all the time.”

“That should have been something the guard checked, right?” Olivia asked.

“It was on his route. First stop would have been the camera console in the construction trailer, then a check of all the doors from the outside, then a walk around the perimeter. But Weems was struck as he exited the back door. He never got a chance.”

Olivia looked at Kane. “We gotta check him out,” she said. “Weems.”

Kane nodded. “I know. We can’t ignore that he might have known they were coming and they killed him to keep him quiet. Let’s pull his financials. But discreetly.”

“No need to add any more grief to the family unless we have to,” Barlow murmured. “Did you catch Weems’s daughter on the news?”

In his eyes Olivia saw the compassion she’d seen so often in the past. Except when I needed him most, and then he was an arrogant bastard. “What did she say?”

For a bittersweet moment it was like they were still friends. “She sang our praises, Liv.” He met her eyes then, held them. “She was stronger than I might have been, considering she’d just lost her father. I wouldn’t want to do anything I’d… regret.”

Olivia nodded. She’d lost her own father the same night her friendship with Micah Barlow had crumbled into pieces. Because Barlow had been an arrogant, meddling bastard. Today, his words might be an apology, or the start of one. She’d have to see.

“We’ll be careful,” she said. “We just want to rule him out as an… accomplice.”

She could see he got her double meaning, just as she’d gotten his.

“Good enough.” Barlow looked away. “It’ll take Brie’s dog a while to cover the whole structure. I’ve got the personnel files for Rankin and Sons’ construction personnel in my car. We can go over them while we’re waiting. Maybe something will pop.”

Monday, September 20, 2:40 p.m.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Dent.” Mr. Oaks, the principal, signed to his mother, then threw Austin a harsh look. All three of them were deaf and their signing flew fast and in his mother’s case, very furious. “Your mother drove a long way.”

“Three hours,” his mother signed. “But this is a mistake. Austin doesn’t smoke.”

“The dorm RA smelled smoke this morning,” Oaks signed, “after the smoke alarm started flashing. When he went in Austin ’s room, Austin had the lit cigarette in his hand.”

His mother’s face went pale. “Why, Austin? Just tell me why.”

Because I took Tracey to that condo. I wanted to take care of her.

Now she’s dead. And it’s my fault. The stairwell had been full of smoke. She was behind me. I know she was behind me. He’d made it outside, but Tracey hadn’t.

“Sorry,” Austin signed. But it wouldn’t bring Tracey back. She was gone.

Oaks frowned. “ Austin is suspended for five days. He can return next Monday.”