Karen Rose: Silent Scream

“Thanks,” she said to Barlow, then crouched next to the gurney, studying the hand Londo had bagged. The polish was the same bright orange as the girl had used on her toenails. “You done with her, Londo?” When he nodded, she hesitated only a moment before taking the victim’s hand and lifting it to the light. “Look at the decals on her nails. She’s not from around here.”

“G-A-T-O-R,” Kane read, then checked the right hand. “S-R-U-L-E. Gators Rule.”

“It’s an unfortunate truth,” Londo muttered. “I lost a bundle on last week’s game.”

“ University of Florida Gators,” Olivia mused. “She doesn’t look old enough to be in college. Maybe she lived in Florida.”

“Maybe she was just a fan,” Kane cautioned and Olivia shrugged.

“Gotta start someplace. We’ll run her prints. If she’s got a record, hopefully it’s not sealed. If she’s missing, somebody may have filed an Amber Alert or reported her to the Center for Missing and Exploited Children.”

“If she ran away, chances are good they haven’t reported her missing,” Kane said.

“I know. But her jeans are pretty new, and they’re not cheap. She hasn’t been on the run long. We’ll get her photo out there and maybe we’ll get lucky.” Olivia placed the girl’s hand carefully at her side, then rose and looked down at the girl’s face, pity stirring. So young. “Do we have any idea what she was doing up there?”

Barlow shook his head. “So far we haven’t found any evidence that there was anyone with her. As soon as the firefighters come out, I’ll send them over to you.”

“If you’re done, I’ll take her to the morgue,” Londo said, and Kane nodded.

“Liv, let’s check out the guard.” He waited until they’d broken away from the group before murmuring, “You okay, kid? You looked a little green getting out of your car.”

Olivia’s cheeks heated. “Yes,” she said curtly, embarrassed she’d let it show, even in front of Kane. “Let’s just get this done.” Except it was never done. There would always be another kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another kid with bruises. Another runaway. Another guy with a bullet whose wife they had to inform. It stuck in her throat, choking her. “Come on. We’ve got one more body to process tonight.”

Monday, September 20, 1:20 a.m.

“Anything?” Jeff asked. They’d strapped their masks on and changed air tanks. The fumes generated by building materials were often toxic, and David knew too many veteran firefighters with lung damage. He hated the mask, but he liked his lungs.

“No.” David swept the thermal camera over the central wall. Behind it was the ventilating shaft, a prime spot for hidden fire. But there was nothing. They’d come up through the stairwell, searching the top three floors. They were now back on the fourth, where he’d found the girl. So far, no fire and no more victims. Thank you.

David turned to the window they’d cut through. Now that the smoke had dissipated, he could clearly see the palm prints she’d left behind. He shone his flashlight along the floor, hoping to find a purse, a backpack, something to tell them who she was.

And then he blinked as his light was abruptly reflected back at him. “Zell, look,” he said, pointing the beam at a ball that glistened as her handprints had. It was about four inches across and lay about two feet from where he’d found her. He’d taken a few steps closer when he felt the wood floor go spongy.

He took a large step back, holding his breath until the floor felt solid again.

“David?” Zell had also frozen in place.

“I’m okay.” His heart raced from the adrenaline surge. Ignoring it, he once again shone his light on the glistening ball. “Do you see that?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“Don’t know, but it’s covered in gel.”

“Like her hands. I say leave it for the cops.”

“Agree.” He turned to the stairwell-then all he felt was air as the floor collapsed. “Zell.” On reflex, David spread his arms wide, hooking his elbows on the edges of the floor that remained. His body wedged in the hole, his feet dangling. Below him, he saw only blackness. The third-floor fire had burned through the ceiling. If he let go, he might land on solid floor, but chances were better that he’d crash through the third floor, too.

Jeff dropped to his stomach, the handle of his ax outstretched. “On three.”

David grabbed the ax handle with his left hand, keeping his right elbow anchored for leverage. On “three,” he threw his hips up and over and a few seconds later lay on his stomach on solid floor, breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut. More of the floor had broken away when he’d pushed against it, widening the hole. Most of the condo’s living room floor was now gone. Too close. That had been too damn close.

He rolled to his side, opening his eyes just as the slimy ball began to slide down one of the broken planks of the hardwood floor, down into the hole. Again, sheer reflex had him stretching his arm out over the hole, and the ball plopped into his glove.

“Safe,” he muttered and behind him Jeff laughed, a wheezing sound.

“That ball better be worth it, pal.”

David looked into the palm of his glove, then into the dark hole, trying not to let himself dwell on how close he’d come. “Shit. Now what do I do with it?”

“Put it back where you found it. Cops’ll shit a ring if you take evidence.”

“I can’t put it where I found it. Where I found it is nothing but air.”

“Then take it with you. But the cops’ll still shit a ring.” Jeff tapped his radio. “Fourth floor has collapsed. Hunter and I are unhurt. We’re coming back down via the stairwell.”

“Acknowledged,” came the crackled reply from their captain.

David pushed to his knees, the ball clutched in his glove. They crawled to the stairwell, not breathing easily until they stood on solid earth. He ripped off his mask with his free hand, sucking in air. His knees were weak, but he’d never let anyone see that.

“Hunter?”

MPD’s arson guy had arrived. David considered him a straight shooter. “Barlow.”

“I hear the floor collapsed. You two okay?”

“Yeah.” He held out his gloved hand, the ball still tucked in his palm. “I found this near where the girl died.”

Barlow’s brows shot up. “You disturbed the scene?”

“There is no more scene,” David said dryly. “The floor where I found her is completely gone. The ball was headed for the hole and I grabbed it. Reflex.”

“It was a hell of a save,” Jeff put in. “Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, then pow. Hunter pulls it out. Then I pulled him out,” he added wryly. “Now he owes me big-time.”

David rolled his eyes. “Barlow, you want the damn ball or not?”

Barlow shook his head. “Come with me. You can give it to Homicide yourself. She’s not going to be happy that you disturbed the scene.”

For the second time that night David had the sensation of free-fall. She. He only knew of one female homicide detective. He started walking. Thank you.

Monday, September 20, 1:25 a.m.

Eric lifted his head from his hands, looking up as Mary came into the room, toweling her hair. She frowned over at his sofa, where Joel lay motionless, eyes closed.

“He’s still out cold? Damn, Albert, you hit him too hard.”

Albert grunted from his chair. “He came to while you were using all the hot water.”

She shot Albert a hostile look. “Fuck off. My roommates would ask questions if I came home smelling like a goddamn forest fire.” Gently, she sat on the sofa, hip to hip with Joel. “Come on, baby,” she said quietly. “You gotta snap out of this.”

Joel’s swallow was audible. “We killed her.”