The Scorekeeper Read online

  “It is,” Reed agreed, “which is I was wondering if we could get Dr. Mehdi to talk to her?”

  Jerking the gear shift into park, Reed snatched the keys from the ignition and sat staring up at the house.

  Dr. Pia Mehdi was a psychiatrist that the department had a loose working relationship with. A step beyond the usual sort of counseling required when an officer discharged their weapon, she was called upon when a particular case needed a deeper dive.

  Reed himself had spent three months under her care in the wake of his partner passing. He had hated every minute of it, but he would be lying if he said the woman hadn’t been effective.

  If anybody had a chance at helping Della at the moment, it would be her.

  “Like I said before,” Grimes replied, “you’ve got full run on this one. If you think it will help, I can call and wake her.”

  Any trepidation the captain had about doing so were completely hidden behind the iron in his voice.

  Fifteen yards away, the light on the front porch of the house flipped on. A sure signal that his presence was seen, Reed again felt the clock in his head begin to tick.

  “Thank you,” Reed said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The motion detection sensor that The Scorekeeper left inside Della Snow’s apartment had kicked to life ten minutes prior. Occurring much sooner in the evening than anticipated, he could feel his pulse rise in correlation.

  “Well, well, Detective. Look at you.”

  Still seated on the couch in the living room, The Scorekeeper had already cast aside the pizza box and the first cell phone from earlier. Both of their roles completed for the night, he had replaced them with a laptop, the cover open.

  On the screen was a series of individual windows, each up and monitoring things around the city.

  At the top of the cascade of different program boxes was the feed from Snow’s apartment. Figuring that would be the first place an investigation would go, he had made sure it was the most visible.

  The instant green lights had flashed across the screen, he had inflated it to full screen, watching with a mood that bordered on gleeful as they continued to spike. With each movement inside the house, the sensor had alerted him that someone was present, continuing for several moments at a frenetic pace before falling still.

  Presumably, as they found the message he had left for them in the bedroom.

  The elation The Scorekeeper felt climbed again, bringing fresh warmth to his skin. Grabbing up a hand towel from the couch beside him, he passed it over his bare scalp, feeling it pull away droplets of sweat.

  The words he’d written there had been chosen with great care, picked for a very specific purpose that would in time come to reveal itself. In the meantime, he could just imagine Mattox and his team standing before it, entering the phrase into their databases, searching in vain for clues that didn’t exist.

  Which, in and of itself, was the point.

  Leaving the motion detector at the scene was far from ideal, but it was much better than going with a live camera. Needing only a wireless network to feed off of, it would tell whoever was on the other end nothing about his identity or his location.

  And he did need some way to monitor the progress of the investigation throughout the night.

  Because, come what may, there was no way things were making it until morning. Enough long nights he had spent staring at the ceiling, thinking about this moment. Enough to make peace with what would come, with how everything would play out.

  As fast as the flashes of movement had arrived, they fell away. The green lights disappeared from the screen, leaving nothing but the tiled images of the black boxes arranged vertically on his screen.

  “What, leaving so soon?” The Scorekeeper asked, his tone a convergence of mocking and bitterness, matching the look on his face.

  The odds were, they weren’t done at the apartment. Any moment now, the place would be swarmed with criminalists, all looking for clues he might have left behind.

  Errors that he simply hadn’t made.

  Still, that didn’t change the fact that he would have liked to savor a few more moments, knowing that Mattox was standing in the apartment, admiring his handiwork.

  Leaning back, The Scorekeeper laced his hands behind his head. He put his palms flat against the back of his skull and stared at the screen, silently hoping for a flash of color he knew wasn’t coming.

  Soon enough, though.

  Soon enough.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The front door was open by the time Reed made it up the walkway, Billie by his side. With his hands plunged into the pockets of his sweatshirt, his shoulders were hunched up beneath his ears. His body pitched forward, he was walking fast, his partner in a trot to keep pace.

  Not until they were almost to the small concrete landing at the end of the walk did Reed look up, the man he had come to see standing before him.

  Derrick Chamberlain – or as he insisted, simply Deke - was someone Reed had known for his entire thirteen years with the CPD, though his own relationship with him had only begun to formalize in the last couple of years. Standing with one hand on the doorframe and the other on the open door beside him, he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, charcoal wool socks on his feet.

  Standing an inch or two taller than Reed, he weighed at least fifty pounds less, the clothes hanging from his thin frame. Surrounding his head was the usual thatch of hair, the actual length of it unknown as it always seemed to be jutting in random directions.

  “What’s up?” he asked, nodding his head upward slightly.

  Keeping his pace fast, Reed replied, “Need your help.”

  Reaching to the side, Deke flipped the porch light off. “Come on in. Just don’t slam the door behind you.”

  Doing as instructed, Reed slid inside the house. Waiting for Billie to do the same, he quietly closed the wooden door behind him. Standing in a small front foyer, he flicked a glance to the left, seeing the kitchen and living room beyond it, both of which he’d been in a dozen times before.

  Decorated in the familiar blues and mauves with all the country trimmings, dark shadows were cast across everything, the house shrouded in darkness.

  The better part of twenty years prior, Deke and Reed’s former partner Riley had been neighbors in the student dorms at Ohio State. Never more different could two people be, they had somehow managed to develop a friendship, a resounding testament to Riley’s ability to befriend just about anybody.

  Reed himself another such example.

  Despite both moving on after their freshman year, they had stayed in contact, even well after Riley had gone on to the police academy and Deke had become one of the preeminent internet security specialists in the world.

  After graduation, he had moved back home with his grandmother, reclaiming his place in the basement while she was left free to roam the main floor. More than once in the early years, Reed had thought the arrangement was one of apathy and arrested development, only later discovering the magnitude of Deke’s cyber empire.

  And the fact that while he owned the house, he maintained the arrangement for the sake of his grandmother and her developing battle with Alzheimer’s.

  A woman that was now no doubt asleep somewhere inside, the reason Deke had met him at the door and asked him to close it quietly.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman pulled from her slumber.

  On the opposite side of the foyer, Deke disappeared through a wooden door, leaving it to stand open behind him. Passing in order, Billie went down next, Reed bringing up the rear. Closing that door in his wake as well, he moved down a series of plain wooden stairs, his shoes falling silent against the thick pine boards.

  “This seems urgent,” Deke said, getting to the bottom and stepping off. “Even for you.”

  Grunting in agreement, Reed said, “Thanks for being available so soon. Sorry, I don’t have your payment right now, but I promise to get it to
you soon.”

  Waving a hand in dismissal, Deke strode across the basement floor, disappearing for a moment as Reed descended before coming back into view. As he did so, the rest of the basement spread became visible as well, a near copy of what it was every time Reed stopped by.

  Stretched to the right was a living area, replete with a waterbed and kitchenette. Casting a neon glow over everything was a couple of beer signs usually found at low-rent bars, the two offering support for Leinenkugel’s and Red Dog, a beer that Reed didn’t think had even existed since either one of them was old enough to drink.

  On the opposite side of the space was an eighty-inch television and a pair of black leather chairs, every form of video game console and gadget known to man spread across the floor in a semi-circle. Frozen on screen was an image from a first-person shooter video game, the front tip of a rifle jutting up from the bottom.

  Moving past both, Deke circled around to the centerpiece of the spread, a workstation he had built himself. Featuring more than a half-dozen monitors and just as many hard drives under it, Riley had more than once said that the assemblage cost more than some homes in the area.

  Having seen what the man could do with it, Reed believed her.

  “What have we got?” Deke asked. Lowering himself into his seat, he raised an ankle to the opposite thigh and rested his hands on the armrest to either side.

  Circling to the side so he could see Deke fully, Reed said, “This is going to sound crazy-“

  “Most of the stuff you do sounds crazy.”

  In any other circumstance, Reed might have responded, or at the very least smiled. As was, he pushed straight ahead.

  It was only a matter of minutes before Della Snow called again.

  “About an hour ago, 911 got a call that was turfed straight to me,” Reed began. “Frantic young lady named Della Snow.”

  “Okay.”

  Knowing how ridiculous the next part would sound, Reed pushed it straight out there, intent not to give any further explanation. Whatever questions Deke had, he could answer in the aftermath.

  “Who was trapped inside a box.”

  Across from him, Deke eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath the shaggy hair lining his forehead. “Trapped in a box? Like, of emotions?”

  “No, like a coffin.”

  This time, Deke’s mouth dropped open, the combined effect stretching his features much longer than usual.

  A look that was not easy to achieve.

  “For serious?”

  “For serious,” Reed repeated, not sure if the phrase was an actual expression or just another random Deke quirk.

  As fast as the initial shock came, it also seemed to dissipate in equal time. Blinking himself back to the present, Deke drew in a deep breath of air.

  “So she just woke up to find herself in a box?” he asked. “With her phone?”

  “Not her phone,” Reed corrected, “a phone.”

  In short order, he ran through the events he’d been through already, finishing with the message scrawled on the glass at Della’s apartment.

  When he finished, Deke’s eyebrows were again raised.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  “Damn right,” Reed said. “Now, I’m guessing she’s not actually in the ground, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to call me.”

  Scrunching the right side of his face, Deke wagged his head slightly to either side. “Eh, yes and no.”

  “Yes and no?” Reed asked.

  “I mean, you’re right, she probably isn’t a full six feet under, but if she was only a few feet deep...”

  To finish the thought, he spread his hands wide, his fingers splayed apart.

  Flicking his gaze to Billie, Reed stared down at her. Turning to match his look, she blinked twice, the only signs of movement.

  “How deep we talking?” he asked.

  “Depends on the phone and how close she is to a tower,” Deke said. “Type of soil even. If it’s rocky, that kind of thing.”

  Knowing the man was right, Reed still couldn’t mask the pang of annoyance that crept into him. Not with Deke, but for his growing exasperation with the case already.

  This was not the sort of thing people did. Was certainly not the type of conversation he would have ever imagined having.

  “Best guess?” he asked.

  “Maybe, two-three feet.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Inside the closed confines of Deke’s basement, the ringer on Reed cell phone sounded especially pronounced. Seeming to reverberate through the space, it caused Billie’s ears to perk, Reed’s heart rate climbing in kind.

  Looking down to see the wordUNAVAILABLE plastered across the screen, Reed looked over to Deke. “You ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  Nodding slightly, Reed accepted the call. Leaving it on speakerphone, he extended the phone in front of him. A cable snaked out from the headphone jack on one end, disappearing beneath Deke’s desk and into the tangle of circuitry found there.

  “Della? Is that you?”

  A pair of gasps were the first sounds, followed by a sniffle. When finally she spoke, her voice broke, sounding even worse than she had the previous time they talked.

  “I’m here.”

  A few feet away, Reed watched as Deke went to work. His face illuminated by the faint light of the screen, he was completely locked in, oblivious to the conversation going on beside him.

  Exactly the reason Reed had taken the time to make the drive.

  “Okay, Della, I have someone here with me right now that is tracing your location,” Reed said. “He’s the absolute best there is at this sort of thing, but I need you to stay on the line for at least a couple of minutes.”

  Again, the only response was distorted, sounding like a woman in distress.

  Casting a glance to Deke and Billie in order, Reed said, “Della? Are you there? Did you hear me?”

  “Y-yes,” Della managed. “I’m here. I’m sorry.”

  Each word seemed to have a breath forced into the middle of it, as if she was laboring to get them out. Again, the thought of pulling in Dr. Mehdi resonated through Reed’s mind.

  He could only hope that Grimes had been able to make contact and they could set something up before the next call.

  “Like I said, I’ve got someone here trying to trace where this call is coming from,” Reed said, “but in the meantime, I need you to do me a favor.”

  This time, Della managed to respond without prompting.

  “Okay,” she said, the first half of the word shoved out as a sigh.

  “I need you to ball up your fists and tap on the sides and the top of your box,” Reed said.

  “Tap? You mean like-“

  “I mean like, knock, or pound on them, like if you were coming up to somebody’s door,” Reed said. No part of him wanted to say the next part of this, knowing what it might do to her already fragile state, but he needed to know.

  Deke’s point had been a good one. Up to this point, he had imagined the girl in a funeral home style setting, locked away inside a box on top of a pedestal.

  In his mind, that was the only way she would have been able to keep getting calls to him. To find out she might actually be underground changed the scope of things significantly.

  The sound of tapping rang out over the line. A few quick times, they sounded uncertain, as if she was pecking at the wood, not knowing how hard to hit it.

  “Like that?” she asked.

  His brows drawn in tight, Reed’s focus had been on the sound, trying to place it. Through the phone’s microphone, he hadn’t been able to get a clear bearing, the sound of her voice cutting it off short.

  “One more time.”

  Again, the sound rang out, this one as inconclusive as the previous.

  “What am I looking for?” Della asked.

  Looking to Billie, Reed could practically read her expression, knowing there was no way he wanted to ask the question.

  Still, it had to be do
ne.

  “I need you to listen and see if it sounds hollow, like there’s nothing behind it, or if it sounds insulated.”

  Leaving it at that, he waited a full moment as realization set in.

  And heard the accompanying tears come with it he’d been trying so hard to avoid.

  Shifting his focus to Deke, he saw the man still pecking at his keys, having not yet even looked up to Reed. Not a good sign, considering he had once seen the man run a phone trace in a matter of seconds.

  “You mean...you mean...” Della whispered, two short gasps, just barely audible.

  Hearing them, Reed again felt a jolt of emotion roil through him. This one tinged with so much more than just the previous thoughts he’d had, it grew to encompass pity for the young girl and the hellish situation she was in, the sort of thing no person should ever have to endure.

  And a steely resolve to find whoever was putting them all through it.

  “I mean I’m coming to get you,” Reed said. “And I need to know where to look.”

  Pausing, he waited for some form of response. None came.

  “Della? Della, are you still there?”

  In no way did he want to keep asking the young girl, the words starting to make him feel like he was badgering her, harassment the last thing he wanted.

  But it didn’t change the fact that he needed to know where she was.

  The first response that came back to him wasn’t verbal. Instead, it was the sound of pounding against the side of the box. Much louder than before, it sounded like the manifestation of what Reed was feeling, knowing Della had to be going through even worse.

  Not wanting to interrupt her, to say another word, he waited as she beat on the box, lashing out at it another dozen times, each louder than the one before. By the time she was done, Reed could hear her panting.

  “The ground,” she said. “I’m in the damn ground.”

  Chapter Twenty

  There would be no further conversation from Della Snow. At least not now, and not for a while thereafter.

  “Della, I need you to stay on the line,” the detective said to her. “You don’t have to say anything, but we need to keep trying to get a trace on the call.”