Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  Carmichael chuckled as she walked away. “Last one to Looney’s is a rotten egg.”

  “I take it we’re taking a detour on our way to the sorority,” Reed said dryly and Mitchell looked up, surprise in her round blue eyes.

  “This is mine to do. If you drop me off at the precinct, I’ll drive myself.”

  “Show me full rotation. Wind it up like you’re going to pitch from the mound.”

  She tried to throw the paper football into the garbage and grimaced. “Shit. That hurts.”

  “You need to be back on disability, but you’re not going to do that, are you?”

  She met his gaze directly. “My partner was shot down like a dog in the street, Solliday. He’s a good man and he was nearly worm food. The punk ass that did it is bragging. If it were you, would you go home and climb under the covers like a little girl?”

  She had a way of articulating her thoughts so very clearly. “No. I wouldn’t. Look, I’ll drive you, but you call Spinnelli first. You get backup or I’ll call this in myself.”

  She stood up, her expression determined. “It’s my -collar.”

  “That’s fine. You get your collar, then we get back to -Caitlin Burnette.”

  “Let’s rock and roll, Solliday. With any luck, the vermin will be gathering at their local watering hole. We could be at the university by two-thirty. Three at the latest.”

  Reed picked up their trays and slid the garbage into the can. “Three. Right.”

  Monday, November 27, 4:00 P.M.

  “Hello, may I speak to Emily Richter, please?”

  “If you’re selling something—”

  “I’m not, ma’am,” he cut in quickly. “My name is Harry Porter. I’m with the Trib.”

  “I talked with you guys already.”

  “I know,” he said soothingly. “But I’m looking for a comment from the homeowners, the Doughertys. Do you know where I can find them?”

  She sniffed. “They’re not home. They’re on vacation.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.”

  “You people at the paper should really talk to each other instead of bothering me,” she snapped and he wanted to snap her neck. But for now, he needed her.

  He’d try again tomorrow. He pocketed his cell with a scowl and pushed Laura Dougherty from his mind. Tonight was Penny Hill’s turn to dance. He couldn’t wait.

  Monday, November 27, 4:00 P.M.

  Mrs. Schuster looked up from her computer when Brooke came into the library. “Hello, Brooke. What can I do for you today?”

  Brooke pointed to the periodical rack. “I just wanted to look at today’s paper.”

  “The sports section is gone,” she said, with a resigned little sigh. “Devin took it. He’s working the stats so he can win the football pool next week. I think a math teacher doing the pool is an unfair advantage. Like insider trading.”

  Brooke chuckled. “I take it you lost this week.”

  Mrs. Schuster grinned. “Big-time. Take your time with the paper, Brooke.”

  “Thanks.” Brooke flipped to page A-12. And sighed. The article Manny had ripped out was about a home fire. The house had burned to the ground. One fatality.

  She made two copies of the article, wondering how many others Manny had clipped. Although the boy couldn’t set fires at Hope Center, Manny was at least feeding his addiction passively. It would be one more thing they could discuss in therapy.

  She stopped in the mailroom and slid one of the copies into an envelope for Julian Thompson. She’d just put it in his box when the door opened and Devin White came in with two other teachers. It was the end of the day when everyone stopped in to check their boxes, so his coming in wasn’t any real surprise. Still her heart gave a little jolt.

  “Brooke.” Jackie Kersey gave Brooke an encouraging smile. “We’re all going out for a drink. Come with us.”

  Brooke made a quick glance in Devin’s direction, but his face was averted, looking in his box which was on the very bottom row. From this vantage point, she had a very nice view of his rear end. “I really shouldn’t,” she murmured.

  Jackie’s lips twitched, noting the direction Brooke’s gaze had taken. “It’s happy hour at Flannagan’s, two for one. I’ll order a beer and you can have my second.”

  Devin looked up from his mail and smiled. “Come on, Brooke. It’ll do you good.”

  She laughed, a little too breathlessly. “I was just going home to grade papers anyway. I’ll meet you all there.”

  Chapter Five

  Monday, November 27, 5:20 P.M.

  Mia opened her eyes when Solliday stopped the SUV. They sat in front of a convenience store. “Why are we here?” Mia asked stiffly. Every square inch of her body ached like she’d been put through a meat grinder. But worse yet would be having to tell Abe that the bastard who’d shot him was still on the streets.

  He lifted a brow. “I had three cups of coffee waiting for your pal.”

  Mia winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would take that long.” They’d sat for two hours when DuPree finally showed up with his arm in a sling. Still they’d waited for Getts, the shooter, until she’d spotted DuPree sneaking out the back door. He’d taken off at a run and she’d had no choice but to take him down. Even with his arm in a sling, he’d been a fighter. “You should have interviewed the girls at the sorority house.”

  “What, and miss the fun?” he said dryly. “Watching you take down a drugged-out SOB twice your size was worth the price of admission, even if you didn’t catch Getts.”

  “Slimy little sonofabitch,” she snarled softly. “He must have made us.”

  “You’ll get Getts. And you can sleep tonight knowing his pal’s in a six-by-eight.”

  He looked positive and sincere. In fact, he looked damn impressed. Maybe she’d been given a second chance to make a first impression. “Thanks for driving through that back alley and cutting DuPree off. At least I can give my partner that tonight. Let’s get to the sorority so you can get home.”

  He got out of the SUV. “Later. The second reason we’re here is that I’m starving and you need something in your gut so you can take some more medicine for that pain. It’s a wonder you didn’t dislocate your shoulder. What do you take on your hot dog?”

  “Anything except ketchup. Thanks, Solliday.”

  All day she’d walked beside Reed Solliday, feeling small. Now she could watch him as he walked through the store. He moved with a fluid grace unusual for a man his size. And watching Solliday move, she thought of Guy. The comparison had been inevitable, she supposed. It had been a while since she’d thought of Guy LeCroix, which was telling in itself, but now she remembered with stunning clarity.

  Guy had moved just like that. It’s what had attracted her from the beginning, that panther grace in a big man. He’d thought he loved her, but ultimately wanted far more than she could give. She didn’t really miss him, which was also telling. But she hadn’t wanted to hurt him either. She hoped he’d found what he was looking for with his new wife, that he was happy. Since Guy the well had been relatively dry. She’d seen a few men here and there. Mostly there. Nobody serious.

  Thinking objectively in the quiet of her mind, she could admit none were better looking than Reed Solliday, even though he did look like Satan when he did the eyebrow thing. Although that little goatee of his did frame a nice mouth. Mia imagined a mouth that nice would prove an asset in -certain areas. As would that panther grace.

  Mrs. Solliday must be a very content woman. For a split second, Mia felt a twinge of wistful envy for Mrs. Solliday, whoever she was. But quickly she squelched it. She didn’t do cops. It was her life’s mantra. But he’s not a cop. “He’s close enough,” she murmured aloud. Still, a girl could watch. Reed Solliday was a very watchable man.

  He was at the counter now, paying for their food. The clerk frowned, then dumped a handful of change into the sack Solliday held open. Shaking his head Solliday opened his door, and corralling her wayward thou
ghts, Mia took the food from his hands.

  “My biggest fear is that Beth will bring home a guy like that and I’ll have to pretend to like him,” he grumbled, settling into his seat. From the sack he pulled a handful of packets. “The condiment pumps were empty. You’ll have to make do with these.”

  “I’m sure I’ve had worse. Come to think of it, I have worse every time Abe picks the place we eat. He’s into that vegetarian crap. Thank you.” Mia ripped open one of the mustard packets while Solliday opened the center console between the seats. Nestled among a half dozen cassette tapes was a mason jar half-filled with change. Solliday poured the change from the sack into the jar and closed the console lid.

  Mia blinked at him. “Wow. You’ve got to have ten bucks in change in that thing.”

  “Probably.” He took one of the hot dogs and proceeded to eat it plain.

  Appalled, she gaped. “No toppings? Not even mustard?”

  He looked at the hot dog with distaste, hesitating. Then he shrugged. “I have trouble manipulating small items.”

  The jar of change now made sense. “Like pennies and nickels?”

  He took a bite and made a resigned face. “Yep.”

  “And mustard packets?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Give me your damn hot dog, -Solliday. I’ll put on the mustard.”

  He handed it over. “Relish, too?”

  She shook her head. “Relish, too. Why didn’t you just ask?”

  He shrugged again. “Pride, I guess.”

  “Given your assessment of me this morning, I should think it would be shame,” she shot back and he laughed. He had a nice laugh, deep and rich, and his smile changed his face from Satan to... well, wow. For a moment she stared. Wow. Then with a hard blink she dropped her eyes to the carton in her lap. Mrs. Solliday was a very lucky lady.

  “Touché, Mitchell. Although for the record, as of this afternoon I’m duly impressed with your capability. I haven’t seen a move like that since high school.”

  She handed him his food. “Let me guess. Linebacker?”

  “Tight end. But that was a long time ago.”

  They ate in silence, then Mia folded her wrapper. “So what happened?”

  He eyed her over the last bite of his hot dog. “None of your business.”

  She laughed. “Touché, Solliday. Give me your trash, I’ll throw it away.” When she climbed back into the cab, he was pocketing his cell phone. “Emergency?”

  “No. I just needed to call home.”

  Mia sighed. “I’m sorry again. You have a family to get home to.”

  “My hours are as flexible as yours. I have somebody to take care of Beth when I have to work at night. Take something for your shoulder.”

  So there was no Mrs. Solliday. The sudden thump of her heart was merely interest, Mia told herself, not relief. She popped a few pain relievers, wondering what had happened to his wife, but stopped herself from asking. “So where are we going now?”

  “Greek Row.”

  It would be a while before they got there. “Can I look at your notes again?”

  He handed her his notebook. “So what nice thing did you do for Carmichael?”

  “Somebody close to her was murdered last year. Abe and I were primary. She was pretty hysterical and I stayed with her until she’d gotten through the worst of it. It was no more than I’d do for any victim’s family.”

  “Obviously more than she expected.”

  “I guess. Anyway, I’ve become her personal news source. Every time I turn around that girl is there. But she gave me DuPree. If I get Getts, she’ll be on my Christmas list forever.” She scanned his notes. “Was the bed made in the spare bedroom?”

  He looked surprised. “Yes, why?”

  “When I was in school, I studied at the kitchen table. I don’t think I would have used somebody else’s bedroom, for sure. What was Caitlin doing studying up there?”

  “Maybe she got sleepy.”

  “That’s why I asked about the bed. But she could have slept on the couch. Sleeping in somebody else’s bed, especially when you’ve expressly been told not to live in... That’s just...” She searched for the word. “Cheeky.”

  His lips twitched. “Cheeky?”

  She shook her head with a smile. “Don’t laugh at my adjectives. It’s like she was playing Goldilocks, studying and sleeping where she wasn’t invited.”

  “There was a desk in the bedroom. With a computer.”

  “Ah. We should have it taken in. Check for e-mails and Web surfing.”

  “I talked to Ben when you were processing DuPree. He said Unger took the computer this afternoon. They’ll try to check for e-mails, et cetera, before morning.”

  “Okay. So walk with me. Caitlin’s studying or surfing the Web or something. She hears something, comes downstairs and he’s there. They struggle in the foyer. Maybe he rapes her. At some point he shoots her. But he doesn’t burn her to utterly destroy her. Unless he thought she’d be burned to ash and he’s just a novice. Are we dealing with a novice?”

  “I don’t know. He had the solid-accelerant device down just right. But I’ve been thinking about the sheer spectacle of the explosion...He went to a lot of trouble to be noticed. That seems immature, almost childish. But his method was sophisticated. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t done it before.” He hesitated. “Or if he doesn’t do it again.”

  “Are we talking serial arsonist?”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” he admitted. “His MO was so well planned. So grandiose. I can see him thinking it would be a shame to only use it once.”

  “Shit. So all we really have is a dead girl and some pieces of a plastic egg.”

  “And a shoe print. Ben says the lab said it’s a size ten, by the way.”

  “Which makes him no different than thousands of guys in Chicago,” she grumbled. “So unless we find something new or he strikes again, we’re dead in the water.”

  “Unless we’re wrong and somebody went to the -Doughertys’ with the express intention of killing Caitlin. Then her sorority sisters may be some help.”

  “One can only hope,” she muttered.

  Monday, November 27, 6:00 P.M.

  “Oh my God.” Judy Walters rocked herself on the edge of her bed.

  Mitchell was crouching next to Caitlin’s roommate, looking up into her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I need you to pull yourself together, Judy. I have some questions and you have to help me. Stop crying now.”

  Her gentle tone softened the implacable demand and had the girl struggling to control her tears. “I’m sorry. Who would shoot her? Who would do that?”

  Mitchell sat on the bed next to Judy. “When was the last time you saw Caitlin?”

  “Saturday... about seven at night. We had a party and it got loud. I thought she was going to Joel’s apartment for the weekend.” She looked stricken. “Oh, God. I have to tell him.” She tried to get up, but Mitchell laid her hand on her knee.

  “Not yet. Caitlin’s father said she’d broken up with Joel.”

  “She just told them she did so they’d get off her back. Her dad didn’t like Joel.”

  “Why not?” Reed asked and was surprised to see the girl’s wet eyes flash in anger.

  “Because her dad’s a control-freak cop. He was always telling Caitlin what to do.”

  Something flickered in Mitchell’s eyes, but was quickly controlled. Her dad had been a cop. Reed wondered how much she and Caitlin had in common. “Did she spend the weekend with Joel very often?” Reed asked.

  “Yes. But there’s no way Joel did this. He loves her.”

  “Judy, do you remember what Caitlin was wearing that night?”

  “Jeans, a sweater. It was red.” She started crying. “I gave it to her.”

  Mitchell patted her shoulder. “We’ll see ourselves out.” When they’d reached the SUV she spoke. “Did you find any metal rivets or snaps from her jeans near the body?”


  Reed opened the door on her side. “Ben said they found metal buttons in the foyer.”

  She climbed into the cab, then turned, her eyes grim. “Then he raped her, too.”

  “What next?” he asked.

  “Let’s go find out how much Joel loved her.”

  Monday, November 27, 6:40 P.M.

  Joel Rebinowitz’s roommate was pre-law and proud. Zach Thornton stood between Mia and Solliday and the bathroom door, through which came the sounds of Joel’s sobbing. “He’s not going to say another word to you without a lawyer,” Zach snarled.

  Mia sighed. “God save us from baby attorneys. Look, kid, move yourself out of the way, or I’ll haul your ass in for obstruction.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said belligerently.

  “Wanna bet?” Zach’s belligerence faltered. “I didn’t think so.” She rapped on the door. “Joel, come out. We need to talk to you and we’re not leaving until we do.”

  “Go away, dammit.” Joel’s voice was ragged. “Leave me alone.”

  Mia looked at Solliday. “You want to go in after him?”

  Solliday grimaced. “Not really. But I will.”

  Thornton changed tactics, his expression gone drastically sincere. “You just told him his girlfriend is dead. Burned beyond recognition. What do you want from him?”

  “The truth,” Mia responded. “Joel, five seconds or my partner comes in after you.”

  Joel staggered out of the bathroom, his face pale and his eyes swollen from crying. “I’m not talking to you and I’m not going downtown with you.”

  Zach nodded, back to smug. “You want him, get a warrant.”

  “Joel, help us clear you so we can focus on the real bad guys.”

  “The real killer,” Zach jeered. “Right.”

  Mia lifted on her toes, putting herself inches from -Thornton’s face. “Shut. Up. Or I swear to God you will spend the night in a cell. I am not bluffing. I have had enough of you. Sit down and shut up or you’ll find yourself surrounded by bullies named Bubba who want to be your best buddy, if you know what I mean.”

  Solliday whistled softly. “It isn’t often they get pretty boys tossed into their cage.”