The Absence of Screams: A Thriller Page 5

  Angela raised her knee, making contact with his stomach as he fell. His entire body crumpled around the point of impact.

  He fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

  Angela stood over him, her face hidden in shadows.

  She smirked. “Your spine may work, but you're still a shell of a man. You don't have any of the strength you once had, either mental or physical.”

  “Please,” He gasped for breath, clutching his side and trying to ignore the pain, "I just want to save Danielle."

  She knelt beside him. "You're nothing without me. Never forget that."

  "I just want my daughter," Marcus sobbed.

  Angela stood and looked away.

  "Quit crying like a baby. We’re going to solve this, but we’re doing it my way.”

  10

  The detectives took their seats across the table, converting the Shembly's kitchen into a makeshift interview room. O'Reilly sniffed at the air and scrunched up her face at the smell of tobacco, but Todd had put out the cigarette before she arrived.

  Outside the window, cops continued to move through the field. The media presence seemed to have doubled. Cops moved through the house, now a secondary crime scene, looking for anything to indicate where Charles and the twins had gone. The kitchen had already been cleared.

  "So," said O'Reilly, leaning over the table with her notepad ready, "what can you tell me about this?"

  "Nothing," said Jameson. "Todd and I were coming back here to speak with Charles Shembly. He wasn't here. You can ask Officer Campbell if you want confirmation. I can assure you he will back our story."

  O'Reilly made a note. “Todd, you can't think of anything that would indicate where they were going?”

  "No. The Shembly's were always here. They didn't go on vacations or anything."

  "You're sure? They've made no contact with you whatsoever?"

  Todd shook his head. He glanced at Jameson and the lawyer gave him a subtle nod.

  Cockerton's blank eyes bored into Todd and made him feel uncomfortable.

  "There's nothing you can think of?" said O'Reilly.

  Todd was about to speak when Jameson put a hand on his shoulder.

  “My client said he knows nothing," said Jameson. "Unless you are charging him with something, this line of questioning is over."

  Todd stared out the window at the police cars. He'd seen the field a thousand times, but it was different now.

  “Are they together?” said Todd, turning to look at the detectives.

  He felt Jameson's eyes boring into him.

  “What do you mean?” said O'Reilly.

  “I mean Danielle, her dad and the twins. Are they meeting up somewhere?" There had been no mention of Jamie, and Todd had decided to keep acting as though he didn't know anything about her visit.

  O’Reilly shrugged. "It’s a theory.”

  “Why would they run?”

  “We’re trying to answer that question.”

  “Have you checked bank statements or relatives?”

  “Todd,” said O’Reilly, “we’re trained for this. We'll find them.”

  “How does this relate to Mrs. Shembly’s murder?"

  “We'll find out."

  As Todd leaned back in his chair, wondering how he had ended up in this situation, the sound of wind chimes came from his pocket.

  He felt a cold sweat break out over him.

  O'Reilly frowned and looked out the window, trying to locate the sound. Cockerton kept his gaze on Todd.

  Todd reached down and grabbed his phone through his jeans, under the table, desperately hoping it wouldn't ring again.

  He had assigned the ringtone to Danielle and told her it was because she was "as refreshing as a spring breeze." She'd smiled and said he was an idiot.

  Now the wind chimes echoed through his head like a hurricane.

  11

  “Todd,” said O’Reilly, looking back at him. “Are you okay?”

  “I need to use the bathroom."

  He pushed his chair back and stumbled around the table and into the bathroom, almost knocking over a police officer on his way. He locked the door, then closed the toilet lid and sat on top of it.

  He took out his phone and stared at the text message notification on the screen.

  He opened the text from Danielle. It said, “What’s going on?”

  He replied, “What do you mean?”

  It was a few minutes before he got a reply.

  “My aunt Jamie panicked last night and we fled town," said the reply. "She took my phone. I'm at a coffee shop using IMesssage on one of their computers. Are my mom and dad safe?”

  Todd stared at the last line.

  Danielle didn't know about her mother. Todd tried to remember the comforting words and phrases the doctors had said when his parents passed away.

  There was a knock at the door. Todd jerked his head up and shoved his phone into his pocket.

  Jameson said, “You all right, Todd? We're getting concerned."

  “Yeah, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Jameson's footsteps retreated from the doorway.

  Todd took his phone from his pocket and considered his options.

  He typed up a long, heartfelt message then deleted it.

  He typed up another and deleted it.

  He took a deep breath and decided to keep it simple. He wrote, “Your mother was murdered last night. Your dad and the twins are missing.”

  He took a deep breath and hit send.

  He stared at the screen, waiting for a response.

  Nothing came, and there was no indication Danielle had read the message.

  After a few more minutes of nothing, he flushed the toilet and stood.

  Danielle must have left the coffee shop before he sent the message.

  He washed his hands to make sure his trip to the bathroom seemed genuine. He turned off his phone's ringer and left the bathroom.

  12

  Both the detectives watched Todd as he took his seat at the kitchen table.

  “Feeling better?” said O’Reilly.

  Todd cleared his throat and nodded. “Just a stomach bug or something.”

  She nodded. “You’re probably stressed out. I understand how hard this can be."

  Todd nodded.

  O'Reilly said, “Anything you want to tell us?”

  Todd swallowed. The phone in his pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He looked to Jameson, who shook his head.

  Todd turned back to the detectives. “There's nothing.”

  O’Reilly raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure.”

  "All right, do you mind if I ask you some questions about the Shembly's?"

  Todd said, "I think that would be alright."

  "No," said Jameson forcefully. "This interview is over, Emily. Todd will not be answering any more questions."

  O'Reilly crossed her arms. "Have it your way, Kenneth. As for you, Todd, I would highly recommend you don't leave Harper's Mill until we have this sorted out. Matt, let's go."

  Cockerton stood, glared at Todd for a moment then followed O'Reilly to the door.

  They stopped in the doorway, looking back as though waiting for Todd to call them back with more answers.

  Todd said nothing.

  The detectives left and walked down the driveway toward their car. Todd watched them through the front windows until they climbed into their car and drove away.

  Todd stood and splashed his face in the kitchen sink. Jameson watched him, tapping his fingers along the table. They walked past the cops moving through the living room and out onto the front porch.

  Todd looked out over the fields of wheat. The sun was beginning to set, but the police presence hadn't lessened. Spotlights illuminated areas of interest and cop cars lined the side of the driveway, crushing the grass which Mrs. Shembly had taken so much pride in.

  He took the pack of cigarett
es from his pocket. He tapped one into his hand. He lit it, inhaled, and let the smoke float in the air out over the fields and toward the police. A sense of relief spread through his body.

  “What happened in there?”

  Todd turned.

  Jameson stood beside him. His shirt was wrinkled and his glasses were slightly askew.

  “Are you asking as my lawyer?" Todd inhaled.

  Jameson nodded. “Even if Charles is gone, he still paid me, and he paid for you. It's my job to keep you out of prison. I know, and I'm sure the detectives know, that you didn't get a sudden stomach bug. Something happened in there.”

  Todd looked over the field. “Do I have to tell you?

  “No, but I know more about the law than you do. For example, I should inform you that O'Reilly can't order you to stay in Harper's Mill. The only thing that can restrict your movement is a court order. If you want to go after the Shembly's, no matter where you are, there's no legal framework for them to stop you."

  Todd glanced around, wondering how much he could trust Jameson. If Charles trusted him, his trust must be worth something.

  He took his phone from his pocket and opened his text conversation with Danielle. There was nothing new.

  He handed the phone to Jameson.

  Jameson read the texts and handed it back. “That's the last text you received?"

  Todd took the phone back and nodded. "She hasn't texted me since."

  "You didn’t tell the police.”

  He shook his head.

  “You should. If they find out you kept this from them, you'll go right back to the top of their suspect list."

  Todd looked over the fields. “The Shembly's are scared of something. If they could go to the police, they would have a long time ago."

  “What if you can’t find them?"

  Todd sighed and inhaled on his cigarette. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  Jameson sighed. “I'm here for legal advice and representation, not wild goose chases. You have my number if you need me to defend you. I wish you the best of luck. Do you need a drive?”

  "I'll find something."

  Jameson nodded, stepped off the porch and walked to his car. He climbed inside and drove away, past the police cars along the sides of the road.

  Todd took a seat in a wooden rocking chair on the front porch. He sat there, looking over the fields, until he finished his cigarette.

  13

  General Thompson's office was located on the north side of the base. It was decorated with an attention to detail Angela couldn't help but respect.

  Every picture on the wall was perfectly level, every rug was flawlessly clean, and the desk shined like it had been freshly polished.

  On the desk sat two pictures facing outwards. One depicted General Thompson shaking hands with Barack Obama. The other depicted him with two young girls who Angela assumed were his daughters. There was no woman present.

  Angela waited for Thompson to finish his phone call. When he finished, he set down the phone and turned to Angela, who was standing in the doorway to his office.

  "What can I do for you, Miss Weber?" he said. "Please, take a seat."

  Angela took a seat in one of two armchairs. "I wanted to come by and thank you for your hospitality," she said. "Marcus and I are both eternally grateful for the opportunity you gave us. We would never have come out here without you."

  General Thompson smiled and nodded. “It was an absolute pleasure. Seeing Marcus speak in person will easily go down as one of the best experiences of my life. Where is he now?"

  Angela sighed. "Unfortunately, he's feeling a little ill right now. He's developed an immunity to the painkillers he takes for his back, and they're losing their effectiveness. We're waiting on his doctor to send us a stronger version, but it could take a day or two."

  Thompson nodded. "Would you like to stay a few more days? It can certainly be arranged if you need it."

  Angela raised her hands. "I wouldn't want to intrude or anything like that. We can find a hotel in town."

  "No," said Thompson. "I insist. I'll move some things around. Stay here as long as you want."

  Angela nodded. "Thank you so much. Marcus will appreciate it. He hasn't taken his hands off that medal since you gave it to him."

  Thompson grinned. "I'm so happy to hear it. I was worried it would seem undeserved."

  "He loves it."

  Thompson's grin got wider. "Thank you for coming by. I'll get my assistant to work on scheduling."

  "Thank you so much."

  Angela left the General’s office and walked across the base. She wished she'd brought a jacket.

  She made it back to their room, grabbed a sweater from her luggage and pulled it over her head.

  "It's getting a little chilly out there, Marcus," she said. "We should have packed more sweaters. General Thompson is going to let us stay a few more days."

  She pulled the sweater past her head and turned toward Marcus’s bed.

  She froze, her eyes going wide.

  The bed was empty, the sheets thrown to one side. The only thing on the bed was a note.

  Feeling a lump in her stomach, Angela walked over and picked it up.

  It said, “I'm getting my daughter back, and I'm doing it my way."

  “Motherfucker!” Angela screamed.

  She crumpled up the note and threw it across the room.

  She fumed for a few seconds, looking around the room.

  The wheelchair was still there. Marcus’s suitcase was open. The medal sat on the desk where Marcus had dropped it the previous night.

  Angela paced back and forth across the room. She grabbed her phone and called Marcus.

  Ringing came from the suitcase, and she walked over to pick up Marcus's cell phone from his suitcase. She picked it up and chucked it across the room. It fell behind the bed. Angela didn't bother to fish it out.

  Angela ran her hands through her hair. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

  After a few deep breaths, she smoothed out her sweater and walked to the dresser. Unlike Marcus, she had unpacked and used the drawers.

  “No,” she muttered as she rummaged along the top of the cabinets and the dressers. “Where are they?"

  She threw her clothes onto the floor, clearing out her drawers until the clothes were scattered all over the room. Once she finished looking through her luggage, she stumbled back and fell onto the bed. She looked over the scattered belongings all over the room.

  Her car keys weren't there.

  14

  Todd stood in front of Marino's Pub. It was a small restaurant with a few tables inside.

  Todd had walked here on a hunch. Mrs. Shembly had been found in the fields around their house late at night, coming from the road. She must have been coming from somewhere within walking distance, which left either Wal-Mart or the bar and motel which he was looking at.

  Todd checked his phone. There were no new messages from Danielle, although he had received a dozen or so texts from people he hadn't talked to in ages asking how he was doing.

  He placed the phone back in his pocket.

  He walked up to the bar. The scent of fake candles wafted through the air.

  He took a seat at the bar and waved to the bartender, a broad-shouldered woman.

  Her nametag identified her as Beth. Todd ordered a beer and sipped it as he watched the television screens above the bar.

  After a few minutes, as he finished his beer, Todd waved the bartender over.

  “Want another?” she said.

  “I would. Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual, “did you hear anything about that woman who got murdered?”

  Beth handed him a beer.

  “Why do you want to know?” she said.

  “I’m curious,” he said. “I’ve lived here my whole life. That murder is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened.”

  “I don’t care about why you're curious. I’m wondering why you’re asking me.�
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  “Do you know something?”

  Beth leaned over the bar. “Who are you, kid?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Todd leaned back.

  “Yes, it does," she said. "I spent two hours today speaking with Detectives about this bullshit. I don’t need someone else busting my balls about it. Who are you, and why do you want to know?”

  Todd sipped his beer. “My name is Todd Anderson."

  The bartender raised an eyebrow.

  “Have you heard about Mrs. Shembly’s daughter?”

  “The daughter's who's missing?”

  “Danielle.” He took another sip of the beer. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  The bartender's eyes opened wide. “You should have started with that.”

  Todd nodded. “What did the cops want?”

  Someone at the other side of the bar waved Beth over. She walked over and kept glancing back at Todd.

  Once she had gotten the man his drink, she came back to Todd and leaned on the counter in front of him.

  “Listen here,” she said, wagging her index finger in his face. “You are going to do two things. First, do not tell anyone what I’m telling you. Second, you're going to tip me a lot.”

  Todd nodded.

  Beth took a moment before she started speaking softly.

  "Tatiana Shembly has been coming in here two or three times a week for a few months now," said Beth. "Every time she meets a different guy, almost always an out-of-towner staying at the motel. They're normally a business type but not always. She seemed to have a thing for people from New York City. They chat for a while and they leave.”

  “What do you mean? She was cheating on Mr. Shembly?”

  “Mr. Shembly." Beth laughed. "That’s cute. She’s been cheating on him for a long time. How they’re still together is beyond me.”

  "Probably because of the twins.”

  “They’ve got twins?” She laughed a deep throaty laugh. “That sounds like too much work. I've got one and I'd never do it again.”

  “Was she with someone last night?” he asked.