The Scorekeeper

by Dustin Stevens

  Could feel it grow even faster as he took a single step up to see a woman’s bike parked against the front of the house. With orange and black stickers along the handlebars, there was not a single doubt in his mind that it belonged to Della Snow, just one more middle finger from the man he hoped was waiting inside for them.

  “How you want to do this?” Greene asked, jogging a few steps to fall in beside him, the sound of his voice ripping Reed’s gaze away from the bike.

  Considering the question for just a moment, he shook it off. There was no need for them to form a perimeter, no point in splitting his team and having them standing by the exits in case Mabry tried to make an escape.

  There would be no such effort. Everything that had happened over the course of the night had been with the point of luring them in. Making them see just what he wanted, this being the end point all along.

  The bike sitting a few feet away only served to prove that.

  “We’re going right through the front,” Reed said. “All of us.”

  His voice raised just enough so that everyone could hear him, he marched across the open expanse of the porch. Bypassing a pair of handmade Adirondack chairs and matching table, he moved until he was square with the front door, directly beneath the chandelier hanging down.

  His eyes pinched against the bright light, he paused only long enough to let the officers form up behind him, Greene and Gilchrist on his right flank, McMichaels and Jacobs to the left.

  Spread wide as if geese in a formation, he glanced down to Billie, checking one last time to ensure the door wasn’t rigged, that she wasn’t alerting on blast charges or any other surprises that might have been left for them.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Her focus poised on the door, Billie twisted her head to look up at him, eyes wide, ears perked.

  The door was much larger than Reed was used to going through. Made from heavy oak, it was almost four feet across, a glass plate covering the top half of it.

  Staring at it, Reed considered his usual approach. He thought of charging forward, raising his foot and driving his heel through the patch of wood just to the side of the doorknob, letting the force and his momentum push it open, probably shearing away whatever flimsy framing encased it.

  Just as fast, he thought of the dull ache already present in his shoulder from his last trip through a door.

  He again checked the heavy construction of the gate before him, matching everything else along the front of the home, picked out with no expanse spared.

  Pressing his chin to his shoulder, Reed looked to McMichaels on his left. “Cover me.”

  Nodding slightly, McMichaels nudged forward, sticking out one foot and sliding the other up behind it. Once he drew even, Reed raised his weapon to the glass covering the top half of the door, thick seams partitioning it into miniature sections, some frosted, others textured.

  The first round he put just inches inside the right edge, the sound thunderous in the quiet of the night, echoing out across the porch. On contact, a single crystalline divot appeared on the glass, a spiderweb pattern extending out from it in every direction.

  The second went just three inches below it, the combined effects enough to shatter the tensile strength of the piece. Beginning with just the single section, it soon started a cascade, the rest of the sections going down in order.

  Falling straight to the ground, shards of glass rained against the brick porch, shattering on contact. Hundreds in total, they covered a swath almost three feet in diameter, sizes ranging from nothing more than glass powder to uneven chunks.

  “Down.”

  A single whine was the sole sound from Billie as she lowered herself to the ground.

  Assuming the same stance as McMichaels, Reed made his way forward. His gaze flicking from side to side, he walked forward, hearing the crunch of glass beneath his feet as he inched toward the door.

  Peering through the opening, he checked in either direction before snaking a hand inside and flipping the locking mechanism. Drawing his hand back out, he resumed his grip on the weapon before twisting the doorknob and shoving inward.

  As expected, the heavy door swung back without a sound, revealing an expansive front foyer. All done in white marble, a staircase rose straight up before them, a polished banister running along the side of it.

  A hallway ran straight past the staircase, disappearing into the rear of the house, while open doorways were spread to either side.

  Bright light poured in from all directions.

  Glancing to McMichaels, Reed crept inside, the same smattering of glass on the floor just inside the door. Moving until he could no longer hear the crunch of the shards, he stopped, waiting as McMichaels formed up beside him.

  A moment later, the other three appeared as well, all with weapons drawn, each fanned out in a wide arc.

  Only once all were inside did Reed turn and say, “Come,” watching as Billie rose to her feet and bounded forward, taking two strides to build momentum before easily clearing the mess of glass covering the floor.

  Taking two more steps to slow down, she had barely come to a pause when her body went rigid. Turned to the right, she held firm in a taut line, a low growl emanating from her.

  Following her lead, Reed twisted toward it.

  “She’s got something,” he hissed over his shoulder, taking a single step forward. Beside him, Jacobs fell out of their makeshift formation to do the same.

  Moving in tandem, they made it as far as the doorway, Billie between them, before a voice said, “It is about time.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  The room was enormous, bordering on what Reed would call cavernous. Appearing as if it was a den and living room combined, bookshelves comprised the walls to either side, all lined with law volumes going back what must have been the better part of a century.

  Butted up tight against the rear walls were a pair of desks, lamps blazing bright atop them, high-backed leather chairs pushed in tight.

  Five feet inside the room sat a leather sectional sofa, the long end of it serving to bisect the space, separating the workspace from a relaxation area. A coffee table sat before it, a laptop and a pair of cell phones clustered on the wooden surface.

  The far wall was dominated by the largest entertainment center Reed had ever seen, a seventy-inch television serving as the centerpiece with speakers lining either side.

  Interspersed throughout were awards and diplomas made out to Ned Lunardi and pictures that depicted an aging man with a paunch and a ribbon of grey hair.

  A man that was most definitely not who had beckoned them inside.

  Checking the perimeter of the entry into the room, Reed inched his way forward. Checking every nook around him, he twisted his body back to face front, his weapon extended before him.

  To the opposite side, Jacobs did the same, Billie coming forward as well, her body still poised, letting them know that a threat was imminent.

  “She’s good,” the man said, a hint of appreciation in his tone. “As are you, I might add. Your reputations have been well earned.”

  Hearing the man’s voice, the bit of pleasure he was clearly garnering from all this, Reed could barely contain his rage. Taking a half-step forward, he was stopped by Billie, her growl growing a bit louder, warning him back.

  Raising a hand, the man across from him waved what looked like a cell phone, a series of glowing buttons visible on the surface.

  “I would listen to her. That couch is rigged to blow the second I hit this button.”

  Pressing his lips tight, Reed wanted nothing more than to rush forward. To take the butt of his weapon and pound it against the man’s skull, paying him back in kind for what he’d done to Della Snow, for everything he was continuing to put them through.

  “Is that what this was all about?” Reed asked. “Luring us here all night so you could press a button? A nice retribution for what you think was done to you?”

  Beside him, the other three officers fil
ed in, the five of them standing in a straight line, weapons raised. Before him, Billie stood at attention, making sure nobody crossed any closer than necessary.

  “For what I think was done to me?” the man asked, an edge appearing in the words.

  An edge Reed had no interest in humoring.

  “Ethan Mabry,” he said. “You are under arrest for the abduction and attempted murder of Della Snow. For breaking and entering on multiple properties tonight. For violations of your parole.”

  There were untold more Reed could add to the pile, choosing to stop there, staring across the room.

  This time, it was Mabry’s turn to ignore a statement.

  “In due time, but first, we need to have a conversation.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Reed knew the instant he saw Ethan Mabry what Paul Bingham had been trying to say. Seated across from them, he was perched on a chair, positioned in the dead center of the room, his body motionless. Whether he couldn’t move or was just choosing not to, Reed couldn’t be certain, the man’s posture completely rigid as he sat and stared straight ahead.

  That was a tiny matter compared to his physical appearance though, skin disease stretched across his head, seeming to cleave it in half. On one side was a pattern that resembled a snakeskin, light and dark patches intertwined together. On the other, a mottled mash of pink that resembled cotton candy, not a single hair present anywhere.

  The sort of thing that would withstand even the most ardent attempts to cover it, needing nothing short of hats and pancake makeup to do the job.

  The sort of thing that had no doubt been the source of a lot of comments and jabs over the years, helping to develop the sort of personality that his employees testified about.

  “A conversation?” Reed said, every part of him wanting to launch himself forward, to at the very least open fire, putting an end to everything they’d been through.

  Glancing again at the device in the man’s hand, he shoved aside the notion, knowing nothing good could come from it.

  “I think you’ve done enough explaining tonight, don’t you?” Reed said.

  “No,” Mabry replied, a flash of anger crossing over his features. For a moment, it appeared he was going to move forward, to reposition himself in his seat, before he thought better of it.

  “And I’ll tell you why, Detective Mattox. You and your partner are good. Very good. Every article that has been written about you, every high-profile case that you’ve been involved with, they were the reason I selected you for this evening. And the fact that you are all now standing here, in the home of Judge Ned Lunardi, is proof of that.

  “But I need to know that the narrative is framed correctly, that everything you saw tells the real truth.”

  Having no interest in standing there, letting the man tell some warped version of events, Reed cast his glance to either side. “Where is Lunardi? What did you do to him?”

  “The judge?” Mabry asked, his eyebrows rising slightly, “He’s gone. Away on his annual fishing trip, probably freezing his fat ass off in Canada somewhere right now. We’ll get to him in a bit. He’s not what’s important right now.”

  “And what is?” Reed shot back. “How do you think this all ends? That you tell us your version of the story and suddenly you get the last six years back?”

  Again, fire flashed across Mabry’s face, the man seemingly oblivious to the handful of guns aimed his direction.

  “You’re right, Detective. Those years are gone, never to be returned. Never again will I be able to go where I want to, or move where I want to, or apply for a job, without having to disclose that I am an ex-con. A sexual predator.”

  Very aware of the stance Billie was taking before him, of the explosives just a few feet away, Reed forced himself to stay in position. To tamp down the adrenaline he felt.

  “You went through the process,” Reed said. “The system found you guilty.”

  “No,” Mabry said, jabbing a finger their direction, “I was failed by the system. I was set up by the system!”

  “You were stalking Shiela Damien,” Reed replied. “I don’t see where you were set up.”

  “Then you’re no better than the hacks that put me away the first time!” Mabry yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “I loved Sheila Damien. I wasn’t a stalker, I would have never hurt her.”

  Waving a hand to his face, Mabry said, “Do you see this? Do you see what I was born with? Can you imagine what I went through? What covering it up every day was like? What people like Mark Lawson and Ray Cicotte thought when they looked at me?”

  Lowering his hand slowly, he added, “Do you think I don’t know what they thought of me? Why they were so quick to offer their testimony against me?

  “I was the guy that didn’t look right, that didn’t quite fit in, and Sheila was nice to me. She treated me like a human being, and they couldn’t stand it.”

  Glancing to either side, Reed could see the other officers fidgeting as well. Not one had any desire to hear the story, all of them held at bay by whatever he had hidden away before them.

  “I never hit her that day,” Mabry said. “Paul Klauss did, a worthless man that was drunk and needing his fix and ran her down in the intersection. And then he just left her like a piece of common trash!”

  With each word, the emotion he felt bubbled to the surface, the man looking like it was all he could do to stay glued to the seat he was in.

  “Yes, I was there that day, because I was worried about her. I knew things weren’t well at home, I knew she needed out of that neighborhood, so when she went back for lunch, I followed to make sure she was okay.

  “But once I came forward and tried to tell them what happened, they just turned their attention to me. The lazy ass detectives that took my case talked to a couple of employees, saw a few pictures I had and called it a shrine, and that was that.

  “Damn judge threw the book at me, wouldn’t even hear my later appeals.”

  Sweat ran down from Reed’s brow. It dripped over his forehead and along his nose, crossing over his lips and down to his jawbone.

  His sore shoulder was starting to burn from holding the gun at attention, every part of him ready to end this entire hellish night.

  “So you kidnapped her daughter?” Reed asked. “Put together this heinous string all in some sort of misguided attempt to clear your name?”

  Resting his gaze on Reed, Mabry said nothing for a moment. He merely stared, some of the vitriol fleeing his features.

  “No. My name will never be cleared. This will follow me like a stink I can’t scrub clean for the rest of my days.

  “I never would have hurt Della. I confined her in a box because that’s what was done to me for all those years, but I made sure she was taken care of. I gave her air and vitamin supplements just like I’ve set aside monies for her care and the rest of her schooling.

  “I would never hurt her, just like I never hurt her mother. No matter what my lying employees said, and the worthless justice system pinned on me, I didn’t do it.”

  Pausing, he stared hard at Reed, his gaze boring into him.

  “And that’s what tonight was all about. Proving that to you. And I did that, didn’t I, Detective?”

  Saying nothing, Reed merely stared back at him, the room silent.

  Raising the detonator in his hand, Mabry said, “I tell you what. You admit to me that I did what I set out to, that I proved I did not do what I was convicted of, and I will set this down. I will put it on the floor and you men can arrest me. You have my word.”

  Lowering it back to his side, he said again, “And I did that, didn’t I?”

  No part of Reed wanted to make the concession. He didn’t want to give the man another second of satisfaction, knowing he had successfully manipulated them for an entire night.

  But he wasn’t about to let his pride put his partner or the officers beside him at risk.

  Exhaling slowly, he bit back the taste of self-loathing already rising
along his throat.

  “You did.”

  A faint smile appeared on Mabry’s face as he said, “Sheila, my Sheila, died two years ago, and I never got the chance to tell her all this.

  “But at least now I’ve been able to tell everybody else.”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  The sun was just above the horizon as Reed stood out in front of the 8th Precinct. Not yet enough to push out the cold of night, he could feel the chill on his exposed arms, his sweatshirt still at the West Jefferson Urgent Care with Della.

  A small price to pay, for sure.

  Perched on the top step outside the door, he raised a hand in farewell as McMichaels and Jacobs pulled out of the parking lot, both men returning the gesture as they pointed the big rig toward town. Behind them, Greene and Gilchrist sat in their cruiser, allowing the truck to exit and lead the way.

  Armed with the fifty bucks had Reed handed them a moment before, they were all off to the Waffle House, enjoying a very meager thanks for all the help they’d rendered over the course of the evening.

  Waiting until they were gone from view, Reed lowered his hand to his side, the full weight of the last twelve hours roiling through his body.

  The aching shoulder. The lack of food or much water. The constant yo-yoing of adrenaline in his system.

  At some point later in the day, he would have to track down Dr. Mehdi and Deke to thank them for their help as well. He’d need to visit Della Snow, meeting her for the first time in person, and attempt to explain to her what had happened.

  He would need to check in at FCC and fill out paperwork as the arresting officer on Ethan Mabry.

  The mere thought of all of it forced the weariness Reed was feeling to the surface, a tired sigh passing his lips. Slapping at the leg of his jeans, Reed turned toward the precinct, pulling the door open for Billie before following her inside. Finding it difficult to believe that just twelve hours before Grimes had told him to plan for an easy evening, he made his way across the floor.