Karen Rose - Silent Scream

“He’ll suffer. So reel him in. It’s nice out here, with the lake. Who lives here?”

He reeled, impatiently now. He wanted to wash his hands so that he could touch her. “A friend who’s staying in my apartment building. The one I’m rehabbing.”

“I didn’t know you’d opened it for tenants already.”

“I didn’t plan to. They just needed a place to stay. Now I’m half full.”

Something moved in her eyes and he wished he could interpret it. “That was kind.”

“So is your work with runaways. That night in Chicago, you said you wanted to do something, to give kids like your sister a chance before they ruined their lives. Lots of people talk about making a difference, Olivia. You do. You’re there at the teen shelter almost every weekend.” Even at the height of her work with the victims in the pit, she’d kept her commitment. That had profoundly impressed David.

Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How do you know what I do in my spare time?”

“I’ve… paid attention. Since I’ve been here.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching me?”

He focused on reeling. Yes. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? What the hell kind of answer is that?” Her hand was plunked on her hip. Her very curvy hip. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not a terribly good one, I’m afraid,” he said.

She pursed her lips, fixing her gaze on his fishing line. “Do you have a better one?”

“I think so, but it’s hard to concentrate right now.”

She huffed. “So hurry up. What are you going to do with it anyway?”

He assumed she meant the fish. “Depends. Do you like fresh fish?”

“Depends. Who’s cleaning it?”

His mouth quirked up at her disgruntled tone. “Me.”

“Then I like fish. I couldn’t help but notice the table you’d set. Is the fish for dinner?”

He’d stopped by the home store for a tablecloth, candlesticks, and some plain white china. Nothing fancy, but better than Glenn’s chipped plates. He’d turned Glenn’s gouged-wood table into something halfway presentable, in case things went well.

“Depends. I’ve got steaks marinating. I didn’t know if you’d have had a chance to eat.”

Some of the starch seemed to leave her sails. “I don’t really do steaks. But the fish sounds wonderful and I didn’t have dinner. So thank you.”

He had the fish now, lowering the rod and reeling fast. “Did the father ID the girl?”

“Yes. Her name was Tracey Mullen. We have no idea why she was in that condo, but it looks like she played mom against dad. Each thought she was with the other.”

“Divorced then?”

“Yeah. Mom comes tomorrow. Not gonna be fun. I gave the dad your message.” She hesitated. “Told him you’d risked your life to save her. He thanked you.”

“I’ve been thinking about him, all afternoon. Thinking of you, having to tell him.” The fish was close now. “Back up. This boy’s coming out.” She skittered back and he gave a final pull, landing the walleye on the dock where the fish slapped around frantically. “Big one.” He looked up, saw her face droop. “Should I throw him back?”

“Would I seem silly if I said yes?”

He met her eyes. “No,” he said gently and she relaxed. “This boy’s lived a long time. Seems a shame to end his roll.” Pulling on gloves, he took the hook from the fish’s mouth and put him back into the water, holding on until the fish gathered enough strength to swim away on his own. “I catch and release most of the time anyway. Only so many fish one man can eat. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean up and then we can talk.”

“And I’ll get better answers?”

“Yes.” And he hoped he got answers, too. Ones he could live with.

Monday, September 20, 8:45 p.m.

Barney Tomlinson sat at his desk in his office at the back of his warehouse, blearily staring at the P &L statement on his computer screen. Blindly he reached for the glass on his desk and, finding it empty, reached for the bottle he kept in his drawer.

It was empty, too. With a throttled oath, he chucked the bottle across the room where it bounced harmlessly against the wall. Cheap liquor in plastic bottles.

That’s what his life had come to. Cheap liquor, and no more of that. I’m ruined.

His wife had put a hold on their funds. Some fancy lawyer was going to become rich… on my money. He dropped his head to his hands. “My goddamn money.”

I hope the little whore was worth half your money, his bitch of a wife had sneered. She’d probably get what she was asking. Half of his money. His own lawyer didn’t seem hopeful. When there were pictures involved…

Those damn pictures. He’d sent them. That damn blackmailer. Who ruined my life. He peeked between his fingers to look at the pictures her lawyer had given his lawyer. Barney remembered that night. The sex had been good. Not great, but good. More than anything, Shondra had listened to him. Made him feel… important. Young.

Now that his money was gone, Shondra was gone, too. His bitch of a wife had gotten a good chuckle out of that. He wished she were dead. Shondra and his bitch of a wife. He’d thought it through, looked at all the angles, but every way he looked at it, he’d be the first suspect. At least when the dust cleared, he’d have half of whatever was left.

“Excuse me.”

Barney looked up, brows crunched. A man stood in his doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked familiar, but Barney couldn’t place him.

“We don’t allow soliciting here,” Barney said. “You’ll have to leave.” He started to stand, then sank back into his chair when the man casually pulled a very large gun from his pocket. He was wearing black gloves. Barney’s heart began to beat like all hell. His eyes darted around, finding the phone at the edge of his desk. Too far away to grab.

No one was here. His employees had gone home. Nobody would hear him scream.

“W-we don’t keep cash here,” Barney stammered. “B-but I have a watch.” He started to take it off but the man lifted his gun higher.

“I don’t want your watch, Barney,” the man said mildly. He rounded the desk, shoving the gun’s barrel against the back of Barney’s head.

“Who are you?” Barney demanded, then he knew. “You. You took those pictures. You fucking black- mailed me.”

“Well, technically it was only attempted blackmail. You never paid me, after all.”

“What do you want? I have no more money. You ruined me.”

“No, Barney. You ruined you. You stick your cock in places it ought not go, you gotta accept the consequences.” The man actually sounded amused. “Buh-bye.”

Buh-bye. He’d heard it before. Now he knew who this guy was. “You’re-”

He stepped back from Tomlinson’s body, now face-first on the desk. What was left of his face, anyway. He searched Barney’s pocket, finding keys, his BlackBerry, and the disposable cell he’d provided. Pocketing the keys and BlackBerry, he walked around the desk, careful not to step in any of Barney’s brains. Pausing at the door, he snapped a picture with the disposable cell, then checked to be sure he’d gotten a good one.

He had, indeed. Barney was well centered and the blood contrasted well with the white papers strewn over the desk. It would make a nice visual aid for the next bozo who ignored him. And for the College Four Minus One if they balked.

He hoped the cops would find the hollow-point bullet that had exited Barney’s head and tie it to the dead cop-turned-security-guard. It would let him pull the noose a little closer around the necks of Eric and his friends.

He pulled Barney’s office door closed and, pulling the ski mask over his face, left the way he’d come in. He wasn’t too worried about the cameras. After listening to Albert and Eric discuss their plans, he’d concluded the two had the cameras covered. Besides, the only video that would matter after tonight would be the video he took.