by Karen Rose
“On the middle of the bed,” she said. “Like he was sitting there and wiped it. You see a knife?”
The tech shook his head. “It could be under him.”
“You done with the pictures?” Sam asked the tech. “Then let’s roll him. Gently.” Sam and Reed lifted and Mia crowed.
“There it is,” she said. “Jackknife with the blade pulled out.” It lay flat on the bed.
“Don’t touch it,” Sam snapped when she reached a gloved hand under the body. “If it’s what I’m thinking, you don’t want to touch it.”
Mia’s brows went up. “Poison?”
“Yeah.” Sam crouched down, shone a flashlight at the boy’s bare back. “From the lividity and the bruising, I’d say he was lying on the hilt of the knife before he died.”
“He fell on it,” she said thoughtfully. “Now, where would Jeff get a knife?”
“Same place Manny got matches?” Reed countered.
“Looks like Manny may have been telling the truth. Did you look at those matches?”
Reed shook his head. “No, but I want to now.”
Sam looked from Reed to Mia. “You’re thinking they were booby-trapped.”
“Yeah.” Reed nodded and turned to where Secrest stood watching from the doorway. “Do you still have the matches you found in Manny’s room?”
Secrest nodded. “In my office. I’ll get them for you.”
Mia held up her hand. “Mr. Secrest, just a minute, please. Who were the boys in Jeff’s group? The one’s who shared the shower hour?”
“Jeff, Manny, Regis Hunt, and Thaddeus Lewin. The boys call Thad ‘Faggeus.’” An uncomfortable expression tightened Secrest’s face. “Thad was taken to the clinic Thanksgiving night.”
“For?” Mia asked.
“He complained of a stomachache,” the nurse said. “But he’d been assaulted.”
Secrest moved so that the nurse could get through. She stood looking at Jeff with a curious mixture of contempt and... satisfaction that made Reed frown.
“Assaulted how?” Reed asked and she looked up, met his eyes.
“Thad was sodomized. There was rectal tearing. He denied it happened.”
“And you think Jeff did it,” Reed said quietly.
She nodded. “But Thad wouldn’t talk. All the boys were afraid of Jeff.”
“Which is why you’re glad he’s dead,” Mia said and the nurse’s eyes went hard.
“I’m not glad he’s dead.” She shrugged. “Per se. But he was a vile, angry, mean boy. We were terrified of what he would do when he was released next month. Now we don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Suddenly she snapped her gaze up to Secrest. “Thad had a visitor Thanksgiving night. Devin White. Thad called him.”
“Your trigger,” Reed murmured.
“You’re right,” Mia murmured back, then cleared her throat. “I’d like to take Thad and Regis Hunt downtown for a chat. Line up your advocates and have them meet us there.” She looked around. “Where’s Bixby? I would have thought he’d be here for this.”
Again Secrest looked uncomfortable. “He hasn’t arrived yet.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. I’ll get a unit to his house and an APB for his car.”
Friday, December 1, 10:10 A.M.
The manager at the Beacon Inn was irritable. “Excuse me,” Mia said.
He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll need to wait your turn.”
The customer at the counter smirked. “End of the line’s down there,” the man said.
“Want me to teach him some manners?” Reed murmured behind her and she huffed a chuckle, ignoring the shiver that raced down her spine. This was why she didn’t do cops and why it was against regulations to do partners. Even temporary ones. It was too damn hard to concentrate. She’d pulled off being cool and collected when he’d asked “about us” but it had taken everything she’d had. Now she focused on the hotel manager, who’d made the unfortunate choice to ignore her.
“No, let me.” She slapped her shield on the counter. “Take a break, pal.”
The manager’s look was murderous as his eyes lifted. “What now?”
Mia frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘What now?’ You, wait over there,” she said to the customer who was no longer smug. “I’m Detective Mitchell, Homicide. This is my partner, Lieutenant Solliday, OFI. What do you mean, ‘What now?’”
“Homicide? I was afraid of that.” His eyes filled with weary resignation. “I’m sorry. Half my staff is out with the flu and my assistant manager never showed up for her shift this morning. I’m Chester Preble. How can I help you?”
“First, tell me what’s happened here,” she said, softening her tone.
“Officers in uniform came by this morning, checking out a missing person report. Niki Markov. She checked in Wednesday and her husband called Thursday morning. Said she wasn’t answering her phone. I told him perhaps she’d stepped out.” He shrugged uneasily. “People come here to get away from their spouses, if you know what I mean. We try to be discreet.”
“But the husband filed a missing person report,” Mia said, instinct sending a new shiver down her spine. “And she hasn’t come back.”
“She wasn’t due to check out until today. Her clothes are still hanging in her closet.”
“What room is she in?” Mia asked.
“Room 129. I can take you to it if you give me just a -minute to check out the people who have planes to catch.”
“Sir,” she said sharply, “this is a homicide investigation. These people have to wait.”
“You found her... body, then?” he asked, some of the color draining from his face.
“No. I’m investigating another homicide. A couple who checked out Wednesday were killed last night. Joe and Donna Dougherty. Can you see what room they were in?”
He tapped a few keys, then all his remaining color drained away. “Room 129.”
“Hell,” Solliday murmured.
Mia raked her fingers through her hair. She had a headache brewing. “Yeah.”
Friday, December 1, 10:50 A.M.
“You rang?” Jack asked and came into room 129 with his CSU team, all wearing white coveralls.
“Niki Markov, reported missing. This was Joe and Donna Dougherty’s room until Wednesday,” Mia said.
“You think he came, thinking they were still here,” Jack said. “And found Markov.”
“Her clothes are in the closet,” Solliday said. “But all her suitcases are gone. Those are her sales materials stacked there on the bed.”
Jack grimaced as he grasped what she and Solliday had already surmised. “Oh God.” Then he gave a brisk nod to his team. “Start checking this room,” he said. “I’ll check out the bathroom.” Quickly, capably, he removed the trap from the tub. “We’ll check it for hair and... other stuff.” He then treated the shower tiles with Luminol. Thirty minutes later, he turned out the lights.
Every surface glowed. For a few beats, the three of them just stared.
“That’s a hell of a lot of blood,” Jack finally said. “Given the suitcases are gone, I think a reasonable assumption is—”
“That he dismembered her,” Mia finished grimly. “Good God. I’m losing count.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Caitlin, Penny, Thompson, Brooke and Roxanne...”
“Joe and Donna,” Solliday added quietly. “Jeff and now Niki Markov. That’s nine.”
She looked at him. “Count to ten?” she asked and he shrugged.
“Maybe. Although he had nothing against this woman.”
“She was an accident,” she murmured. “Like Caitlin. Wrong place, very wrong time.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Jack said. “In all this mess, he had to have left something.”
“And I’ll get the information on her next of kin. I got the number for Donna’s from her boss on the way over.” She sighed, dreading the task as she dreaded no other. “Then I’ll tell Markov’s husband and Donna Dougherty�
�s mother that they’re dead.”
“I’ll tell them,” Reed said. “You don’t have to do that alone, Mia.”
She nodded wearily, surprising him. “All right. Call us when you find something, Jack. We’ll see if he took -Markov’s car. Hopefully we’ll find her body.”
Friday, December 1, 11:50 A.M.
Jenny Q slid her tray next to Beth’s and sat down. “So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I do know I’m not missing this, Jenny. He’s being so damn stubborn.”
Jenny sighed. “And I had my sister all ready to cover for us. Cost me, too.”
Beth squared her jaw. “I’ll just... leave,” she said and Jenny laughed.
“No, you won’t. You’re not going to just walk out with him screaming behind you.”
“No,” Beth agreed. “I’ll find another way.”
Friday, December 1, 1:30 P.M.
“I’d hoped for a suspect in custody,” Spinnelli said quietly. “Not two more bodies.”
They had regrouped. Mia sat between Murphy and Aidan, and Reed had been joined by Miles Westphalen. Sam sat at the far end of the table and Jack was still at the Beacon Inn, processing the Markov crime scene. Reed brooded, still depressed from breaking the news to two families that the people they loved were never coming home.
He didn’t deal with death often in his role as a fire investigator. The apartment fire last year was the biggest loss of life he’d dealt with in his career. He couldn’t fathom how Mia dealt with the families day after day for all the years she’d been with Homicide.
Across the table, she sighed. “We don’t know where he is, but we’re getting closer to motive. It had something to do with the kid’s, Thad’s, assault. We’ve got Thad Lewin and Regis Hunt in separate interview rooms. We’ll talk to them when we’re done here.”
“I found the solid accelerant on the matches Secrest found in Manny’s shoe,” Reed said. “If Manny had lit one he would have been severely burned.”
“Secrest checked the security tapes for White’s classroom for Tuesday, the day they searched Manny’s room,” she said. “He saw White pause next to Manny’s desk. He might have dropped the matches in his shoes then, or not. But he did find White on video dropping the knife into Jeff’s open backpack.”
“Did they check the third boy’s room? Regis Hunt?” Aidan asked.
“Secrest found another knife in Hunt’s room,” Mia said.
“Coated with D-tubocurarine,” Sam said. “Both knives were coated with it. And I found it in the victim’s urine tox.”
Reed frowned. “Tubocurarine? Are you sure?”
“I did the rush urine tox myself,” Sam answered. “I never saw a curare victim before and I was interested. My initial take is that the victim died of respiratory failure.”
Mia’s eyes widened and a chuckle of disbelief escaped her lips. “Curare? Like in Amazon jungle tribes and poison darts? You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not,” Sam said. “Today it’s used in surgery. It’s available in hospitals, veterinary clinics... All your guy would have had to do was steal a vial and cook it down in a glass pot on the stove.” He stood. “Thanks for lunch. I have to get back now.”
“Aidan?” Spinnelli said when Sam was gone. “Anything from Atlantic City?”
“Yeah. The Silver Casino found the real Devin White on their tapes. He was an inept gambler until his luck suddenly changed. Not enough to kick him out, but enough that they watched him. Security remembered him because at the end of his stay, he met with a certain well-known card counter who had been thrown out of the casino.”
“Math Boy,” Mia murmured.
“Yeah. He went by the name Dean Anderson, but they found the real Anderson died two years ago. Casino security said our guy had a gift. Could calculate odds in his head like a computer. But the casino people weren’t the only ones who remembered him. The police have had him on their short list for the last year.”
“Do I want to know why?” Spinnelli asked.
“Rape,” Aidan said succinctly. “A string of rapes for the six months before last June. They’d been watching Anderson but they think he made them. Then in June the assaults stopped. They had no idea where he’d disappeared to.”
“He met the real Devin White, helped him win, won his trust.” Mia shook her head. “Then he took his life and... took his life.”
“It would explain why he faked his prints for the school. He knew he was wanted and didn’t want to get traced back,” Murphy said thoughtfully.
“That’s what I figured. And,” Aidan added, “most of the rape victims had broken legs so they couldn’t run or kick. When we find him, New Jersey wants a bite.”
“They’ll have to stand in line,” Mia muttered.
“We have to catch him first,” Spinnelli said, “and we still don’t know the bastard’s real name. Murphy?”
“We’ve covered about half the search area. Nobody’s seen him.”
A thought poked through the dark cloud in Reed’s mind. “Did you check pet shops?”
“No,” Murphy said. “Why?”
“Because this guy likes animals and he’s had access to a surgical pharmacy. Some of the big pet shops have vet offices in them now. I just took my daughter’s puppy to one for his shots. One-stop shopping. It’s worth a try.”
“Yeah, it is,” Murphy agreed. “I’ll go when we’re done.”
Spinnelli stood up, tugged at his uniform. “I’ve got to get to that press conference. We’ve had about three hundred calls on the photo the news services have been broadcasting. -Stacy’s weeded out the obvious crackpots. Aidan’s -eliminated some of the others. I’ve left the list on your desk, Mia.”
She turned to Westphalen who’d been silent. “What are you thinking, Miles?”
“I’m thinking there are patterns here as well as an understanding of human nature.”
“Okay,” she said. “What about the patterns?”
“Numbers. He says ‘count to ten’ and does mental statistics to help him gamble. He’s been very precise in everything he’s done. And think about this. He stole Devin White’s identity, but he didn’t have to take his job. He likes math. He likes numbers.”
“He managed the football pool at Hope.” Mia pulled the stat sheets they’d taken from the computer in his classroom and frowned. “He lost often.”
Reed went around the table to look over her shoulder. “But he lost only when the Lions lost. He picked the Lions even when his own statistics said they’d lose.”
She looked up at him, a smile playing on her lips. “Home team sentiment?”
He nodded. “Our boy’s got ties to Detroit.”
“Let’s send his picture to Detroit PD. See if anybody -recognizes him.”
“Send it to their Social Services,” Miles suggested. “I’ll bet he’s been in trouble before. And he knows the way these kids’ minds work. Look at the traps he set for Manny and Jeff. He tempted them with the things he knew they’d be powerless to refuse.” He waved his hand before Reed could say a word. “That they’d choose not to refuse,” he amended.
“Thank you,” Reed said dryly. “But you’re right. He did pick the best temptation. And even if Manny didn’t light the matches, he was caught with contraband. He knew the first thing Jeff would do would be to test the sharpness of the blade, to see if it was real. And even if he didn’t, he’d be caught. Sent to real jail. You’re right. He knows the drill. He’s spent time in juvie or knows someone who has.”
“Thank you,” Miles said, just as dryly. “One other thing. The way he focused on the Doughtertys. He missed them twice and went back for them a third time.”
“He had to finish,” Mia said. “They’re super important or he’s super compulsive.”
“I’m thinking some of the first, more the second,” Miles said. “Maybe his compulsive personality is something we can use.”
“But like Spinnelli said, we have to find him first,” she sighed.
&nb
sp; Murphy tapped the table with his ever-present carrot stick. “Mia, you said you’d have the list of the kids Penny Hill placed with the Doughertys by noon.”
“You’re right. I should have had the list by now. I’ll call them. Aidan, can you keep helping us with the three hundred phone calls?”
“Sure.”
She stood up. “Then let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty
Lido, Illinois, Friday, December 1, 2:15 P.M.
He’d forgotten how much he hated the sight of corn. Miles of corn. As a boy it had mocked him, swaying so gently, as if everything were all right with the world. This place, this house, this corn... had become Shane’s grave.
They’d rebuilt the house on the same foundation. The new place was bright and cheerful. A kid’s tricycle was in the yard and a young woman moved around inside. He could see her when she passed in front of the window as she went about her chores.
Chores. He’d hated the farm chores. Hated the man who’d brought him here so that he could have another pair of hands for slopping pigs. He hated the woman who’d known what was going on under her own roof and wouldn’t help. He hated the younger brother for being a coward. He hated the older brother for... He pursed his lips as a shiver of rage singed his skin. He hated the older brother. He hated Penny Hill for being too stupid to see the truth from the beginning and too lazy to ever come back and check on them.
Penny Hill had paid for her sins. The Young family was about to get the same. He got out of his newest car as the young woman came out the front door, a toddler on her hip. She stopped the minute she saw him, afraid.
He smiled his most pleasant smile. “I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was looking for a friend. He lived here and we lost touch. His name is Tyler Young.”
He knew exactly where Tyler Young was. In -Indianapolis selling real estate. But he didn’t know where the other Youngs were. The woman stayed where she was, her hand on the knob of her front door, ready to flee. Smart woman.
“We bought this place from the Youngs four years back,” she said. “The husband had died and the wife didn’t want the farm anymore. I don’t know about the boys.”
