The Absence of Screams: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  O’Reilly took out her phone and called Peters.

  As it rang, she thought of how oddly Cockerton had been acting since the beginning of the case, how he had jumped into the back of that van and grabbed Marcus before she had asked him a question or read him his Miranda rights.

  "Hey," said Peter's voice. "You've reached the voicemail box of Detective Brett Peters. Leave a message and I'll get back you as soon as I can."

  "Shit," she muttered. The voicemail beeped. "Peters, this is O'Reilly. Call me as soon as you get this."

  She hung up the call.

  She could feel the eyes of the entire station over her. She called the number again and held the phone to her ear, silently begging Peters to answer. She would have gone on a million dates with him if he would just answer his phone this one time.

  "Hey," said the same voice. "You've reached the voicemail box of Brett Peters. Leave a message and I'll get back you as soon as I can."

  63

  Ricky leaned over in the back seat of the police car and elbowed Marcus.

  Marcus pulled away and looked out the window, trying his best to ignore Ricky's smirk.

  "Hey," shouted Peters back at them. "Stop it, or you'll both spend the rest of your miserable lives in prison."

  Ricky leaned back against the opposite window.

  Cockerton looked back at them with a threatening glance.

  "Are you sure about this?" said Peters to Cockerton. "This route seems longer."

  Cockerton nodded.

  "There's an accident on the main road," he said, rubbing his throat as he did so.

  Marcus jerked his head forward at the high-pitched voice. It was the first time he'd ever heard Cockerton speak.

  They were driving along a long stretch of road which seemed to be taking them away from the police station as opposed to toward it. The road curved to the left and Peters slammed on the brakes.

  "What the hell?" said Detective Peters. "I thought you said this route was clear?"

  Cockerton shrugged.

  Marcus looked up through the front windshield. The only lights on the pitch-black stretch of road were those of their headlights. In the center of the cone of light was a trailer.

  Marcus swallowed. He recognized that trailer, and it confirmed a suspicion. The van which Ricky had been driving had been the same van Jeff had hit Angela's car with.

  He looked up at the trailer which belonged to Victoria and felt a lump form in his stomach. There was a pickup truck pulling the trailer, which was parked perpendicular to the road.

  "Do you have service?" said Peters, holding his phone in the air. "My phone isn't getting service for some reason."

  Cockerton nodded and took out his own phone.

  "Let's go see what this is," said Peters, opening his door.

  "Don't go out there," said Marcus. "It's what he wants you to do."

  "Shut up," said Peters, stepping out of the car and taking out his gun.

  A moment later Cockerton climbed out of the car as well. He drew his gun, but he stayed a few steps behind Peters.

  Marcus tried to shout after them, but his cries didn't make it out of the car.

  Ricky leaned over toward him. "Marcus, you've got to watch. This'll be big."

  Marcus looked at him then back out the front. The door to the trailer opened. Sam and Victoria stepped out.

  Marcus silently begged Peters to put bullets in both of their skulls, but he didn't. He couldn't make out the words but based on body language it seemed as though Peters was asking what the issue was. Both Sam and Victoria stood casually, and Marcus couldn't see any weapons on their bodies.

  Peters lowered his weapon.

  Cockerton walked up behind him and raised his gun. The mercenaries acted as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

  Peters never saw the bullet, and as it hit him in the back of the head, he pitched forward. He fell onto the ground at the feet of the mercenaries.

  64

  "What is going on?" said Marcus. There was no strength left in his words.

  "You didn't think I'd let myself get captured?" said Ricky, grinning. "I made so many obvious mistakes I'm amazed the cops didn't pick up on it."

  Marcus ignored him and looked out the front windshield. There was no ceremony for the death of Detective Brett Peters. Sam lifted him over his shoulder and carried the body back to the police car.

  There was no one else on the pitch-black stretch of road.

  Cockerton walked ahead of them, cleaning off his gun and returning it to the holster on his waist. He walked past the car and opened the trunk.

  Sam followed. The car bounced as Peters's limp body was dropped into the truck.

  "What's going on?" said Marcus. "What's happening?"

  Ricky smiled.

  Cockerton walked to Ricky's door and opened it. Ricky stepped out and held out his hands.

  Cockerton unlocked Ricky's cuffs and took them off. Ricky rubbed his wrists and straightened out his shirt and hair.

  "Thank you, Detective," he said. "I want you to go and grab that bag from the back of the truck. It has a hundred grand in it. It belongs to you."

  Cockerton stared at him, eyebrow raised. Ricky nodded and Cockerton smiled.

  "I keep my promises," he said.

  Marcus stared at them, trying to catch up to what was happening.

  Victoria handed Cockerton the duffel bag filled with money. Cockerton slung it over his shoulder, grinning broadly.

  Sam opened Marcus's door and dragged him out, his legs limp behind him.

  Sam dragged him toward the trailer. Ricky and Victoria followed.

  Cockerton climbed into the driver’s seat and drove the car off the road and into the field of corn to the right.

  "Why?" said Marcus, looking up at Sam.

  Sam looked down at him. "Why what?"

  "Why are you working with Ricky? Jeff wouldn't have wanted this."

  Sam shrugged. "I worked for Jeff. I finished the task and he paid us. We scattered his ashes. Now I work for Ricky."

  "You're better than this."

  Sam laughed. "Where did you ever get that ridiculous idea?"

  They reached the trailer. Sam dragged him inside and dropped him on the kitchen floor. He turned and left. He slammed the door and locked it.

  Marcus looked around the inside of the trailer. It had been cleaned of Jeff's blood and any indication that this had been the location of a suicide had been cleared away.

  Marcus crawled to the door and tried to open it. It was locked.

  After a few moments of rattling the door he gave up.

  He pulled himself along the floor to the sink. His useless legs dragged behind him.

  He gasped at the pain in his back. He needed new pain medication, but somehow he knew Ricky wasn't going to give him any.

  Maybe Danielle would give him something to ease the pain. The thought of his daughter brought tears to his eyes.

  He grabbed the lip of the counter and pulled himself up, straining against the dead weight of his own body.

  He pulled himself onto the sink, his armpits holding onto the edge, and looked through the window. The blinds were closed. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. He reached out and pulled the slats of the blinds apart.

  He watched as Cockerton climbed into the back seat of the pickup truck and the truck pulled back onto the road. He looked toward where the patrol car holding Peters's body was. It was almost completely concealed among the corn.

  The truck reached an intersection and turned right.

  Marcus lost his grip on the sink as the trailer jerked to one side. He fell onto the floor and hit his head on the closet door.

  He cursed as the truck finished the turn. Plates and mugs rattled in the sink.

  The truck braked and started again. The momentum sent Marcus sliding along the floor of the trailer. He grabbed onto the bed and pulled himself onto the comfortable and plush bed. He sat up and looked out the window above the bed.


  They were driving down a long empty road which seemed vaguely familiar.

  Marcus frowned, trying to understand why he knew the road.

  He threw himself off the bed and onto the floor. He scrambled along the floor toward the front of the trailer. He pulled himself to the front window and looked out over the pickup truck.

  Marcus mouth dropped open. He stared, wide-eyed.

  The truck turned down a driveway and drove toward the Shembly house.

  65

  O’Reilly looked across the desk at Chief Dryden, who looked as though he was trying to come up with the right words.

  The office smelled of cigarettes. The rising sun came through the blinds. The rain had stopped sometime the previous night, leaving nothing behind but puddles, mud, and overflowing gutters.

  Dryden had sent her home the after no new news had come in, telling her to get some rest.

  O'Reilly had gone home and laid in bed for six hours, barely getting more than an hour of actual sleep. She had come into the officer earlier than usual and had almost immediately been informed about the patrol car which had been found in the middle of a field on the outskirts of Harper's Mill.

  "I guess you've already heard about Peters. His body was discovered early this morning. He was a good man. We haven't found any indication of Matthew Cockerton, Marcus Devereaux and Ricky Genaro."

  "Don't lump Matt in with them," said O'Reilly. "It makes it sound like he's one of them."

  The chief straightened his tie. "There have been reports recently from various people saying that Cockerton has been acting strangely during this case."

  "I assumed it was something in his personal life. We don't talk about our lives outside of work."

  "Could it be something else?"

  "I don't like talking poorly of my partner."

  The chief leaned over the desk. "Emily, I'm asking you this as your superior officer."

  "I suppose it could be."

  "Thank you. I know it's hard to admit that."

  O'Reilly leaned back. "Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "No, there is something else." Dryden pulled on his collar. "We found another body."

  O'Reilly frowned. "Who?"

  "Angela Weber. She was Marcus Devereaux's assistant for the last decade. She was found in a ditch with a bullet through her head."

  O'Reilly nodded. "I'll solve this. You can trust me, sir."

  "Are you sure?"

  O'Reilly shrugged. "I need to finish this. Cockerton is my partner. It's my duty to defend him."

  "There's something else."

  "What?"

  Dryden hesitated and ran a hand over his bald head. "The bullet that killed Peters came from Cockerton's gun."

  O'Reilly's eyes opened wide. "That doesn't prove anything!"

  "No, but it's odd."

  "I suppose it is."

  The chief leaned back. "The media hasn't picked up on this yet, but they will. The reason I'm leaving you on this case instead of putting someone else on it is because we don't have time to bring someone else up to speed. I received a call from General Thompson early this morning. He wants this solved as quickly as possible as well. He went on television and sang Devereaux's praises. He risks a massive public embarrassment if the details of this case get out. What do you need to make sure that doesn't become an issue?"

  O'Reilly swallowed. She had spent the time awake the previous night thinking of that very question. "I want to bring Dennis McDermott on as a consultant."

  The Chief crossed his hands together over his bulging stomach. "Why would you bring Dennis into this? Especially with tensions between him and Cockerton the way they are."

  O'Reilly stood and walked behind her chair. "He brought us information about Todd. He already knows about the case. If you want this solved as quickly as possible, that's the way to do it."

  The chief leaned back, his hands together in front of him. "Cockerton still thinks his brother's death was Dennis's fault."

  "You didn't prosecute him for it."

  The chief nodded. "The good Dennis did outweighs any negative, but if Carl Cockerton was my brother, I would take the first available chance to put a bullet in Dennis's skull."

  "So you don't want Dennis back on the force?"

  Dryden tapped his fingers along the top of the desk. “You have to convince him to come willingly," he said. "He comes back as a consultant. He will not be armed. He does not go into the field. Under no circumstances does he come face to face with Cockerton. I will put a few patrol cars on call for you."

  O'Reilly nodded. "Thank you. You won't forget this."

  "Assuming you can convince Dennis to help, how are you going to find Ricky Genaro and the others?"

  O’Reilly stood. “I have a plan. Once I have Dennis, I'm going to get Todd Anderson."

  66

  Dennis's actual house was much larger than the one he'd taken Todd to. The other house was solely to back up the story that he was a struggling ex-con. It criminals more likely to see him as a friend. It normally worked, but not with Todd.

  O'Reilly rang the doorbell and stepped back.

  A few moments later Dennis's wife, Kate, opened the door.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  O’Reilly took out her badge. "Hi, I'm Detective Emily O'Reilly."

  Kate glared at her and crossed her arms.

  “I’m looking for Dennis.“

  Kate grabbed the door. “Dennis is busy. Don’t come back.”

  "I need his help. Lives are at stake."

  "If he goes, it will be his life which is at stake," said Kate, her volume increasing. "Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you have any children, detective?"

  "I just need a minute of his time."

  "Get off my porch."

  Kate went to slam the door, but a hand grabbed it at the last second.

  Dennis pulled the door back.

  “Just give me one minute,” said Dennis. “Hey, O'Reilly.”

  Kate marched back into the house.

  Dennis watched her go, then stepped onto the front porch. He closed the door behind him.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I heard about Cockerton."

  “He’s still out there somewhere," said O'Reilly. "I know you didn’t like him, but he‘s my partner.”

  Dennis nodded. “Was I right about Todd?”

  “You were right about Todd. We have the complete version of his story. I made him leave you out of it.”

  Dennis smiled. “Thanks. The camera’s in that bedroom wouldn’t look good in court.”

  "Thank you for doing that."

  “Why are you here, Emily? It can’t be just to tell me I was right.”

  “I need your help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I want to bring you back onto the force as a consultant to help solve this case. Dryden wants it solved as quickly as possible. You already know enough to help with the case."

  Dennis put up a hand.

  "Stop right there," he said. "I'm in."

  O'Reilly frowned. "Really? Won't Kate be mad about it?"

  Dennis nodded. "She'll be furious. This isn't about her, though. If Cockerton is in danger, I owe it to him to help. After what happened with Carl, it's the least I can do."

  "Even after the way he's treated you?"

  Dennis grinned. "I'd treat me the same way if our roles were reversed. Carl was his brother."

  They both stood in silence for a few moments.

  "It might be his choice," said Dennis.

  "What are you talking about?" O'Reilly looked up at him.

  "What if Matt is working with them? Have you considered that?"

  She swallowed and nodded. "I've thought of it. I have to assume he's innocent until proven otherwise. He deserves that."

  Dennis nodded. "I'll be back out in a minute."

  Dennis walked back into the house. O’Reilly smiled and walked off the porch.

&
nbsp; Just as she stepped off the steps, screaming came from inside the house.

  O’Reilly got into the car and started the engine.

  A few minutes later, Dennis stepped out of the house with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

  He speed-walked to the car. Kate opened the door and threw his shoes, jackets, and anything else she could onto the front lawn.

  As soon as he was in the passenger seat and the door was closed, O’Reilly put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

  "Sorry," said O'Reilly.

  "She'll get over it," said Dennis.

  "Are you sure?"

  "She'll do it for the kids. She always does."

  O'Reilly wasn't so sure about that, but wasn't about to make him doubt helping her. She glanced at Kate in the rearview mirror, then turned onto the next side street and headed toward Todd's house.

  67

  O'Reilly knocked on Liam's door and stepped back. They had already checked Todd's house. No one was there.

  Liam opened the door and jumped a little when he saw the two officers.

  "Todd's in the living room," he said a moment later. "He showed up this morning apologizing for trashing my car and to pick up his dog. He brought me beer and pizza. He's pretty messed up."

  "I can't blame him," said O'Reilly. "Mind if we come in?"

  "Be my guest." Liam stepped to one side.

  They walked into the living room of the small house.

  Todd was sprawled out on the couch. He had cleaned up since she'd last seen him, but his blank expression hadn't changed. His Labrador, Baxter, was curled up beside him, his head on Todd's lap. The dog lifted up its ears when O'Reilly and Dennis entered.

  "Todd," said O'Reilly, coming to stand a few feet away. "I need to talk to you."

  Todd looked up, his eyes resting on Dennis for a moment. "I thought I was done," he said.

  "We need your help."

  "I told you, I'm done."

  "Lives are at stake."

  Dennis put a hand on O'Reilly's shoulder. "Emily, do you mind if I talk to him?"