by Karen Rose
“Only half. Oh, and he let the cat out again.”
“Where is Percy?” Reed asked.
“In my car. He’s clean this time. If you’re ready, I still want to go to Burnette’s.”
“Let’s go.” He waited for her to leave, then groaned. An Action News van sat on the side of the road, a well-groomed Holly Wheaton standing in the street. He felt Mia tense next to him. “Don’t say anything,” he murmured. “Please. No matter how much you want to rip off her face. Don’t mention Kelsey or her story. Let me say ‘no comment.’”
Holly walked up to them, a feral gleam in her eye. “This is the fourth fire the arsonist has set this week. What are the police doing to keep the people of Chicago safe?”
“No comment,” Reed said and walked faster, but Holly was not to be deterred.
“The victims here were Mr. and Mrs. Joe Dougherty, the same couple whose house was destroyed last Saturday night.”
Mia stopped and Reed wanted to protest. But he’d cut her off at the knees the last time the two dueled. This time he’d keep his mouth shut. As long as he could, anyway.
“We don’t release the names of victims until their families have been notified.” She looked directly at the camera very soberly. “It’s our department policy and it’s the humane thing to do. I hope you agree. Now, if you’ll allow us to get back to our jobs.”
“Detective Mitchell, Caitlin Burnette will be buried today. Will you be there?”
Mia kept walking and Reed started to draw an easy breath.
“Detective Mitchell, some have said the murder of Caitlin Burnette was related to her father’s career. Do you think a child should be punished for the sins of her father?”
Mia paused, her body snapping rigid. Her head turned, her mouth opened to spit out what would no doubt have been a scathing retort on Burnette’s behalf. Then Reed felt the abrupt change as her shoulders relaxed. She stepped up her pace. “Follow me,” she said, her voice low so that only he could hear. “Holly might have something.”
Chapter Nineteen
Friday, December 1, 5:40 A.M.
Mia met him at the curb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to follow us here.”
Reed looked around. It was a well-kept neighborhood. “Where is here?”
“Blennard’s daughter’s house. Something Wheaton said about the sins of the father made me think.”
“Wheaton was just trying to get a rise out of you, Mia.”
“I know.” She started walking up the front walk. “But what if the Doughertys were killed because of the sins of Joe Junior’s parents? And based on the way Donna Dougherty died, the sins of his mother? Blennard said the Doughertys were always taking in boys.”
Realization dawned. “Foster parents. And they’re both Joe Dougherty. Joe Junior never even needed to change the name on the mailbox. He killed the wrong couple.”
“I think so. I tried calling to confirm with Joe Senior, but the cops in Florida say his heart attack was really bad. He’s intubated, so he can’t talk. But maybe Blennard remembers something.” She rang the bell and a man came to the door. “I’m Detective Mitchell and this is my partner, Lieutenant Solliday. We need to talk to Mrs. Blennard.”
“Clyde, who is it?” Mrs. Blennard came to the man’s side, the hearing aid now in her ear. Her eyes widened. “What can I do for you, Detectives?”
“Ma’am,” Mia started. “You said the Doughertys ‘took in lost boys.’ Did you mean they were foster parents?”
“Yes. For ten years or more after Joe Junior moved away and got married. Why?” Her old eyes sharpened. “The other woman killed, Penny Hill... she was a social worker.”
One side of Mia’s mouth lifted in respect. “Yes, ma’am. Do you remember any trouble they had with anyone? The boys? Their families maybe?”
She frowned, thinking. “It’s been a long time. I know they took in a lot of boys. I’m sorry, Detective, I can’t remember. You should ask Joe Senior. I’ll get you his number.”
“It’s all right. I called him.” Mia hesitated. “Ma’am, he didn’t take the news well.”
The old cheeks went a shade paler. “His heart’s been bad for years. Is he dead?”
“No, but he’s not good.” She tore a page from her notebook and scrawled a name. “This is the officer I talked to in Florida. Now, we have to go. Thank you.”
“He spared Joe Junior and stopped in the middle of his revenge against the woman he thought was Laura -Dougherty,” she said when they were outside.
“Because he realized he had the wrong woman. It makes sense. Nice job.”
“Would have been nicer if I’d figured it out sooner.” She stopped at her car where the white cat lay curled on her seat. “Now we have to find a list of all the kids Penny Hill placed with the Doughertys.”
“And figure out which kid is connected to White.”
“Or whatever his name is. Move over, Percy.” She got in, shoved the cat to the passenger seat. “But first, I have to talk to Burnette.”
“I’ll follow you there.”
Friday, December 1, 6:05 A.M.
Mia was waiting at the curb. “The house is dark,” he said. “They’re probably asleep.”
Mia turned only her head, leveled him a sober look. “Reed, he’s going to bury his daughter today. Burnette thinks he’s responsible. If it were Beth... Could you sleep?”
Harshly he cleared his throat. “No. I couldn’t.” They walked up the sidewalk to the door where the picture of the turkey still hung. Such a small thing, but it made his chest hurt. Time had stood still for this family. For a week, a father had lived with the knowledge that he’d been a tool in his child’s brutal murder. If it had been Beth...
Mia knocked. The door opened to Roger Burnette, his face haggard and worn.
“Can we come in?” Mia asked and he nodded wordlessly and led them inside.
In the living room, Burnette stopped with his back to them and Reed couldn’t help noticing that the room which had been so neat and tidy before now... was not. Mostly there was clutter. But in one wall there was a hole, waist-high and fist-sized and Reed could picture a father tormented by grief and rage and guilt putting it there.
Burnette slowly turned. “You caught him.” It was barely a murmur.
Mia shook her head. “Not yet.”
Burnette’s chin lifted, eyes cold. “Then why are you here?”
Mia met the man’s eyes without wavering. “We found out tonight that the real target at the Doughertys’ house was the previous homeowners. Joe Dougherty’s parents.” She paused, let it sink in. “Not Caitlin. And not you.”
For a moment Burnette stood, rigid and unmoving. Then he nodded. “Thank you.”
She swallowed. “Try to sleep now, sir. We’ll see ourselves out.”
They’d turned for the door when Reed heard the first sob. More like the cry of a wounded animal than a man. But it wasn’t the expression on Burnette’s face that stabbed Reed’s heart the deepest. It was the expression on Mia’s. A naked, desperate longing that before last night Reed would not have understood.
Roger Burnette had loved his child. Bobby Mitchell had not.
Shaken, Reed took her arm and gently pulled. “Let’s go,” he murmured.
“Detective.”
Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Mia turned back. “Sir?”
“I’m sorry, Detective. I was wrong.”
Reed frowned, but Mia seemed to know what he meant. “It’s all right,” she said.
“No, it’s not. I said some terrible things. You are a good cop. Everyone says so. Your father would have been very proud and I was out of line to say anything different.”
The nod she gave Burnette was harsh. “Thank you, sir.”
Under Reed’s hand, she trembled violently. “We’ll be going now,” Reed said. “Again, our condolences.” He waited until they stood at the curb. “What was that?”
She wouldn’t look at him. “He came by last night. After you left. He wa
s not pleased that we had not caught the man who mutilated and killed his child.”
Fury took him by surprise. “The bruise on your arm?”
“It was nothing. He’s a grief-stricken father.”
“That didn’t give him the right to put his hands on you.” Reed’s own hands clenched.
“No, it didn’t.” She started walking. “But at least he cared.”
“And your father wouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Mia.”
Her hand faltered on the car door. “Yeah. Well.” She sniffed at her sleeve. “I smell like a stale fireplace. I’m going back to Lauren’s for a shower before morning meeting. Do you think she’d mind if I brought Percy with me? He’s had kind of a hard week.”
The subject of Bobby Mitchell was closed. For now. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you at Spinnelli’s at eight.”
He stood frowning as she drove away. She’d pulled away and he didn’t want to admit that it stung. But it did. This, he supposed, was the flip side to no-strings. He could walk away when he wanted to. So could she.
It was what he wanted. What she’d said she needed. Now he had to wonder if either of them truly knew what they were doing.
Friday, December 1, 7:10 A.M.
“There,” Mia muttered as she poured kitty litter into the plastic box as Percy watched. “Don’t say I never bought you anything.” She opened a can of cat food and dumped it in the bowl that said cat she’d thrown in the Wal-Mart cart on impulse on her way back to Lauren’s. She put the bowl on the floor and sat as Percy chowed down.
“I’m an idiot,” she murmured aloud to no one at all, cringing as she thought of all she’d told Reed last night. But in his arms it had seemed a natural thing to do. He was a good listener and... hell. She’d become a typical female, spilling her guts in pillow talk after mind-blowing sex. She rolled her eyes, mortified now.
“I’m an idiot.” She’d laid herself bare to a man who’d been honest enough to say he only wanted her for mind-blowing sex. This morning, standing in Burnette’s living room, Reed Solliday had seen and understood way too much. And he’d pitied her.
The thought rankled, burned deep. She’d wanted him on equal terms. Sex. No strings. Pity completely fucked that up.
She looked around Lauren’s kitchen. She didn’t belong here. That he’d manipulated her into coming here proved they’d never really been on equal terms. She should just pack her bag and leave. She eyed the cat. Maybe Dana would take him.
Dana owed her that much, with all that damn talk of hamburger and having it all.
She stood up. Dana would take the damn cat. Then tomorrow she’d find a new place. Give Lauren back her house. And as for Solliday... She had to be honest. No need to throw out the baby with the bathwater. She still wanted mind-blowing sex. So first, she had to get them back on equal terms. No more pillow talk. No more pity.
Friday, December 1, 8:10 A.M.
“Well, at least we finally have the connection,” Spinnelli said grimly.
“By noon we should have a list of names,” Mia said from the opposite end of the table, where she’d very deliberately placed herself. “Social Services is going through all the files from the period when the older Doughertys were foster parents.”
“Before we only took Penny Hill’s files for the last two years,” Reed added, trying not to focus on the fact that she hadn’t looked at him once. “We never would have found them listed. Once we get names, we can start matching them to his picture.”
Spinnelli went to the whiteboard. “Okay, we’ve got some irons in the fire now. I want to know who the hell this guy really is and where he lives.” He was making notes on the board as he spoke. “I want to tie him to the first two fires with something more than access to the plastic eggs and I want to know why the hell he’s doing all this.
“Murphy, you and Aidan find out where he lives. Continue showing the teacher’s picture in the area where we found the car he used to get away from Brooke Adler’s. Find somebody who knows this guy outside of Hope Center. Jack, have we found anything physical tying him to either the Doughertys’ house or Penny Hill’s house?”
“There’s nothing left in the houses that we haven’t sifted through,” Jack said.
“We never found Penny Hill’s car,” Reed said. “Maybe he left something there.”
“Penny’s boss gave us a list of the gifts she got at the retirement party.” Mia rubbed the back of her neck wearily. “If somebody found her car, they may have hocked them.”
“I’ll have someone check the pawnshops,” Spinnelli said. “Mia, anything from Atlantic City PD?”
“Not yet. I’ll call them to see if they found either of our guys on their tapes.” She squinted at the board. “We’re -missing something. We need to know why he’s doing this but also why now? Miles said that something triggered this to happen now.”
“What do you recommend?” Spinnelli asked.
“I dunno. But I still get a very strange feeling from that school. He taught for six months, then all of a sudden goes on an arson and murder spree. Why?”
“You talked to the teachers about Brooke,” Spinnelli said. “Ask them about White.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“I want to know how he knew where to find the Doughertys last night,” Reed said. “They checked into the Beacon Inn on Tuesday. Judith Blennard said they came to her house Wednesday afternoon. He found them Thursday night. He couldn’t have been waiting all day for them to leave because he was at Hope Center teaching.”
“The hotel must have told him,” Mia said. “We should go by on our way to Hope.”
“Aidan, you take Atlantic City PD. Mia and Reed will cover the hotel and the school.”
Aidan wrote it in his own little book. “Will do.”
“Anything else?” Spinnelli asked.
“Caitlin Burnette’s funeral is at ten,” Mia said. “Do you think he’ll go? Should we?”
“I’ll handle that,” Spinnelli said. “Jack’s got video surveillance planned and I’ll be in the congregation. I honestly don’t think he’ll be there. Caitlin was an accident, but I’ll watch. You’re all dismissed. Call me with any news. I have a press conference at two this afternoon and I’d like to look reasonably capable. Mia, stay for a minute.”
Reed waited outside the door, but he could still hear.
“Kelsey got moved at oh-seven-hundred this morning. She’s safe.”
Reed heard her tired sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Oh, and Mia, try to catch a few hours’ sleep. You look terrible.”
Her chuckle was wry. “Thank you.”
Reed fell into step alongside her when she came through the door. “I think you look pretty damn good,” he murmured.
He’d hoped she’d laugh, but the look she sent him was almost grave and sent a sudden shaft of panic through his heart. It was the first time she’d really looked at him since leaving Burnette’s house. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He said nothing until they were sitting inside the SUV. “What’s wrong?”
“Just tired. I have to make some time to go apartment hunting tomorrow.”
He felt the breath leave his lungs. “What?”
She smiled at him, but it was cool. “I never expected to put Lauren out for more than a night or two. Reed, staying at your place was temporary. We both knew that.”
Temporary. He was beginning to dislike that word. But she was right. He hadn’t planned to oust Lauren from her side of the duplex forever. So for how long had you planned to have Mia stay? Until your craving was satisfied? Until you got tired of her?
Yes. No. Hell. “And us?”
She was perfectly calm and his heart was pounding which irritated the hell out of him. “For as long as we want to continue. Let’s get to work. Beacon Inn, please.”
Jaw tight, he pulled into traffic and made it to the next light when her cell phone rang.
“
This is Mitchell... Yeah, put him through. Mr. Secrest, what can I do for you?” She bolted upright. “When?... Have you touched anything?... Fine. We’ll be right there.”
Reed pulled into the left lane to do a U-turn back toward Hope Center. “What?”
“Jeff DeMartino is dead.”
Friday, December 1, 8:55 A.M.
“He didn’t respond to the morning wake-up call so the guard called the nurse,” Secrest said. “The nurse called me and I called you.” The boy lay on his back, skin waxen, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. CSU was already snapping pictures.
“When was the last time anybody saw him alive?” Mia demanded.
“The guards check every room in this unit every thirty minutes during the night. He was here in his bed.” Secrest looked frustrated. “The closest anybody can remember seeing him walking, talking, and breathing was last night at nine thirty. That’s his group’s assigned shower hour.”
“Excuse me.” Sam Barrington stepped inside the room, filling it further.
“We got the big guns this time,” Mia murmured and Reed hushed her.
“Nobody’s touched him, Sam,” Reed said.
“Where’s the nurse? I want his medical history five -minutes ago.”
Secrest held it out. “She pulled his file right after she called me.”
“Where is she?” Sam repeated, pulling on gloves. “I want her here.”
Secrest gave the folder to Mia with a scowl. “She’s in the infirmary. I’ll call her.”
Sam crouched close to examine the boy. “Spinnelli asked me to come. The victim’s been dead at least ten hours. No obvious wounds or trauma... except...”
Reed stepped to Sam’s left, Mia to his right. “Except what?” she asked.
“This.” Sam held up the boy’s hand. “He’s got a cut on his thumb and it’s fresh.”
“Before-dead fresh or after-dead fresh?” she asked.
“Before. Just before.” Sam stared down at the boy. “Let me see his file.” Mia passed it to him and Sam scanned. “He was healthy. No heart issues, no asthma.”
“Just a little cut,” Mia mused. “Where’s the blood from the cut?”
“There’s a smudge on the blanket,” the CSU tech said. “Right on the edge.”