Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  Manny shook his head. “Forget it.”

  “Okay. Then about the matches. How do you think they ended up in your shoe?”

  Manny’s expression soured. “You won’t believe me anyway.”

  “How can I? You haven’t told me anything. Were the shoes in your room all the time?”

  The kid was considering the question. “No,” he finally said. “I had them with me all that day. It was my group’s day to use the gym.”

  “When did you use the gym?”

  “After lunch.” He sat back. “That’s all I’m gonna say. Let me go back to my cell.”

  “Manny, White can’t hurt you in here.”

  Manny’s lips curved. “Sure he can.”

  Thursday, November 30, 4:45 P.M.

  “You rang?” Mia asked as she and Solliday stopped at Aidan’s desk.

  Aidan looked up. “I did. I called the registrar’s office at White’s university in Delaware, but they were gone for the day—they’re an hour ahead of us. But I did get in touch with the secretary in the education department. Very helpful lady.”

  Mia sat on the edge of his desk. “What did the nice lady say?”

  Aidan handed her a black-and-white photo on plain paper. “She faxed this twenty minutes ago. It’s a picture from a department newsletter, taken at a university golf benefit last year. She circled Devin White. It’s grainy but you can see his face.”

  Solliday looked over her shoulder, so close that if she turned her head she could kiss him. The longer the day dragged on, the more she was anticipating the evening. But they’d made a deal and Aidan was watching her intently.

  “It’s close, isn’t it?” Solliday murmured. “Same height, same coloring.” He straightened and she finally drew a breath.

  “But not the man we talked to this morning,” she said. “The face is wrong. But most people only notice size and coloring unless they’re really looking. He picked a good ID to steal. I’m betting the real Devin White is dead. Did the secretary have any numbers for his family or contacts or anything?”

  “Said he’d left his family section blank. She didn’t think he had any relatives living. His mother was dead and he’d never known his father.”

  “Well, did the helpful lady give any more helpful information?”

  “She said that Devin was one of her favorites,” Aidan said. “That he’d promised to call her when he got settled. But he never did and she assumed he’d gotten busy in his new life. He’d been headed from Delaware to Chicago for a job interview, but he was planning to stop in Atlantic City for a few days. That would have been early last June.”

  Energy started to percolate through her veins. “We can check the hotels, see if White stayed at any of them.”

  “Already started,” Aidan said and handed them each a sheet of paper. “These are the main hotels in Atlantic City. If we split it up, we can get through them faster.”

  Mia took the paper to her own desk, then stopped with a frown. A video-sized brown padded envelope lay on top of the stack of Burnette’s files. In block letters it was addressed to her. There was no return address. “What’s this?”

  Aidan looked over and slowly came to his feet. “I don’t know. It wasn’t there when I went to the fax machine earlier. We could ask Stacy.”

  Mia pulled on a pair of gloves. “We saw her leaving when we came in.” She shook the video from the envelope. -Solliday still had the TV/VCR on his desk, so she slid it in.

  Holly Wheaton’s face appeared, sad and grave. “In light of the recent, tragic murder of the child of a local police officer, we wanted to take a look at the toll police work takes on their families. Often they pay a high price for their family’s public service. Some, like Caitlin Burnette, are targets of revenge for their parents’ stand against crime.”

  “Bitch,” Mia muttered. “Using Roger Burnette’s suffering for her damn ratings.”

  “More,” Wheaton continued soberly, “find the expectations of being the child of a cop too great to handle and go the other way.” The camera panned back and Mia felt her stomach simply drop. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Solliday gripped her arm and pushed her into a chair.

  His hands covered her shoulders and shook gently. “Breathe, Mia.”

  She covered her mouth with her trembling hand. “Oh my God.”

  Wheaton gestured to the brick building behind her. “This is the Hart Women’s Correctional Facility. Sentenced here are women who’ve committed crimes from drug possession all the way up to murder. Sentenced here are women from all walks of life, from all kinds of families.” The camera zoomed to Wheaton’s pained expression. “Even families of cops. One such inmate is Kelsey Mitchell.”

  “What is this?” Spinnelli demanded from behind them. “Oh God. Mia.”

  She waved him to quiet as Kelsey’s arrest photo filled the screen. Kelsey looked haggard, old, strung out from drugs. “She was only nineteen,” Mia whispered.

  “Kelsey Mitchell is serving a twenty-five-year sentence for armed robbery. She’s both the daughter and sister of a cop. Her father died recently, but her sister, Detective Mia Mitchell, is a decorated homicide detective, and ironically, is responsible for several women being detained in the very same cell block as her sister.”

  “They’re going to kill her.” Mia could barely hear her own voice. “They’re going to kill Kelsey.” She lunged to her feet, her heart beating wildly. “She can’t show this tape. This is a damn threat. She wants her damn story and she doesn’t care who gets hurt.”

  “I know.” Spinnelli ejected the tape. “I’m going to call Wheaton’s producer right now. Try to calm down, Mia.” He headed back to his office, his expression grim.

  Mia reached for Solliday’s phone. “I’m going to call that fucking bitch myself.”

  Solliday grabbed her shoulders, twisting until she faced him. “Mia. Let Spinnelli take care of this.” She tried to pull away, but Solliday held firm.

  Pain throbbed in her shoulder and she flinched. “You’re hurting me.”

  Instantly he loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Promise me you will not call Wheaton. You will not threaten her. You will let Spinnelli handle this. Promise me, Mia.”

  She nodded. He was right. Suddenly too weary to fight it, she lowered her forehead to his chest and rested against him. His hands tightened then opened wide, hesitating before moving to her back and bringing her close.

  “Somehow it’ll be all right,” he murmured into her hair.

  She nodded, fighting the tears that rose in her throat. Cops didn’t cry. She should know. Bobby had told her so. Often. “They’ll kill her, Reed.” He said nothing, just held her until she felt control of her emotions return. She pulled away, calm now. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said quietly. “The last three weeks have been hell. You’ve held up better than anyone could have expected.” He tilted her face up. “Even you.”

  His eyes were filled with both sympathy and respect and she took comfort from both. Then stepped away to find Aidan watching her and she felt her cheeks heat.

  Wanting to shift the focus from what had obviously been a public embrace, she narrowed her eyes at Aidan. “You know, I think that Jacob Conti had a point after all.”

  For a second Aidan’s eyes widened then he grinned before he could stop himself. He sobered himself, giving her a proper glare. “Mia Mitchell. You should be ashamed.”

  Solliday looked confused. “Who is Jacob Conti?”

  Mia sat down in her chair with the list of Atlantic City hotels. “Bad man. Very bad.” Conti was a very bad man who’d dealt his own brand of justice to a TV reporter who, through stirring things up to make news, put Conti’s son in the sights of a killer. Conti’s revenge for his son’s death had been effective and final. Unfortunately for him, illegal as well. Mia would have to take more conventional routes of revenge.

  “Old case,” Aidan said. “Back when my sister-in-law Kristen was being stalked.”

/>   Solliday sat down at his desk and tapped at the keyboard with his methodical pace. Then he looked up, eyes wide. “He was a bad man.”

  He’d looked up the old case, then. “Told you.”

  “And Reagan’s right. You should be ashamed.” But there was a sudden sparkle in his eye. “You are a very bad girl, Mia.”

  She laughed softly, remembering the last time he’d said those same words. Then, the respite was gone, dread returning with a vengeance as she looked over at Spinnelli’s door. If Wheaton’s piece ran, Kelsey’s life would be in certain danger. But she’d let Spinnelli handle it. For now. “Let’s call these hotels, then call it a night.”

  Thursday, November 30, 5:30 P.M.

  The Doughertys’ big truck had finally pulled into the driveway at 993 Harmony Avenue. For a while he thought the girl at the hotel had lied. That would’ve been bad.

  He’d been listening to the radio. Nobody reported Tania missing. And nobody had mentioned Niki Markov, the woman who should have been home with her two kids, but had instead had the bad luck to be sleeping in the Doughertys’ hotel bed. If women stayed where they were supposed to be, they wouldn’t get into such trouble. Now Niki -Markov was dead and buried, her own suitcases providing her final resting place. He grinned to himself. Places, that was. -Plural. The cops would never find all of her.

  The Doughertys got out of the truck and headed straight around the back of the house, bags from JCPenney in their hands. They’d been shopping to replace clothes, most likely. Seeing as how all theirs were gone. Too bad they wouldn’t need them.

  After he finished here tonight, he’d be done in Chicago. He’d drive south on his way to the last few names on his list. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He pulled the car from the curb knowing that when he returned it would be time to act. And old lady Dougherty’s time to finally die.

  Thursday, November 30, 5:55 P.M.

  “Mia, can you come here for a minute?” Spinnelli stood in his office doorway.

  Throwing a worried look at Solliday and Aidan, she approached. “What?”

  “Inside. Shut the door. Reporters are the lowest forms of life on the planet.”

  Her heart sank. “They’re going to run the piece.” Her stomach followed. “Oh, Marc.”

  “Relax. I talked to Wheaton. She insists the video you got was a mistake. She meant to send you a copy of the press conference as you’d obviously been watching someone in the crowd.” His lip curled in distaste. “She just wanted to help.”

  “Marc,” she gritted through her teeth. “What about Kelsey?”

  “I said relax. Wheaton hinted about an exclusive on this case. I turned her down flat and suggested that threatening a police officer was a felony. She got huffy and said there was no intended threat. The piece with your sister was scheduled to air Sunday night with or without any words from us. It was an ultimatum with a deadline.”

  Her heart was hammering, but trust in Spinnelli kept her feet glued in place. “And?”

  “I can’t stop her from airing that piece, Mia, but I’ll be damned if that...” He drew a breath, editing himself. “I called Patrick. He’s pulling some strings to have Kelsey moved to another facility tomorrow morning. She’ll be brought in under another name. It’ll be done very discreetly.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s the best I can do.”

  Mia swallowed hard, a wave of relief and gratitude overwhelming her. “A lot of people wouldn’t have done that much.”

  “You’ve sacrificed for this department, this city countless times. I’ll be damned if I’ll let Wheaton or anybody else use this department to threaten you or your family.”

  She closed her eyes, moved. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he said softly.

  His voice returned to its normal briskness. “Murphy’s still sweeping the area where they found the car White used to get away from Brooke Adler’s apartment, but he hasn’t turned anything up yet. They’ll keep canvassing for the next hour, then resume in the morning. I had math teacher White’s picture faxed to the local news teams and the newspapers. It’s the best way to find him.”

  “I know.”

  “You guys find the real White at any of those Atlantic City hotels?”

  “Not yet. We’ll keep going until we do.”

  Spinnelli tilted his head, studying her. “Where are you going to stay tonight?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What?” He couldn’t possibly know about her and Solliday. The words “it was just a supportive hug” were on the tip of her tongue.

  “Your address was in the paper, Mia. Find another place to live. That’s an order.”

  “You can’t tell me where to live. Last I looked, I’m a cop. I can take care of myself.”

  “Last I looked, you were a cop and I was your boss. Find another place, Mia. I don’t want to worry about you all night.” When her mouth set stubbornly, he exploded. “Goddammit, Mia. For days I sat next to Abe’s bedside wondering where the hell you were. I thought I might lose two of my best people. Don’t put me through that again.”

  She looked down, feeling suddenly small. “Well, when you put it like that.”

  He sighed. “It’s just for a little while. Howard and Brooks are close to pulling Getts in. They’ve closed off about all the rat holes he can crawl down.”

  “He already knew my address.”

  “True, but now every punk wannabe does, too. You worry about Kelsey on the inside. There are a lot more on the outside that would love bragging rights to you.”

  “I have a gun. Kelsey doesn’t.”

  “And you both have to sleep sometime.”

  She ran her tongue across her teeth. “I don’t want to admit that you have a point. But,” she hurried on before he could say more, “who would you have me put in -danger? Dana? She’s got kids. Abe? He’s got Kristen and the baby.”

  Spinnelli’s door opened and Solliday filled the doorway. “She can stay at my house.”

  Mia’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  Spinnelli just blinked. “What?”

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “It makes sense. I’ve got a duplex. My sister rents the other side. Lauren’s on my side taking care of my daughter more than she’s on her own side, anyway. Detective Mitchell can stay in the other side, have her own place.”

  Mia found her voice. “You were spying on me. Again.”

  He shrugged. “I was waiting to talk to Spinnelli. It’s not my fault I have good ears.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not staying with you.”

  “Not me.” He smiled innocently. “At Lauren’s. It makes sense, Mia. And we can keep going through Burnette’s and Hill’s files after dinner. That should speed things up.”

  She just bet it would. The very thought of what would speed up sent new color to her cheeks. And Solliday just stood there, smiling like a damn choirboy.

  But if Spinnelli had any inkling of Solliday’s ulterior motives, he gave no indication. “It does make sense, Mia. And you never have time to study those files during the day.”

  She drew a breath. “I want to formally state my opposition to this stupid plan.”

  Spinnelli nodded. “Formally noted. Do it anyway.”

  “What about Solliday’s kid? I’m putting her in danger, too. They’ll follow me.”

  “Mia, if you can’t lose a tail by now...” Spinnelli gently pushed her out the door. “Finish calling hotels, then break for dinner. After you eat, you can get back to the files.”

  “Aren’t you kind?”

  His mustache bunched and his eyes darkened, a sure sign his patience was spent. “We have to get a connection between White, Burnette, and Hill or we have nothing more than circumstantial evidence. We can’t place him at any of the three scenes, so we have to at least have a strong motive. Find one. Stop worrying about your apartment and concentrate on what matters. Find White before he kills again.”

  She knew when she was beaten. “All
right. You’ll make sure they move Kelsey.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll stay on Lauren’s side of the duplex.”

  Spinnelli’s chest moved in a small sigh of relief. “Thank you. And thanks to you also, Reed,” Spinnelli said. “I appreciate you offering up the house.”

  Mia looked at Solliday, her jaw cocked. “Yeah. Thanks a lot, Solliday.”

  Something flickered in Solliday’s dark eyes and she knew he knew she was pissed. “You’re welcome,” he told Spinnelli. Then he muttered under his breath, “I think.”

  Thursday, November 30, 6:15 P.M.

  He’d nearly finished his dinner when the face on the TV screen threatened to bring it all back up. The face was his. In horror his eyes froze to the screen. He knew they’d be looking for him. Somehow he never thought they’d put his face on TV.

  As he fought to control his shock, his temper began to boil. The bitch. This was the work of the Mitchell woman. Now he couldn’t move around the city without people knowing who he was. Today it was Chicago. Tomorrow, CNN? He’d be recognized wherever he went from sea to goddamn shining sea.

  He had to get out of this restaurant. Now. With a casualness that came only through superior self-control, he rose, threw the contents of his tray in the trash, strolled through the restaurant door and to his car.

  She had to go. He patted his pocket where he still carried pretty Caitlin’s gun. Mitchell had to go. With her gone, the focus would be shifted to the gunman who’d tried to kill her once before. Melvin Getts was his name. It would be Getts’s face on the news.

  A cop killer trumped an arsonist any damn day of the week.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday, November 30, 6:45 P.M.

  Reed hung up the phone. “Found him.”

  Both Mia and Aidan quickly hung up. “Where?” Mia demanded.

  “The Willow Inn in Atlantic City. Their computer shows Devin White checked in on June first and checked out June third. Paid cash. Guy at the desk didn’t remember him.”

  “We don’t know if it was the real Devin or Math Boy,” Mia said. “Now we know where he stayed, but we still don't know which casino he went to. So many people go through the casinos. It’s hard to think anybody would remember a college kid.”