Karen Rose - Silent Scream

An office flirtation he’d been following seemed to have taken the next step, the man sending the woman a link to a quaint bed-and-breakfast off the beaten path. There was no invitation, no details, yet. But there would be, he was quite certain.

At the beginning the two had come in for lunch, talking about nothing but their office project. But the moment he’d seen them together, he’d known. He could always pick the couples who’d end up together. Sure enough, after a few weeks they were sharing personal details. A few weeks later, she told the guy she was unhappy with her husband, and then the guy was covering her hand with his. Whether they’d started out intending to have an office affair or not, it didn’t matter. That’s where they were headed.

And once they did the nasty, he’d be in business. Ka-ching.

He could always spot the philanderers and the ones who were up to something more. Doers of the naughty often realized it was better to conduct their illegal business in plain sight, rather than to skulk in the shadows, drawing attention to themselves. Sometimes they got away with being naughty in plain sight, but not if I’m listening.

He logged into his offshore account and smiled. Right on schedule. He studied each line of his statement and nodded. Most of his clients paid regularly and on time. Except one. Dorian Blunt had missed a second payment. He’d been patient last month when Dorian had complained of mounting medical bills for his child and his out-of-work wife. He’d begged for more time.

And I gave him more time. Once. Grabbing a new disposable phone from the box next to his easy chair, he texted Dorian Blunt’s personal cell phone.

you’re late. While he waited, he checked Dorian’s checking account. The man did have a lot of bills. His balance was disturbingly low. Still, a deal was a deal. After a few minutes, he got a response.

I’m broke. 100K will have to be enough. No more.

He sucked in both cheeks, annoyed. Broke? Hardly. Dorian simply hadn’t dipped into his illegally gotten gains for fear of getting caught. If the man didn’t want to play by his rules, he shouldn’t have embezzled company funds. And he definitely shouldn’t have left a paper trail that I could have found blindfolded. He knew where Dorian kept his stash of embezzled cash. He could take it at any time. But that would be stealing.

He looked at blackmail as a kind of poetic justice with a twist of irony. That makes me rich. If people didn’t want to get blackmailed, they shouldn’t do bad things. Or they should be smarter about it. Calmly, he texted back.

i would reconsider. you have 12 hours. watch the news and be “plumb” afraid.

That should do it. If Dorian didn’t pay, the College Three would have their next assignment. Then, he’d go in and clean out Dorian’s stash of cash, leaving Dorian’s life insurance for his grieving widow. Whenever possible, he always left something for the widow, grieving or no. It was the right thing to do.

Tuesday, September 21, 12:20 a.m.

Olivia was one of the last ones to the warehouse, having gone home to change her clothes first. No way she was arriving on a scene dressed like she’d been for David.

And? Sonofabitch. The fact he’d screamed another woman’s name when she’d been giving him… Well, he was an ass. She slammed her car door then stopped abruptly, realizing she was at the scene. Her gut had been so churned up over David, she hadn’t had any churn left to worry about the body she was about to view.

Like Wile E. Coyote suddenly realizing he was standing in midair, Olivia’s stomach dropped and she leaned against her car, momentarily weak-kneed. Now she had dead-body churn on top of David churn. And there was a mojito rolling around in there, too, along with some greasy chicken fingers from Sal’s Bar. She swallowed hard.

Throwing up at the scene would not be good.

Move your body. Find Kane. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted doing so. Acrid smoke hung heavy in the air, burning her lungs. Fuck this night.

She made her feet move. At least David wouldn’t be here. He didn’t work again until Wednesday. As always, she found Kane easily in the crowd, his “fire fedora” pushed to the back of his head. He waved her over when he saw her headed his way.

“We have another one,” Kane said. He stood with Barlow and Captain Casey, from the fire department. Casey wore his gear and looked grim.

“Appears they used gasoline this time,” Barlow said. “They left four empty cans inside the building. Entered through a broken window in the back door.”

“The victim?” Olivia asked, focusing on the words, not the churn.

“Probably Barney Tomlinson, the owner of the company,” Kane said.

“Probably?” The warehouse’s concrete walls still stood. “Was the fire that bad?”

“Pretty bad,” Casey said. “But there’s a good bit left inside. Lots of melted chrome.”

“Tomlinson sold plumbing fixtures,” Barlow explained. “No known connection to KRB Corporation or Rankin and Sons’ construction-not yet anyway.”

“So the fire burned Tomlinson up?” Olivia asked.

Casey shook his head. “No, ma’am. He was shot. He’s still in his office, sitting at his desk. Most of his face is gone. He was shot in the back of the head.”

Her stomach pitched. “Who discovered the body?”

“One of the firefighters out of Company Forty,” Barlow said. “The office was in the center of the warehouse, self-contained with walls and a separate eight-foot ceiling. Inside was the victim, facedown on his desk. The team tried to keep the scene as intact as possible while putting the fire out.”

“When you called, you said they found another glass ball?”

“Covered in gel,” Barlow answered, “like before.”

“When the firefighters saw it, they told their captain, who called me,” Casey said. “They’d all heard about the glass ball Hunter caught yesterday. Nobody plans to talk to the press, although I’d be surprised if we kept it secret for too much longer. When they saw the ball tonight, they called me. I called Barlow.”

“I asked him to bring Hunter over,” Barlow said and Olivia’s gaze shot to his face. “I wanted Hunter to walk through and tell me how the place looked compared to last night’s fire. I needed the info fast, before they’d let me go in. Hunter’s in there now.”

“All right,” Olivia said calmly, although her heart had started to pound with the first mention of David’s name. “What about video surveillance?”

Kane pointed to a man standing next to the uniformed cops on duty. “That’s the warehouse manager. I haven’t talked to him yet. There was also a guard dog.”

Olivia grimaced. “They killed it?”

“No,” Barlow said. “Appears the animal was drugged. The warehouse manager dragged him to the edge of the fenced area, then called 911. The dog was unconscious when the firefighters responded. I called a vet. I think the warehouse manager is more worried about the dog than his boss. Tomlinson didn’t seem very well liked.”

“We’ll want to talk to Hunter and the firefighters who discovered the body,” Kane said. He looked at Olivia. “But first the manager.”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I didn’t know Hunter was here until just now,” Kane murmured as they walked toward the now-pacing warehouse manager. “Did you, um, get my field glasses?”

“No. I… left early. I’ll get your damn glasses later, all right? You want me to lead with the manager?”

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

The warehouse manager stopped his nervous pacing when they approached. “I’m Detective Sutherland. This is my partner, Detective Kane. You are?”

“Lloyd Hart. Is that vet here yet?”