Макс Коллинз - No One Will Hear You

“Have a listen,” Chase said, nodding toward Jenny.

Who tapped a key on her laptop, and they all sat in uncomfortable silence as a weeping woman said, “Please, please , please help me .“

“How can we help?” The Crime Seen operator was female and professional yet sympathetic. “And could you give us your name, please?”

“Vicker. Becky Vicker. The drawing... on your show... I just know it’s my husband. Brent.”

“You feel you recognize the drawing as a likeness of your husband?”

“Yes. Yes. I know my own husband when I see him.”

“Mrs. Vicker, I must ask your patience. Our lines are inundated with calls, from individuals claiming to recognize that likeness.”

“But I’m his wife.”

“You are not the first call to make that assertion, Mrs. Vicker. That’s why need to gather certain information to narrow down the possibilities.”

“Yes, yes, anything.”

“When did you last see or hear from your husband?”

There was a long pause.

“We... we’re separated, Brent and I. We have been for almost two months. I spoke to him last week. He said he was going to California on a business trip.”

“Who does he work for?”

“Springfield Pump Corporation. Here in Huber Heights. They have a subsidiary office in Van Nuys. When we spoke... Brent said he’d like to come back home, after the California trip. He said he was willing to go to a marriage counselor. He’s always refused in the past. We don’t have any children, you know, so sometimes I think it’s just not worth it to...”

“He didn’t call from California?’

“No.”

“Do you think he may have changed his mind about—”

“No! He was adamant about giving us a second chance. But there won’t be a second chance, will there? There won’t be...”

The woman broke down again.

The conversation resumed for another several minutes, but no new information came from it.

When Jenny had switched off the recording, Anna said, “I wonder if she’s really our victim’s wife?”

“I would say so,” Pall said.

Anna frowned at the short, muscular man. “You’re a DNA expert, right, Mr. Pall? That’s your field?”

Harrow said, “Michael’s also been through extensive profiling training at Quantico.”

Pall continued: “Her grief seems genuine, and the details Mrs. Vicker discussed closely follow what we know of this case.”

Jenny said, “Several calls came in from employees of Springfield Pump, all remarking on the resemblance of the drawing to Brent Vicker — who had not checked in with his company in several days.”

“That,” Choi said, arching an eyebrow, “is not exactly a surprise.”

Chase slapped the tabletop. “It’s our best lead — no contest.”

Anna rose, stood next to Harrow. “Okay,” she said. “First thing in the morning, I’ll get my boss to get the locals out to talk to her.”

Harrow glanced a question at Chase, who nodded.

In the pre-show meeting, they had discussed what to do if this particular scenario played out. Harrow didn’t want to overstep with the LAPD, but they were the ones who had come to Crime Seen for help with this murder.

That meant Byrnes and the network were involved and the president would insist — not without justification — that the show get something out of the deal. And what Harrow had in mind could serve the purposes of both UBC and the LAPD.

“I can do you one better,” Harrow said.

Anna’s expression was openly wary. “Is that right?”

“Laurene is a seasoned police interviewer. She and our top reporter, Carmen Garcia, can be on the network’s corporate jet tonight, flying to Ohio.”

Anna frowned, but Harrow raised a hand.

“We’re willing to have you join our two team members. That is, unless the LAPD has unlimited funds for flying investigators around the country to chase down leads?”

“You know it doesn’t,” she said flatly.

“You can even lead the interview. Obviously, we want a story, but the most important thing for us is that you solve your homicides.”

The detective considered this.

Chase said, “Wouldn’t your boss rather you did the interview than some unknown Ohio cop?”

Anna said, “Let me make a call.”

Cell in hand, she stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Harrow asked, “Any other prospects? They were identifying a drawing, not a photograph, remember.”

Pall shook his head. “This is the guy — I’d bet a month’s salary... mine , boss, not yours.”

“All right,” Harrow said, nodding. “We’ve helped the LAPD with their John Doe, now let’s have a quick update on Don Juan.”

Jenny said, “You already know I couldn’t track the e-mail he sent to us — trail went cold in Siberia.”

Choi said, “Everything’s cold in Siberia.”

Jenny was saying, “Money he emptied from Wendi Erskine’s accounts is gone from the Caymans, too. That trail’s gone cold, too.”

“Despite the beaches,” Choi said.

Harrow said, “Have we passed that info on to the police yet?”

Jenny nodded. “I called Detective Polk earlier with an update.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Just that I’ll try to be ready if Don Juan contacts us again — maybe we can get lucky.”

“We’d sure be better off,” Anderson said, “if we could get a look at the evidence.”

Harrow shrugged. “I doubt that Lieutenant Amari will go for it, but I’ll give it a shot. If we can get her to go along with the Ohio excursion, and she sees how helpful we can be, things will go smoother, after.”

Anna came back in. “You fly me out,” she said, “I’ll interview Mrs. Vicker.”

“And then?” Laurene asked.

“Then it’s your turn. Talk to her in front of cameras, if she’ll let you. We don’t care.”

“Good,” Harrow said. “You need to go home and get a bag or anything?”

“We’ll be back tomorrow?” Anna asked.

“ASAP,” Carmen piped in. “I’ve got a date.”

“I’ll alert the media,” Choi said.

“Then I’m cool,” Anna said. “Consider me packed.”

Don Juan screamed.

Or more accurately, the actor who played Don Juan screamed.

The low animal howl built to a shrill crescendo as he rose from his seat before the massive flat-screen TV and hurled the remote at the wall. The shattering crack of plastic as it spilled its batteries and tiny shards put a pathetic period at the end of the cry of anger.

J.C. Harrow... all the bastards at Crime Seen ... they’d ignored his warning. Ignored him. Why hadn’t the video been shown? What kind of heartless monsters were they? Hadn’t the horror of his example been enough to show them he meant business?

Moving through the sparsely furnished living room, he knocked a glass coffee table over and it cracked in ice-floe-like chunks on the hard-tile floor. He marched down the hall past the bath-room and his home office, stopping at the darkened bedroom at the end of the corridor.

Walls painted out black awaited him, with black metal blinds covering the two corner windows, the only lamp a tiny nightstand gooseneck he rarely used. Black sheets, pillowcases, and comforter covered the single bed. Even the carpeting was ebony. Less a room, more a womb.

He shut himself within, flopped onto the bed and lay in the dark, regaining control, listening to his own harsh, ragged breathing. Gradually his rage subsided.

You made a move, he told himself, they made a move. Yes, they did make a move. Their non-response was itself a response .