Count to Ten (8 page)

Mia straightened, her shoulder burning like a live flame. “We will.” She slid one of her cards across the counter. “If you need me, my cell phone number is written on the back. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let Caitlin’s friends know that anything’s happened.”

“I know the drill, Detective,” he said between his teeth. “Just get her released as fast as you can so we...” His voice broke. “So we can bury our child.”

“I’ll do everything I can. We can see ourselves out.” She waited until she was in Solliday’s SUV before hissing out a breath of pain. “Goddammit, that hurt.”

“I have some Advil in the glove compartment,” Solliday said.

Mia moved her arm and winced at the fire that raced up into her shoulder. “I think I’ll accept.” She found the bottle and dry-swallowed two pills. “My stomach’s going to hate me later, but my arm thanks you now.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “You’re welcome.”

“I hate these visits. Their kids are never screwed up, never in any trouble.”

“I think it’s worse when they’re cops,” Solliday observed.

“That’s the truth.” It came out more fervently than she’d intended.

He glanced over at her before pulling into traffic. -“Personal experience?”

If she didn’t tell him, he’d ask around. “My father was a cop.”

He lifted a brow, looking like Satan again. “I see. He’s retired?”

“He’s dead,” Mia said. “And before you go asking around, he died three weeks ago.”

He nodded, his eyes glued to the road. “I see.”

No, you don’t.
But she wouldn’t argue. “Cops’ kids go astray, like everybody else’s.”

“Did you?”

“What, go astray? No, I didn’t.” And that’s all he needed to know. She looked through her notes. “This could have been random. Somebody could have broken in to rob the Doughertys and found Caitlin there feeding the cat.”

“She wasn’t feeding the cat.” He glanced over at her before returning his eyes to the road. “I didn’t want to say anything to Burnette, but I found pages of a statistics book in the Doughertys’ spare bedroom. I think she went there to study.”

Mia considered the compassionate restraint he’d shown with the parents. “The Burnettes don’t need to know that,” she agreed. “That they fought over grades and that she was there to study would be salt in their wound. Let’s go to the Doughertys’ now. CSU should be there already.”

Chapter Four

Monday, November 27, 11:45 A.M.

A
CSU guy met them at the Doughertys’ curb as they got out of the SUV, his face breaking into a grin. “Mia. I’m glad you’re back.”

She smiled with true pleasure. “I’m glad to be back, Jack. This is Lieutenant Reed Solliday.” She looked up at Reed. “This is Sergeant Jack Unger, CSU. He’s the best.”

“I heard you give a lecture last year,” Reed said, shaking the man’s hand. “Use of new analytical methods in detecting accelerants. Good stuff.”

“Glad you got something out of it. Lieutenant, I already have my team inside, working with your guys. They’re gridding off the front hall and the living room.”

“Give me a minute to change into my boots.” -Mitchell and Unger inspected the front of the house while Reed -concentrated on not fumbling the clasps on his boots. His fingers always got clumsier when he was in a hurry. He joined them at the front door and led them into the kitchen. “We found the body right here.” He pointed to the far wall.

She looked up at the damaged ceiling. “The master -bedroom’s up there?”

“Yeah. It’s one of the three points of origin. The kitchen here was the main one.”

Her brows furrowed. “But you think she was in the spare bedroom studying. On the other side of the house. Tell me the time line of the fire from start to finish again.”

“The neighbors reported an explosion about midnight and called 911. That would have been the kitchen. The first company arrived three minutes later and found flames engulfing this whole side of the house, top to bottom. There was a smaller fire in the living room on the other side. They charged a line and hit the blaze just inside the front door. The kitchen ceiling came down shortly after the fire department arrived and the chief pulled the firefighters out of the house. I got here at 12:52. They’d knocked it back by then. They shut off the gas line to the house when they arrived, so there wasn’t any more fuel for the fire in the kitchen.”

“Heat, fuel, oxygen,” Mitchell murmured. “Good old fire triangle.”

“Eliminate one and you can knock down the fire,” Reed agreed.

Unger looked at the wall with a frown. “The ‘V’ pattern’s narrow. Like it ran straight up fast until it hit about five feet high. Then everything’s black the rest of the way up.”

“The valve to the gas line was removed. He started a leak, waited for gas to build up, then left a device to get the fire started. The room exploded when the flame reached the gas, which rises. He ran a line of accelerant up the wall to make sure it did.”

“What did he use to start it?” she asked.

“The lab’s doing an analysis for the exact structure, but it was a solid accelerant, probably in the nitrate family. Mode of delivery was a plastic egg.”

Mitchell’s blond brows went up. “Like an Easter egg?”

“No, bigger. Like the eggs panty hose used to come in. He probably mixed the nitrate with guar gum so it would cling to the wall. When the solid ignited, it would have burned straight up. That’s why you see the narrow ‘V.’ But it also exploded out, which took care of everything below the gas line. Most likely he drilled a hole in the egg, filled it with the mixture, and ran the fuse. He wouldn’t have had much time to get away. Probably no more than ten or fifteen seconds.”

“He likes life on the edge, then,” she said. “How did he get in the house?”

“Through the back door,” Reed answered. “We took pictures of the lock, but we didn’t touch it to get prints.”

She looked up with a frown. “Why not?”

“I was afraid it was a homicide yesterday. I didn’t want some judge throwing out our evidence because it was collected under an arson warrant.”

She looked reluctantly impressed. “Did you get prints, Jack?”

“Yeah, but I’m betting they don’t belong to our guy. If he was smart enough to pull all this together, he was smart enough to wear gloves. Although we could get lucky.”

“Can you check for shoe prints?” she asked Unger. “Although the rain’s probably destroyed any chance of that. Dammit.”

“We got a number of shoe prints,” Reed said, “most of them from firefighters’ boots, but there were a few that weren’t. We made plaster casts of those yesterday.”

Again she looked reluctantly impressed. “They’re at the lab?”

“Along with the egg fragments. They’re checking for prints on those, too.”

She crouched next to where they’d found the body. “Jack, let’s get samples here.”

Reed crouched next to her, so close he picked up a lighter, much more pleasant scent than the smell of charred wood that hung over the room. She smelled like lemons. “I took samples around this area. We found traces of gasoline.”

She frowned, troubled. “He doused her with gasoline. That’s why her body burned so hot the fibers of her shirt melted onto her skin.”

“Yes. I picked up traces of hydrocarbons in the air space above the body. You can also see the checkerboard pattern here on the subfloor. It’s what happens when gasoline seeps between the tiles. The adhesive is softened and the floor beneath it gets scorched. He probably poured gasoline over her and splashed some on the floor.”

“I can’t imagine him taking a chance on lighting a match with all that gas in the room,” Unger said thoughtfully.

“I think when the plastic egg exploded, bits of the burning accelerant would have landed on her. Either way, gasoline burns off pretty quickly unless you have a constant supply. That’s why there was enough bone left for Barrington to X-ray.”

Mitchell stood up, her jaw clenched. “So where did the little fucker shoot you, Caitlin?” She walked around the fallen rafters and into the hall where one of Jack Unger’s men worked with Ben, gridding off the room with string and stakes. “Hello.”

“Ben, this is Detective Mitchell from Homicide and Sergeant Unger from CSU.”

Ben nodded. “Nice to meet you. Reed, we found something just a few minutes before you got here.” He carefully stepped across the gridded area, a small glass jar in his hand. “Looks like it came from a necklace.”

Reed held it up to the field lights. “The letter ‘C.’” He handed it to Mitchell.

“Where did you find it?” she asked, studying it with a frown.

Ben pointed to the grid. “Two up, three over. I was just looking for the chain.”

She turned her eyes to the staircase. “You said you found pages from her statistics book upstairs. That means she was studying upstairs, so she had to come down the stairs at some point. Either alive or dead.”

Unger nodded. “If he shot her upstairs and then dragged her down the carpet, there will be traces of blood in the fibers. We’ll take the whole carpet and check it out.”

“He may have shot her in the kitchen,” Reed pointed out.

“Then we take the whole damn floor,” Mitchell said grimly. “Shit. I hate fire scenes. There’s just nothing left.”

Reed shook his head. “There’s lots left. You just have to know where to look.”

“Yeah,” she grunted, holding the glass jar up to the light. Her eyes went fierce. “They fought here,” she said, one hand fisted at her throat as if she clenched a necklace. “Caitlin must have heard something, come down the stairs.”

“He discovered her, overpowered her,” Reed continued.

“Grabbed the necklace. The chain broke and the charm flew. Then he shot her.”

“Then I’ll find spatter on the carpet.” Unger looked around. “We’ll bring some bright lights in here and go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. You said three points of origin. We’ve seen the kitchen. What about the other two?”

“The one in the master bedroom was the same accelerant—another egg.”

“What about the living room?” Unger asked.

Ben had done most of the living room analysis. “Go ahead, Ben,” Reed said.

Ben cleared his throat. “That fire was started in a trash can with newspaper and a cigarette, probably filterless. It would have smoldered for a few minutes before escaping the can. It caught the drapes on fire, but the truck put that one out pretty fast.”

“Can we see the master bedroom?”

“Carefully.” Reed led them up the stairs, then stopped in the doorway. “Don’t go in. The floor isn’t stable.”

“The hole in the floor was caused by the fire?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes, it was. The hole in the ceiling was cut by the firefighters to vent the heat.”

Mitchell drew a breath and grimaced. “I need to get some air.”

“You okay, Mia?” Unger asked, concern in his voice.

“I took some Advil on an empty stomach,” she said. “My stomach is now protesting.”

Reed frowned. “You should have asked me to stop. I could have gotten you lunch.”

“That would mean she was actually taking care of herself.” Unger took her elbow. “Go get lunch. We’ll be here a while. I’ll call you if I find anything earth-shattering.”

She glanced over at Reed. “Lunch, then the sorority?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Monday, November 27, 12:05 P.M.

Brooke Adler rapped on the door to the school counselor’s office and felt it give. She poked her head in to find Dr. Julian Thompson sitting behind his desk and one of the other teachers sitting in one of the guest chairs. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”

Julian waved her in. “It’s okay, Brooke. We’re not talking about anything important.”

Devin White shook his head with a smile that made her heart flutter. She’d noticed him many times since she’d come to Hope Center. But this was the first time they’d actually exchanged words. “I have to disagree, Julian. It was of universal importance.” He lifted a brow. “Bears or Lions on Sunday?”

Brooke knew little about sports, but Chicago was home. “Bears?”

Devin scowled playfully. “I guess we can’t argue with hometown loyalty.”

Julian gestured toward the chair next to Devin. “Devin’s betting on the Lions.”

“It’s a personal weakness,” he said. “Do I need to leave? Is this a private matter?”

Brooke shook her head. “No. I could actually use another teacher’s perspective. I have some concerns about some of my students. One in particular.”

Julian leaned back in his chair. “Let me guess. Jeffrey DeMartino.”

“No, not Jeff. Although he as much as admitted sending Thad Lewin to the clinic.”

Julian just sighed. “Thad’s not talking. He’s too scared to give Jeff up and we don’t have any proof. So if not Jeff, who?”

“Manny Rodriguez.”

Both men were surprised. “Manny?” Devin asked. “He’s never given me a problem.”

“Me, either. But this morning he was unusually interested in the lesson. We’re reading
Lord of the Flies.
”

Julian’s brows shot up. “Are stories about teen anarchy wise around here?”

Brooke shrugged. “Dr. Bixby thought it would make a good study.” The school’s director had recommended it, in fact. “Anyway, today we talked about the signal fire.”

Julian tilted his head. “Manny’s eyes glazed over, didn’t they?”

“He was practically salivating.”

“And you want to know if Manny started fires before he came here.”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I’m happy he’s interested, but... It was creepy.”

Julian rested his chin on steepled fingers. “He set fires, yes. Lots of little fires, from the time he was five years old. Then he set a very bad one that destroyed his foster home. It was then he was brought here. We’ve been working on impulse control.”

Brooke sat back in her chair. “I wish I’d known. Should I do a different book?”

Devin scratched his chin. “What would you read instead? Anything that’s worth discussing will have some controversial theme affecting at least one kid in your class.”

“I thought that,” she confessed.

“This may not be a bad thing,” Julian said. “Now that I know what Manny has been reading, we can use it in our therapy. This is a place he can’t start a fire, so presenting him with tempting images here is about as safe as you can make it. We can work on constructive ways to manage his impulses while they’re fresh in his mind.”

Brooke stood up and both men followed suit. “Thanks, Julian. I’ll send you a report every few days. Let me know if it gets to the point that changing books is the right thing to do.”

Devin held the door open. “I hear it’s mac and cheese and Tater Tots day in the cafeteria.”

Her lips curved. “Then we’d better get in line. Tater Tots always go fast.”

Devin grinned. “And they don’t hurt when they throw them at you. Bye, Julian.”

“I haven’t been in a food fight yet,” she said as they walked down the hall together.

“I was last summer. Unfortunately it was apples day. That really hurt. I wouldn’t worry too much about
Lord of the Flies,
Brooke. So many of these kids have seen far, far worse.” His smile faded. “It’s enough to break your heart.”

“You care about them,” she said quietly.

“It’s hard not to. They tend to grow on you.”

“Mr. White!” A trio of boys caught up to them, looking panicked.

Devin gave the boys a smile. “What’s up, guys?”