Karen Rose - Scream For Me

He might be totally wrong, but if he was right… She needed protection. She needed a dog. A big dog. And a gun. She started up the rental car and was ready to pull away from the curb when a knock at her car window had her screaming.

Her gaze flew up to the window where a young man in a military uniform stood smiling. He hadn’t heard her scream. Nobody ever did. Her screams were only in her mind. Drawing an unsteady breath, she rolled down the window a crack. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said pleasantly. “I’m Captain Beardsley, U.S. Army. I’m looking for Bailey Crighton. I thought maybe you might know where I could find her.”

“Why are you looking for her?”

Again his smile was pleasant. “That’s between me and Miss Crighton. If you see her, could you tell her Reverend Beardsley stopped by?”

Alex frowned. “Are you a captain or a reverend?”

“Both. I’m an army chaplain.” He smiled. “Have a nice day.”

“Wait.” Alex grabbed her cell phone and dialed Meredith while the man stood outside her window. He did wear a cross on his lapel. Maybe he was really a chaplain.

And maybe he wasn’t. Vartanian had her paranoid. But then again, Bailey was missing and that woman was dead.

“Well?” Meredith demanded without preamble.

“It’s not Bailey.”

Meredith sighed. “I’m relieved and at the same time… not.”

“I know. Listen, I came by Bailey’s old house to see if I could find anything-”

“ Alex. You promised to wait until I could go with you.”

“I didn’t go in. I just needed to see if I could.” She glanced at the house and her gut began to twist. “I can’t. But as I was sitting here on the street, this guy came up.”

“What guy?”

“Reverend Beardsley. He says he’s looking for Bailey. He’s an army chaplain.”

“An army chaplain is looking for Bailey? Why?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. I just wanted someone to know I was talking to him. If I don’t call you in ten minutes, call 911, okay?”

“Alex, you’re scaring me.”

“Good. I was getting too full of fear myself. Need to spread it around. How’s Hope?”

“The same. We need to get her out of this hotel room, Alex.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She hung up and got out of her car.

Captain Beardsley looked concerned. “Has something happened to Bailey?”

“Yes. She disappeared.”

Beardsley’s concern became shock. “When did Bailey disappear?”

“This past Thursday night, four days ago now.”

“Oh, dear. Who are you?”

“My name is Alex Fallon. I’m Bailey’s stepsister.”

His brows went up. “Alex Tremaine?”

Alex swallowed. “That’s my old last name, yes. How do you know that?”

“Wade told me.”

“ Wade? ”

“Bailey’s older brother.”

“I know who Wade is. Why would he tell you about me?”

Beardsley tilted his head, studying her. “He’s dead.”

Alex blinked. “Dead?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I assumed you’d been notified. Lieutenant Wade Crighton was killed in the line of duty in Iraq about a month ago.”

“We’re not really blood relations, so I guess the government wouldn’t have contacted me. Why are you looking for Bailey?”

“I sent her a letter her brother dictated to me just before he died. Lieutenant Crighton was injured in a raid on a village outside Baghdad. Some called it a suicide mission.”

A sense of satisfaction stole through Alex, making her ashamed. “Was the mission accomplished?” she asked very quietly.

“Partly. At any rate, Wade was hit by mortar fire. By the time the medics got to him, it was too late. He asked me to hear his confession.”

Alex’s brows knit. “Wade wasn’t Catholic.”

“Neither am I. I’m a Lutheran pastor. A lot of men who ask me to hear their final confessions aren’t Catholic, and clergy other than priests can hear them.”

“I’m sorry. I knew that. We have all kinds of clergy come through our ER. I was just surprised Wade would confess anything. Do you visit all the families of the deceased?”

“Not all. I was up for R &R and just came into Fort Benning. It was on my way, so I thought I’d stop on my way home. I still have one of Wade’s letters, you see. He asked that I write three letters, one to his sister, one to his father, and one to you.”

The screaming took up in her head and Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them Beardsley was watching her with a concern she ignored. “Wade wrote to me ?”

“Yes. I mailed his letters to Bailey and his father to this address, but I didn’t know where to find you. I was looking for Alex Tremaine.” From the portfolio he carried under his arm, Beardsley pulled an envelope and his card. “Call me if you need to talk.”

Alex took the envelope and Beardsley started to walk away. “Wait. Wade sends Bailey a letter. She disappears, the same day a woman is killed and left in a ditch.”

He blinked at her. “A woman was killed?”

“Yes. I thought it was Bailey, but it’s not.” She ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter Wade had dictated. She looked up. “There’s nothing in this letter that will tell me where Bailey’s gone. It’s just a letter asking for forgiveness. He doesn’t even say what he’s asking forgiveness for.” Although Alex was pretty sure she knew. Still, it wasn’t anything that Bailey would have been abducted over. “Did he tell you?”

“He didn’t say in the letter.”

Alex noticed the tightening of Beardsley’s jaw. “But he did say in his confession. Trust Wade to screw up. You won’t tell me what he said, will you?”

Beardsley shook his head. “I can’t. And don’t say I’m not Catholic. The sanctity of a confession is just as critical to me. I won’t tell you, Miss Fallon. I can’t.”

First Vartanian and now Beardsley. I can’t. “Bailey has a little girl. Hope.”

“I know. Wade told me about her. He loved that little girl.”

That Alex found hard to believe, but she didn’t argue with him. “Then tell me something that can help me get Hope’s mother back to her. Please. The police won’t help me. They say Bailey’s just a junkie and probably ran away. Did Wade say anything outside the confession?”

Beardsley looked down, then into her eyes. “ ‘Simon.’ ”

Alex shook her head in frustration. “Simon? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a name. Just as he died he said, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon.’ I’m sorry, Miss Fallon. That’s going to have to be enough. I can’t tell you any more.”

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 12:15 p.m.

Dr. Felicity Berg looked up at Daniel through her goggles. She was standing on the other side of the autopsy table, bending over what remained of their Jane Doe. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

Daniel had watched in silence as Felicity had taken Jane Doe apart with deliberate care. He’d watched her do autopsies more than a dozen times, but he never failed to wonder how she kept her hands so steady. “The bad news, I guess.”

The mask covering her face moved and he imagined her wry smile. He’d always liked Felicity Berg, even though she was called “The Iceberg” by most of the men. He’d never seen her as cold, just… careful. There was a difference, as Daniel well knew.

“I can’t definitively identify her. She was about twenty. She had no blood alcohol, and doesn’t have any obvious diseases or defects. Cause of death was asphyxia.”

“And the blows to her face? Where they pre- or postmortem?”