Scream (36 page)

She walked over to a map of western Maryland/southern Pennsylvania on the wall. "What were those coordinates, Brink?"

Brinkley read the numbers to her again, and she quickly
found the approximate location on the map. "Here, about eight
miles north of the Mason-Dixon." She then drew a wide circle
around the point with her finger. "That covers a lot of territory
right here in Allegheny too."

Foreman turned and leaned against the wall, arms crossed
over her chest. "This is a full-blown abduction. It's FBI territory
now. We'll have to notify them and let them take the lead."

Mark smacked his palms against his hips. "Well, we can't
just sit here and not do anything. I heard the screams! Do you
understand what that means?"

"I think I do. Trust me, I want to do everything we can to get
them out of there safe. But-"

"But nothing," Mark said. His face was hot. He began to
sweat. Every minute they spent standing here arguing over
whether they should go out or not was another minute they lost
trying to find them. Another minute ticking off Cheryl's life.
"Make the call, get the people out there. Who knows? Maybe
we'll get lucky. Deputy-Jess-we can't just wait around all
night. I'm telling you, it'll be too late in the morning. Cheryl
will be gone, and probably the other two."

Foreman turned and looked at Brinkley, who only shrugged
and arched his eyebrows. She paced the floor, index finger
against her mouth. "OK," she finally said. "I'll call Hickock, get
him to sign off on it, then start the wheels in motion. I'll need
to call the FBI. Get them up to speed." She looked directly at
Mark and pointed her finger at him. "I can't make any promises,
though. Understand that. The chances of finding that barn, of
them even still being in the barn, are ... well, it's a long shot."

Mark nodded, feeling some sense of relief. "Thank you.

Several minutes later, Foreman returned to the computer room.
Mark was studying the map on the wall when she appeared and
leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. She had a look of
defeat about her. Her ponytail was loosening, and wild strands
of hair hung over her ears; her eyes were tired, mouth drooped
at the corners.

"What?" Mark said. "What did he say?"

"He's not going for it. At least not all of it."

Mark punched the wall. "What? Why not?"

Foreman sighed, then cleared her throat. When she spoke
her voice was a little shaky. "He said we can't call in the Feds
until we know for certain that we have an abduction on our
hands and that the women are in immediate danger."

Mark punched the wall again and cursed. "Which means we
have to find the barn?"

"Mark, listen. Here's what we're going to do. Hickock said
he wants to search Allegheny County first, everything that falls
within a fourteen mile arc from the tower." She went to the map
and drew a line that covered most of the north-central part of
the county. "About this much. Now, that's still a lot of land,
about seventy, eighty square miles. If we don't find anything, then we'll contact the Pennsylvania troopers and get them in on
the search. Either way we're still looking at hours. Two, maybe
three just to search Allegheny."

"It'll be too late by then," Mark said. A lump had twisted
his throat into a knot. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes
tight, fighting back the urge to lash out at Foreman. "Why can't
you call in the FBI now?"

Foreman placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. He shrugged
it off.

"Hickock isn't convinced it's an abduction."

Mark's eyes flew open, and he glared daggers at Foreman.
"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Mark!" Foreman snapped. "Get a grip, OK? Calm yourself.
Look, after your little story about hearing screams on the phone
and everything, Hickock isn't convinced you're playing with a
full deck of cards." She shifted her eyes away from him. "He
thinks you're the type to make things up ... for attention."
"

"That's crazy! You heard the screams-"

I did. And I told him that. That's why he's authorizing the
search of Maryland. He wants to make sure we look in our own
backyard first." She paused and ran her hand over her head, a
look of fatigue and frustration deepening the lines of her face.
"Look, I believe you, OK? I do. But he's the sheriff; he calls the
shots. Besides, even if we did call in the Feds, it would still be
hours to get them here, set up a base camp, and commence the
search. You think something like that just happens? It takes time.
The closest field office is Baltimore. Teams have to be assembled,
briefed, transported, tactical stuff... do I need to go on?"

Mark was ready to pop. Cheryl was out there, somewhere,
and the death bell had already tolled. It was just a matter of
time, and time was one thing they didn't have (forever and
ever). And these cops were playing around with bureaucracy issues. Red tape. People's lives were at stake. Cheryl's life was at
stake. And the clock was ticking-tick, tick, tick. He couldn't
just stand here and not do anything. His gut told him that the
barn-Cheryl-was in Pennsylvania, and he sure as heck wasn't
going to stand around and wait for Foreman and friends to
comb their own backyard to find that out. He'd look for her
himself. It was the least he could do.

"Then I'm outta here," he said, walking over to the desk and
grabbing his jacket.

"Wait, Mark." Foreman stepped between him and the door.
She squared her shoulders and looked like she was ready to
go rounds with him. "Don't do anything stupid, OK? We can
handle this. We'll find them. I don't need you going out there
playing John Wayne and getting yourself into trouble."

"Handle it?" Mark said, leaning closer to her and raising his
voice. "You can handle it? By the time you get done searching your
own backyard, Cheryl will be dead. Now, am I under arrest?"

"No," Foreman said, looking surprised at the question.

"Then get out of my way."

Foreman didn't move. "Mark, I know you're upset and
worried-"

"Upset and worried doesn't even scratch the surface." His
voice was getting louder, and another cop suddenly appeared
behind Foreman. A big guy, broad chest, square chin, thick
neck, little beady eyes drilling Mark. Real Biff type.

Foreman turned her head. "It's OK, Markle."

Biff eyed Mark and gave him one last watch yourself look
before disappearing down the hall.

Mark took the hint and lowered his voice. "Frantic is more
like it. Something I'd like to see a little more of around here.
Some urgency."

"This is urgent. We all recognize that. I may not agree with Hickock's call, but he's got a point. We can't call in the Feds
until we're sure we're dealing with an abduction case. And even
at that, like I said, it'd be hours. This isn't a snap-your-fingersand-get-results kind of situation. It's getting dark out there.
We're dealing with over a hundred square miles of mostly
farmland, and we're looking for one old barn. Really, given the
circumstances, we're doing all we can do. I'm doing all I can
do." Then she stepped aside.

"Then I need to do all I can," Mark said, walking past her
and out the door.

UDGE'S CAR RACED DOWN STATE ROAD 3003 TOWARD
the Maryland line, the large swath of light cast by the
sedan's headlights eating up the faded pavement. On
either side, fields whizzed by, fading into an inky darkness. A
thin cloud cover had moved in, coloring the starless sky black.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and kneaded it like
dough. His foot leaned on the accelerator. Things were unraveling quickly. How could he have been so careless as to allow
her to make a phone call? How did she even get the phone?
It didn't matter now. The damage was done. He should have
just finished it there. He wanted to. For a moment, a very brief
moment, he had the inclination to just let the dogs have them.
It would have been a worthy punishment. But he hadn't. Why?

I'm not a monster, that's why.

But still, he needed to finish this, and fast. Tonight. He
needed one more woman, didn't matter who now. It had to be
four. Four did the crime; four must pay the time. He smacked
the steering wheel with an open palm and cursed out loud.
How could he be so careless?

Fortunately, he'd have a couple of hours before things started
heating up. Still, he'd have to double-time it. And he knew
exactly how to do it. It was perfect. Almost poetic.

He smiled in the darkness, reached up with one hand, and stroked his soul patch. Finally, the night had arrived. Vindication was only hours away. Just the thought of it was like a balm
to soothe his soul.

For you, Katie. Justice is near.

His mind then drifted to the final chapter in the creation of
his life's mission.

1974

He stands by her grave, alone, hollow... angry. In the past
week since being chased from this very spot by Mrs. McAfee,
his sorrow has been replaced by anger. Not the usual superficial, I'll-get-over-it kind of anger a twelve-year-old boy is
accustomed to feeling, but a deep-seated, gnaw-at-your-soul,
all-consuming anger. Rage. It's more than a feeling, a fleeting
human emotion that can be easily satisfied by simply waiting it
out (time heals all wounds, his mother told him) (nonsense if
there ever was nonsense). It was a passion, a driving force that
will determine the course of his life, influence every decision,
always be just under the surface, darkening every smile, casting
a shadow across every blessed thing that ever enters his life.