Karen Rose - Silent Scream

David frowned, then understood. “He didn’t do this,” he said, pointing to his chin. “This happened on the job.”

Truman sagged. “Thank God. I’ve been afraid of this, but getting him to take his meds… I even gave him a job here so that I could watch over him, but it’s hard. It’s killing my mother. I made her agree to let the system handle Lincoln this time.”

“Did you help him, Mr. Jefferson?” David asked. “Please, I just need the truth.”

“Yesterday Lincoln called me. He needed to find a man named Glenn Redman. He said it was about the Web site, that he needed to pay. Lincoln does Web site work for me. I thought this was about a bill.” He shrugged helplessly. “I was busy and told Mary to look it up. She gave me the address, I called Lincoln back, and the next thing I knew my mother was calling me crying because he’d been arrested.”

It took a second for the detail to sink in, but when it did David lurched to his feet. “Your secretary is Mary? O’Reilly?” Truman stood as well, uncertainly.

“Why yes, of course. Mary Fran’s been with me since last summer. Why?”

Without answering, David threw open the office door. “Oh my God.” Glenn lay lifelessly on the floor, blood oozing from his head. Truman’s secretary leaned over him, pushing at his body, but at the sound of the door opening she wheeled around, her face white. She held a gun in her hand.

David leapt after but she scrambled back, and holding the gun in both hands, fired. The shot went wide and she ran from the office. David ran after her, then ducked behind a car when she fired a second time. The shot pinged off the car next to him, wide again.

“Stop!” he shouted and barreled forward, but she was fast.

Then sheer terror grabbed his throat when she wrenched open the passenger door of his mother’s car and jumped inside. Mary looked straight at him as she put the gun to his mother’s head. He saw her mouth move. A single word. “Drive.”

His mother shrank back, but Mary shoved the gun harder and the car began to move. “No. Mom, no!” he screamed and hurled himself at the back bumper.

And came up with a handful of air and a mouthful of gravel. He pushed himself to his feet and ran, but the car was screeching out of the parking lot.

He had no keys. He had no car. He spun around and ran back to Truman’s office, where the man knelt next to Glenn, openmouthed and in shock.

“Your keys. Goddammit, give me your keys!”

Stunned, Truman handed them over and David ran outside, yelling, “Call 911.” He started Truman’s car and took off after them. Pulse hammering, he fumbled his phone as he punched the gas, fishtailing in the road.

He couldn’t see her car. Goddammit, he could not see his mom’s car. Hand shaking he dialed 911, driving faster and cursing himself for even allowing her to come.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“My mother has been kidnapped. She’s in a green Ford Taurus, heading north toward 35W.” He pictured his mother’s car in his mind and recited the license plate. “Her name is Phoebe Hunter. She’s been taken by Mary O’Reilly who has a gun.” His head was pounding but he managed to keep his voice level. “We also need a rescue squad at Presidential Realty. Sixty-two-year-old man, head wound. He’s unconscious.”

“Where are you, sir?”

“Chasing my mother’s car,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just hurry, and inform Captain Bruce Abbott and Detective Olivia Sutherland.” He came to an intersection and realized he had no idea which way they’d gone. “I don’t see them. Not anywhere.”

“Sir, please return to the scene. I have help on the way.”

David pulled into a gas station. He covered his mouth with his hand, unable to think. Unable to breathe. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring, jumping when it did. Olivia.

“Oh God,” he said weakly, staring at the intersection in front of him. “She’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Olivia asked sharply. “David? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t know. Dispatch wouldn’t have had time to call her. “My mother. She’s been abducted.” His voice sounded thin, unreal. “By Mary O’Reilly.”

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” He looked around, saw the signs, drew a breath and gave her the intersection. “I have to go back. Glenn’s hurt.”

“David. Stop and talk to me.”

But he was turning Truman’s car around and heading back. “Did you get my message before, about Mary O’Reilly?”

“Yes. We’re looking for her. How did you find out about her?”

“Why are you looking for her?” he asked dully, blinking hard to focus on the cars.

“How did you learn about her?”

She hadn’t answered his question and his blood went even colder. “Lincoln is the webmaster for that Moss Web site I found. Mary O’Reilly paid his Web expenses.”

She was quiet a moment. “Okay. Where did you find Mary?”

“I went to visit Lincoln’s brother, Truman. He helped Lincoln find Glenn’s cabin yesterday. Mary is his secretary.” He’d arrived back at Truman’s realty office, his body numb. “Glenn’s hurt. I don’t know how bad. I have to go. I called 911.”

“All right,” she said calmly. “Where are you?”

“Presidential Realty.” He stumbled through the door. Truman knelt next to Glenn, pressing a towel to his head. “I have to go.” Blindly he set his phone aside and pressed his fingers to Glenn’s neck where an unsteady pulse stuttered.

David rolled Glenn to his side. And saw what Mary had been trying to get.

“Her purse,” Truman murmured. “Your friend grabbed her purse. Why?”

David shoved the purse aside. “Tell me about Mary O’Reilly. Pull her personnel file so you can give it to the cops when they get here.”

Shaking, Truman did as he was told, opening a file cabinet, removing a folder. “She applied for a job last summer. Our old receptionist died unexpectedly. One day Mary showed up to fill out an app. I was relieved. I didn’t even have to place a want ad.”

David’s blood ran cold. “Your receptionist died? How?”

“She fell down some stairs. She was older. Lost her footing.” Truman’s eyes grew more fearful. “Why? Mary’s always been a good worker and she’s good with Lincoln.”

“How was she good with Lincoln?”

“She calmed him when he got agitated. Sometimes on a slow day, they’d talk.”

Keeping pressure on Glenn’s head, David made himself think. “What did they talk about?” Although he bet he could guess. Preston Moss.

“I don’t know. I was just happy Lincoln was quiet so I could work.” Truman sat back on his heels, bewildered and afraid. “This is about Lincoln. What’s going on?”

David could hear sirens. “That’s what we all want to know,” he said grimly.

The medics rushed in. “What happened?”

Truman pointed to the floor near Mary’s desk. “I think she hit him with that.” It was a trophy for sales performance. It had traces of blood on one side.

Giving the medics room to work, David searched the desk without touching anything. “Glenn must have come inside. He can never sit still. He must have seen this.” It was a pay stub, with Mary’s name clearly visible. “He knew it was her.”

Truman was staring at the desk phone. “She had the intercom on, listening to us. She knew you were asking about Lincoln. What the hell is going on here?”

David stared at the pay stub, terror stealing his breath. “She’s got my mom.”

Wednesday, September 22, 2:00 p.m.

Phoebe clenched the wheel and tried to stay calm. Difficult when a gun was pointing at her head. The woman was young, early twenties. She’d run out of the realty office only to realize she was parked in. Phoebe had been ready to move her car when the woman jumped in, pointed a gun, and told her to drive.