Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  Chapter Eight

  Tuesday, November 28, 9:45 A.M.

  Reed was just happy to get his hands clean. He came out of the men’s room at the convenience store still scowling at his shoes. He should have changed them before going into that house. That’s why he kept several pairs in the back of his truck.

  Nasty cat. Covered in mud and a number of other things best left unidentified, it was currently being restrained in the box on Mitchell’s lap. From where he stood, Reed could see her in the truck, her elbows propped on the box, face intent as she talked on her cell phone. She’d been on hold with Social Services when he’d come in to wash up, waiting for information on Penny Hill’s next of kin. Now her expression changed, grew softer. Pained. She was informing Hill’s son, some three hundred miles away. But her face had looked like that when she’d informed the Burnettes in person.

  Hill’s family wasn’t just an entry in Mia Mitchell’s -notebook. She’d insisted on using Penny Hill’s name, rather than the victim. She cared. He liked that.

  A yawn cracked his jaw. It had been a sleepless night and an afternoon of reading the fine print of case files loomed. He carried two cups of coffee to the cash register, then froze as his eyes dropped to the stack of newspapers at his feet.

  “Will that be all?” the cashier asked.

  Reed glanced up, then back down to the paper. “The coffee and a paper. Thanks.”

  When he got outside, she’d finished her call and was staring straight ahead. But when he knocked on her window she was quick to respond, rolling it down so she could take the coffee from his hands. “What’s that?” she asked, looking at the paper.

  “Your friend Carmichael. She was following you last night.”

  “Dammit,” she said, scanning the page. “It’s not the first time she’s followed me to a crime scene. It’s like she has radar or something. I wonder when the woman sleeps.”

  “I wonder where she was hiding. I checked the crowd. I should have seen her.”

  “She seems able to disappear. If she saw us, she would have hidden.”

  Reed started the engine. “How’d she get the story in this morning’s edition?”

  One side of her mouth lifted wryly. “The Bulletin goes to press at one a.m.”

  “You know this from experience.”

  She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not the first time. Looks like she’s got a couple of big stories on the front page. The fire is above the fold and me tackling DuPree yesterday -afternoon is below.” She made a hissing sound. “She named Penny Hill. Dammit.”

  He’d seen that. “You were able to inform the family before they found out?”

  She looked glum as she read on. “The son, yes. Not the daughter.”

  “It says the authorities were unavailable for comment.”

  “Which means she called me on my office line while I was at the scene. She’s a real piece of work.” She sighed. “The neighbors talked, after I asked them not to.”

  “Some people like to see their name in print.”

  “Hopefully you do, because you’re in the article, too.” She busied herself adding cream to her coffee, using the box on her lap as a tray. “Stay still, cat,” she muttered when the box shifted. “Says here that you’re decorated. So dish, Solliday.”

  “A few citations, like yours. Next stop is the lab so we can get rid of that cat.”

  Mitchell patted the box. “Poor kitty.”

  “Dirty kitty.” Reed pulled out into traffic. “That cat reeks.”

  She laughed. “He does have a certain... bouquet. What, don’t you like animals?”

  “Clean ones, yes. My daughter has a puppy. Big muddy paws all over everything.”

  “I always wanted a pet.” She said it almost wistfully.

  “So get one.”

  “Too much guilt. I tried goldfish once. Kind of a test. I failed. I pulled a thirty-six-hour shift and when I got home I was so tired I forgot to feed it. Fluffy ended up floating.”

  He had to smile. “Fluffy? You named a goldfish Fluffy?”

  “I didn’t. My friend Dana’s foster kids did. It was kind of a group effort. Anyway, all my friends have pets so I just play with theirs. That way I can’t hurt anything.” She sipped her coffee, quiet for so long that he turned to look at her. Immediately she straightened her back, as if she’d realized her thoughts had drifted. “Penny Hill’s son said he’d drive up to claim his mother’s body. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

  “What about Hill’s daughter? The neighbor thought she lived in Milwaukee.”

  “The son said his sister got divorced recently and moved back to Chicago.”

  “Do you have her address?”

  “Yeah. She’s about a half hour from here.”

  “Then let’s drop off Percy and pay her a visit.”

  Mitchell sighed. “I just hope she doesn’t read the Bulletin.”

  Tuesday, November 28, 12:10 P.M.

  Manny Rodriguez looked both ways before throwing the newspaper into the garbage outside the cafeteria. Behind Brooke, Julian swore softly. “You were right,” he said.

  “I saw him with the newspaper at the end of first period. You want to fish it out?”

  Julian lifted the lid. “This is the Bulletin. Yesterday was the Trib.”

  “Both are available at the front desk,” she said.

  “Well, whatever he cut out was front-page news. You go eat your lunch. I’ll check to see what Mr. Rodriguez was reading. It could just be an article about sports.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  He shook his head. “No. Did you have any issues with him today during class?”

  “No. He was actually very quiet. He didn’t say a word, even when we started talking about the signal fire in the book. It was like he was bothered by something.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Brooke. I really appreciate your help in this.”

  With a frown Brooke watched Julian walk away. He didn’t seem very worried by any of this. Maybe I’m just green, she thought. Maybe I’m just making a big deal out of nothing. But she didn’t think so. She wondered what other items Manny collected. She wondered if Julian would have Manny’s room searched. If he didn’t, he should. I would.

  “Brooke? Is something wrong?” Devin was coming out of the cafeteria.

  “I’m just worried about Manny. He’s clipping newspaper articles about arson.”

  Devin frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Did you tell Julian?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t seem very concerned. What does it take to have a student’s room searched?”

  “A valid concern. I’d say yours qualifies, Brooke. Talk to the security dean. He’d want to know something like this.”

  Brooke considered Bart Secrest, the dour-faced head of security. He made her nervous. “Julian might think I’m going around him.”

  “He’ll understand. Let me know if you want me to go with you to talk to Bart later. Bart looks mean, but he’s really a cream puff.”

  “A cream puff.” She shook her head. “Sour cream maybe.”

  Devin just grinned. “Talk to Bart. His bark is far worse than his bite.”

  Tuesday, November 28, 12:30 P.M.

  Jack’s team was at Penny Hill’s house when she and Solliday got there. Instead of Jack’s normal smile, she was met with a scowl. “Thanks a lot, Mia.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  “What were you thinking, dropping a damn cat off at the lab?”

  Mia’s lips twitched. “He’s evidence, Jack.”

  Jack’s scowl deepened. “You ever try to bathe a cat?”

  “Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I’m bad with pets.”

  Behind her Solliday chuckled. “Just ask Fluffy the goldfish.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Next time you drop off a live -animal, call first, okay?” He motioned them to follow him. “Cover your feet. We think we found something.”

  CSU had gridded off the kitchen and Ben was sift
ing through debris near the stove. Ben looked up, sweat running lines through the grime on his face. “Hey, Reed. Detective.”

  “Ben.” Solliday looked around with a frown. “You find anything?”

  “More egg fragments, just like the other house. I sent them to the lab to see if there were any pieces big enough for prints. And then there’s the floor. Show ’em, Jack.”

  Jack stopped near where they’d found Hill’s body. He ran a gloved finger along the floor and showed them a finely ground dust, dark brown.

  Mia immediately sensed a change in Solliday as he grabbed Jack’s hand and held it up to the light. “Blood,” he said, then looked back at Mia. “Or it was. At temperatures of this fire, the proteins begin to degrade. It was too dark to see this last night.”

  “There was a lot of blood,” Jack said. “It soaked through the seams in the linoleum.”

  Mia stared at the floor, in her mind seeing Hill’s body as they’d found it, curled up in a fetal ball, her wrists still bound together. “So he shot her, too?”

  Jack shrugged. “Barrington could tell you for sure.”

  “You find any prints in that blood?” she asked.

  “No.” Jack stood up. “We haven’t found any prints anywhere. He probably wore gloves. But...” He led them to the front door. “Look here.”

  The doorknob had a brown smear. “He came out this way with bloody hands,” Solliday said. “It’s consistent with the neighbor’s story. He heard tires squeal, then saw Hill’s car tearing down the street.”

  Jack tapped the air above the newel post. “Now look here.”

  Mia got close to the wood, then looked up at Solliday. “Brown hair caught in the wood grain. They fought here.”

  “Just like Caitlin,” Solliday murmured.

  “We’ll bag that and take it in,” Jack said. “The brown hair has gray roots, so I’m thinking it’s your victim’s and not the killer’s. Sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t think she’d be strong enough to knock his head into the newel post,” Mia agreed as she pushed at the front door, checking out the tree-lined front porch. The evergreens had been badly burned but neighbors had told her that the trees had been full and thick. “You didn’t find any -evidence of forced entry on the back door, did you?”

  “None,” Jack confirmed.

  “Char patterns indicate the back door was closed through the fire,” Solliday added.

  “Then he probably came in through the front. He could have easily concealed himself behind those trees and waited for her to come home. It’s late. She’s tired. I talked to her supervisor this morning when I called to get her next-of-kin info. He said she’d had a little too much of the punch at her retirement party. When I first called he thought I was calling to say she’d been hauled in for DUI.”

  “So she’s unsteady on her feet,” Jack said. “He waits for her to open the front door, then pushes in behind her and knocks her into the post.”

  “He surprised Caitlin inside the house. He was waiting for Penny outside in the cold. Why didn’t he just break in?” Mia scanned the wall. “I don’t see an alarm panel.”

  “There isn’t one,” Solliday said. “Here or on the back door.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she said with a frown. “He waits for her outside in twenty-degree weather, pushes his way in, overpowers her, then forces her to the kitchen where he shoots her, sets the place on fire, then steals her car.”

  “We found her car yet?” Jack asked.

  “Not yet.” Mia looked around the foyer. “Did you sweep this area?”

  “Twice,” Jack said dryly. “Debris’s on its way to the lab.”

  She ignored his tone. “Did you find a shopping bag of presents? Or a briefcase?”

  “No, neither.”

  “Her supervisor said she left the party at 11:15 last night with a bag full of gifts and her briefcase. He thought we’d find her Day Planner in the briefcase.”

  “It was late,” Solliday said. “Maybe she left the bags in her car.”

  “Maybe.” Mia drew in a breath. “I’d sure as hell like to have her Day Planner.”

  Jack made a sympathetic grimace. “No chance she had GPS in her car?”

  “No. Her car was ten years old and her son said she didn’t have any fancy electronics.” She blew out a breath. “I’m still stuck on why he waited for her here. Why didn’t he break in the back door like he did at the Doughertys’ house? It’s not like she had a big... Hell. Wait.” Quickly she walked back to the kitchen, and carefully stepped her way across the grid to the cabinet. It had collapsed along with the counter. Glass and ceramic pieces littered the floor. “Did you check through this stuff yet, Ben?”

  “Not yet,” Ben said.

  Mia crouched down and started picking through the -pottery.

  Jack crouched down next to her. “What are you looking for?”

  “Something like... this.” She pulled a thick fragment out of the pile, between her thumb and forefinger. She wiped the fragment clean and held it up. “Paw print.”

  Solliday sucked in one cheek. “A dog dish. She had a dog.”

  “Who is AWOL,” Mia said flatly. “I don’t get this guy. He lies in wait for this woman, shoots her and leaves her to burn, but he spares the dog just like he spared Percy.”

  “He doesn’t fit the profile,” Solliday said. “Most arsonists would have killed the pets.”

  “None of the neighbors mentioned a dog,” Mia said. “Why not?”

  Solliday’s brows rose. “Let’s ask them.”

  “I have Mr. Wright’s number.” She dialed her cell. “Mr. Wright? This is Detective Mitchell. I talked to you last night. I have a question. Did Mrs. Hill have a dog?”

  “No, but her daughter did. I didn’t even think... Oh, God, that poor animal. He was a nice dog, too. Her daughter’s apartment didn’t allow dogs, so Penny kept the dog.”

  “Daughter’s dog,” Mia mouthed. “What kind of dog is it, Mr. Wright?”

  “Golden retriever, Great Dane mix. He was huge, but friendly. Penny would joke...”

  Mia could hear him take a shuddering breath. “She would joke what?” she asked.

  “That the dog was so friendly it would lead a burglar to the silver for a Milk-Bone.”

  “Mr. Wright, if you see him wandering the neighborhood, can you call me? Thank you.” She hung up with a sigh. “Big dog. Dane-golden mix. That’s why he waited. The dog was big. He thought he was vicious.”

  “But he didn’t shoot him when he had the chance,” -Solliday commented.

  “Have you talked to the daughter?” Jack asked.

  “No. I called a half dozen times and we stopped by her apartment, but the landlord said she hadn’t been home since Saturday morning. Her car’s gone.”

  “You checked the inside of her place?”

  “Under the circumstances we thought it was prudent,” Solliday said. “But she wasn’t there. Her answering machine was flashing with a number of calls. Mia called for a warrant, so if we don’t hear from her in a few hours, we’ll go back.”

  Mia blinked, a little startled at hearing him use her first name. He’d started calling Jack by his first name, too. Apparently the lieutenant was feeling more at home. Unfortunately Mia wasn’t ready to let him settle in. She was still Abe’s partner.

  But before she could reply, Solliday’s cell phone rang. “It’s Barrington,” he told them. “What do you have, Sam?” He listened for a moment. “We’ll be right down.” He flipped his phone closed, his mouth gone flat. “He’s got something.”

  Tuesday, November 28, 1:35 P.M.

  “He’s autopsying somebody else’s case right now,” Sam’s tech told them, motioning to the door. “You can go in and talk to him through the glass.”

  “Can’t he come out here?” Mitchell asked, then squared her jaw. “I just ate, okay?”

  The tech chuckled. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Hill’s body is going to be worse than an autopsy,”
Reed cautioned quietly.

  “I know. I remember.” She closed her eyes for a second, just long enough for a shudder to shake her. “I hate to watch them cutting. I know it makes me a wuss, but—”

  “It’s all right, Mia,” he interrupted.

  “So we’re on a first-name basis now,” she said. “I thought you’d slipped before. You must have decided to keep me after all,” she added, her voice hard with sarcasm.

  “The first time was a slip,” he admitted. “But why stand on formality now?”

  “Why indeed?” she murmured, then turned as Sam emerged, pulling at the surgical mask he wore. “What do you have?” she asked.

  Sam walked to a sheet-covered body. “Your vic had carbon monoxide in her lungs.”

  “Whoa,” she said.

  “Wait,” Reed said at the same time. “CSU found blood at the scene. We thought he’d shot her like he shot Caitlin Burnette.”

  “No. X-rays show skull shattering, consistent with the pressure caused by the high temperature. No vent holes this time. She was alive when the fire started.”

  Mitchell’s brows had snapped together. “How long was she alive?”

  “Carbon monoxide levels indicate maybe two to five -minutes. Not much more.”

  Reed was almost afraid to ask. “Was she conscious?”

  “I didn’t find any evidence of pre-mortem head trauma.”

  Mitchell’s face had gone a bit pale. Reed drew a breath, unable to imagine the pain the woman must have experienced if she had been conscious. Grasping at straws, he asked, “Is it possible she was drugged, Sam?”

  “I’ve sent out for a tox screen to look for drugs in her system. Her bladder was essentially destroyed, so I couldn’t do a urine tox. The blood samples I took indicated a blood alcohol level of .08. That’s a lot of alcohol for a woman of her size.”

  “She’d been to a party,” Mitchell murmured, then straightened her spine and strengthened her voice. “If he didn’t shoot her, then where did the blood come from?”

  Carefully Barrington pulled back the sheet and Reed felt Mitchell tense beside him. “I have to be careful,” Barrington said. “The body’s very fragile. But come here.” He moved to one side, motioning them closer. “Look at her arms.”

  Hill’s torso was black, but her arms and legs were blistered, the skin loose and... Reed’s stomach took a roll and beside him, Mitchell’s swallow was audible.