The Scorekeeper

by Dustin Stevens

  Beneath him, she made no effort to fight, her focus still on the door, her body rigid.

  Opposite them, the charges continued to climb one per second, moving in four-inch intervals until they reached the corner before coming together along the top and stopping abruptly.

  In their wake, each blink brought neon flashes to Reed’s eyes, the smell of sulfur thick in the air.

  “Good?” Reed asked, his attention still on the door, the silence thunderous in the wake of the impromptu explosions.

  A few feet away, the officers had both dove for cover as well, their bodies splayed across the floor, top ends pointed at the door.

  “Good,” Greene replied.

  “You?” Gilchrist asked.

  Rising to his knee, Reed kept his gun extended at the door. Alternating glances, he checked over Billie, seemingly fine as she raised herself to her feet beside him.

  “Good.”

  Smoke drifted across the room, reducing visibility even further as all four took their feet and inched back into position. With weapons extended they waited, standing and watching as the door seemed to balance itself on end for several moments before slowly drifting backward.

  The sound of it hitting the bare concrete of the garage floor was even more pronounced than the charges had been. Splintering on contact, it seemed to reverberate through the house, adding to the tension already permeating the space.

  “Do you think that was what she smelled? Or is there something else in the garage?” Gilchrist asked.

  Of that, there was no way to be certain. Reed was more than versed in his partner’s enormous abilities, but even he didn’t know if she would be able to pick out something aside from the smoldering charges lining the outside of the door.

  Especially considering all he could manage was the acrid scent of smoke and chemicals biting at his nostrils.

  “That had to be it,” he managed, the words sounding more certain than he actually felt. “Bastard wanted to make a scene, and he wanted us to go into the garage.”

  Beside him, Greene grunted in agreement.

  Maintaining his stance for another moment, Reed slid his right foot out a few inches. Bringing his left forward the same distance, he moved in short, stilted bursts, steadily closing in on the door.

  Clearing a room was usually Billie’s role, but no way was he about to do that again. Having no idea what may be out there, the place already rigged with explosives, the man that planted them already having proven himself willing to go to truly heinous lengths in the name of whatever this night was all about.

  As he got closer to the door, the smoke in the air grew thicker. It burned his eyes, the smell strong, as he continued sliding forward.

  Right on into the garage, a single concrete step lowered him down into a square space that was just as empty as the living room. Beside him, Billie was never more than an inch from his knee, a low sound akin to a growl rolling from her diaphragm, letting him know she was present.

  “Clear,” he whispered once they were on the concrete floor, Billie performing nothing more than a quick twirl before again positioning herself against his knee.

  Content the place was contained, that no further surprises were waiting for them, Reed lowered his weapon. Turning in a tight circle, he did a quick inventory of the place, making it as far as the shared wall of the living room before stopping, his stomach dropping as he stared.

  “Hey, guys,” he managed, the two syllables relaying the animosity he was already feeling.

  Making no effort to add more, or to move an inch, Reed simply stood and stared, waiting as Greene and Gilchrist both filed in and followed his gaze.

  Not one person said a word as they contemplated the message spray painted on the wall before them.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was a good thing The Scorekeeper had moved fast. Any longer and he likely would have missed everything, the team from the 8th Precinct going quicker than he anticipated. Blocking the number on the phone left inside with Della Snow he knew wouldn’t trip them up forever, but he had thought it might take longer than it did.

  Clearly, some things had changed in the last few years.

  A thought that again made the same fiendish smile appear on The Scorekeeper’s lips, thoughts of how that information could translate roiling through his mind.

  Leaving his house the instant the second round of lights had shown up at Della Snow’s apartment had afforded him just the time he needed to get into position. Parked at the far end of the street, he had pulled into the driveway of a house he knew to be sitting empty. From there, it was as simple as cutting the lights and easing back the drive, placing himself on the curb facing back in the way he had come.

  If given his druthers, the neighborhood would have been closer to Franklinton. There would have been some special symbolism to it, at the very least a home that resembled what he was looking for.

  Just one more piece of a puzzle that only after the fact would the detective manage to pick up on, the painstaking effort The Scorekeeper had made finally being appreciated.

  Unfortunately, no such place existed in the area. While there was always an abundance of empty houses littering the neighborhoods, the problem was that there was nowhere to hide nearby.

  People would see a man like him coming and going. They would know he didn’t belong there. Might even manage a shot of him or his vehicle given the way every person alive now had a phone with picture and video capabilities.

  No chance could he let such a thing happen. Definitely not with his unwanted penchant for sticking out.

  Instead, he had looked into the closest places where new construction was still occurring, landing on the spot he was now sitting in. The name of the complex was ridiculous, the look of the homes absurd, but at least they had given him exactly what he was looking for.

  Easy access, empty sites, and enough foot traffic to blend in without a second look.

  Even now, having shown up in the middle of the night, he feared nothing. Most of the homes on the strip were empty, the others having seen the aged Volvo he was parked in enough times not to think anything of it.

  Comfortable in his jacket and ballcap, the slightly cool night air having not seeped in through the windows, The Scorekeeper sat and watched the show at the house down the street.

  Looking on, he had seen the two cars pull up, tearing through the night with their flashing lights on. Watched as they burst through the front door. Even saw the flashes of his charges as the door to the garage was blown free, beckoning them in.

  A crooked grin formed on The Scorekeeper’s face as he imagined them pouring into the garage, seeing his handiwork. For an instant, he almost considered getting out and walking forward, just to smell the charges in the air, to see the dumbfounded expressions on their faces as they stood and stared.

  Just as fast, he let the notion go, flinging it from mind with a twist of his head. Reaching out, he started the car, turning the lights on so as to not appear conspicuous as he rolled past, gone before any of the men likely even left the garage.

  For as gratifying as the show had been, there was still more work to be done.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The phone in Reed Mattox’s hand was vibrating, though in no way did he want to answer it. Not right now. Not standing in the garage looking up the macabre mural that was spread before him.

  Done in red spray paint, the message was scrawled out all in block letters. If forced to guess, Reed would venture they were a pretty close match to the ones found on the mirror at Della Snow’s apartment.

  Just, much larger. And with the added visual of paint dripping from random places where it had been applied too heavily, streaking downward, having now hardened.

  “Captain?” Gilchrist asked, glancing over at Reed holding the phone out in front of him.

  “Della,” Reed responded, the look that sprung to Gilchrist’s face matching the one that was now permeating his core.

  As much as he wasn’t qui
te ready for this, he knew he couldn’t not answer. Not and let her continue to be alone in the dark, wondering if anybody out there was still looking for her.

  He was, and he would be at it until he found her.

  But that didn’t change the feeling of frustration that now seemed to fill him.

  “Della,” he said, accepting the call and pressing his phone to his ear. Turning away from the wall, he walked to the corner of the garage, not wanting to pass through the still smoldering doorway any more than he had to.

  On the opposite end, there was a slight sound, a far cry from what he’d heard from her the last time he spoke.

  “Della, are you there? Can you hear me?” he asked.

  “I’m here,” Della whispered. “I can hear you.”

  Deke had been right. While it was good to hear most of the raging acrimony that had painted their last call was gone, just as alarming was what now took its place.

  Absolutely nothing, her voice as detached as Reed had ever heard a person.

  “Della, I’m glad you called,” Reed said. “I want you to know I’m still doing everything I can, and that I now have teams of officers joining me. Standing right here with me are Officers Greene and Gilchrist.”

  He paused there, hoping for some form of a response. No matter what it was, regardless of how enthusiastic it might be, he just wanted some sign that he was getting through to her. It was the same reason he kept using her first name, even if it did feel mildly stiff to do so.

  Holding his breath for a moment, he waited, ceding the floor for her to reply. Seconds ticked by, each feeling longer than the one before it, before eventually a simple, “Okay,” was heard.

  Nothing more.

  Pushing his breath out through his nose, Reed let his eyes slide shut. Only two hours had come and gone, and already he could sense he was losing her. The initial fear, the emotional outburst, and now extreme detachment.

  At this rate, she would be through however many stages existed for this sort of situation within the next hour or two.

  They had to get ahold of Dr. Mehdi before then. His own experience with psychology was just too thin to even hope of being much use in the meantime.

  “Della, I need to ask you a few questions,” Reed said. “First, have you ever been to 808 Queen Street in Grove City? It’s a tan house with faded red shutters and door.”

  Again pausing, he turned and glanced over a shoulder, Greene and Gilchrist having gone back into the house, presumably to call in what was found and continue their search for the router.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure, never for-“

  “No.”

  Both answers just single words, each void of emotion of any sort.

  Knowing he would receive nothing more, Reed nodded. “Okay, how about the phrase Web of lies? Does that hold any special significance?”

  Shifting his focus up to the wall, he made sure he had recited the phrase correctly before again turning away.

  There was only so many times he could stand to look at that message scrawled out in red.

  “No.”

  Opening his mouth to respond, there were so many things Reed wanted to ask. Questions he would love to know the answer to, things that would likely make his job much easier.

  If the three short responses he’d just gotten were any indicator though, there wasn’t much likelihood of that happening. Right now, Della was in a different place, her mind insulating itself against the realities of her situation, likely whatever she had done to her hands as well.

  “Okay,” Reed conceded, lowering his tone to match hers. “Last thing right now. How much battery life do you have left?”

  For an instant, there was no response. No sounds of movement.

  “Della?”

  “One bar.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Officer Derek Greene was standing in the living room as Reed passed back through the doorway. In the few minutes he’d been in the garage, most of the smoke and smell had dissipated from the charges surrounding it, a thin layer of white smoke just beneath the ceiling.

  A few inches behind him, Billie entered as well, both pulling up just inside the door.

  “How’s she doing?” Greene asked.

  “She’s...” Reed began, contemplating his response. In only a couple of short hours, he had witnessed firsthand as she had passed through no less than three different stages.

  Fear and hysteria, followed by intense hatred, now ceding to total numbness.

  For most people, this sort of thing took place over the course of days or weeks, if not longer. The fact that she was moving through them at warp speed was not a good sign.

  Regardless how intense the situation she was facing actually was.

  Starting anew, Reed said, “She really needs to speak with a professional. Hopefully, Grimes can get Mehdi on the phone soon.”

  Nodding once, Greene didn’t bother to push any further. Instead, he raised a hand, hooking a finger toward himself, motioning for Reed to follow. “Come take a look at this.”

  Glancing over to Billie, Reed felt the ball that seemed to have settled in the pit of his stomach draw even tighter. Present since the call had first come in from Jackie, it seemed to loosen or coil, depending on the moment.

  Standing in Della’s apartment or out in the garage just now, it was like a steel ball bearing, the surface smooth, unable to be penetrated.

  While riding in the car or standing in the captain’s office, it slackened into something more like a baseball. Still a solid sphere, but at least the seams became visible.

  Slapping at the leg of his jeans, Reed followed Greene into the far end of the house. Moving through a hallway extended directly out away from the living room, they passed by a small kitchen on one side, a bathroom on the other.

  Much like the other rooms, the carpet floor looked like it had barely been walked on, the walls freshly painted, not a thing on them. If Reed were to guess, he would speculate the place was recent construction, not quite yet ready for the market.

  He would have the officers run down the owner and look into things, but the odds were nothing useful would come from it. The reason they had been dragged out to Grove City had nothing to do with symbolism. It was merely an easy target.

  Open doorways marked the end of the hallway, one extending out in either direction. Casting a glance to the left, Reed found it empty, blinds drawn over the windows, rendering the place almost completely dark.

  Shifting to the right, he followed Greene into the rear bedroom, Gilchrist already present. Squatted in the middle of the floor, he was studying a small black box, a single cord extended from it, snaking across the carpet.

  “Found our router,” Gilchrist said. Craning his neck to the side, he inspected the outer edge of it. “Green lights are flashing, but the only line coming in or out is the power cord here.”

  “So probably bootlegging wireless from somebody nearby,” Reed said.

  “Probably,” Gilchrist agreed. Looking up, he added, “Kind of risky, no?”

  Staring down at the router, Reed considered it for a moment. The young officer had a good point, the router being a key point in the plan.

  Without it, there would be no way of getting through to Della. Which made it all the more important to their investigation as well.

  “Anything else?” Reed asked.

  “Nothing,” Greene said. “Place is clear.”

  Lifting his focus from the router to the man across from him, Reed allowed his eyes to glaze for a moment. Without asking, he already knew that Greene was referring to more than just the presence of anything useful.

  By clear he meant empty. Nobody had ever lived here. Most everything in the place was brand new.

  It would reveal little, if anything.

  Still, he would have to have Earl and his team come take a look. They wouldn’t be able to move the router or do anything that might risk interrupting their line to Della, but the door to the garage and the messag
e written on the wall both needed to be checked over.

  Fast.

  Reaching to his back hip, Reed slid his phone out again. Extending it to arm’s length, he took a picture of the router, if for no other reason than to forward it along to Deke. Odds were, it would be of little use, but if there was any sort of tech wizardry that could be performed, he wanted his friend to have a shot at it.

  “I need to be getting back,” Reed said. “There’s no doubt our guy has been here, but he’s damn sure not here now.”

  “We get it,” Greene said, raising a hand his direction. “Go, we’ll oversee things here.”

  “Do you guys mind sitting on this one for a while?” Reed asked. “I know it’s scut work, but-“

  “We got this,” Greene said, his tone making it clear there was no need for further conversation.

  “Thanks,” Reed said. “I’m going to take a couple pictures of the garage and those charges on the door, then I’m going to head back to the precinct. On the road, I’ll call Earl and have him get someone here immediately to take a look.”

  Seeming to have expected as much, Greene nodded. “Anything you need from us?”

  “Can you guys track down an owner? Looks like our guy is just squatting here, but we might get lucky.”

  “Will do,” Greene replied.

  Shifting to look at Gilchrist, Reed added, “And maybe check with the neighbors about who has an open wireless network?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The night seemed to have drawn further into itself, what bits of ambient light there was lining the streets having gone dormant while Reed was inside the house on Queen Street. The handful of fast food restaurants that had been open for late-night hours were now closed, taking with them the recognizable glow of their neon signage. Along with them, many of the gas stations had also closed doors, leaving only their pumps available for credit card purchases.

  Even the waxing gibbous moon above was now blotted from view, cloud cover rolling in, an impenetrable blanket sealing the heavens from view.