Monday, November 27, 8:00 p.m.
Mia flashed her badge at the nurse. "I'm here to see Abe Reagan."
"Visiting hours are over, ma'am."
"I'm here to discuss Detective Reagan's gunshot wound. We have a lead."
The nurse sucked in one cheek. "Uh-huh. What's in the bag, Detective?"
Mia looked down at the brown paper sack that contained baklava, one of Abe's favorites. She looked back up and, with a straight face said, "Mugshots."
The nurse nodded, playing along. "He's the third door from the end. Tell him if his blood pressure goes up from eating those mugshots, my needle is extra large tonight."
"Man, you guys are evil," Mia muttered, hearing the nurse chuckle behind her. Slowly she approached Abe's room, her stomach in a knot. She stopped outside the door and nearly turned around. But she'd given her word. Lightly she knocked.
"Go away. I don't want any more Jell-O or applesauce or whatever you have," came the cranky reply and despite her trepidation Mia had to grin.
"What about this?" she asked, holding the bag out as she walked in.
Abe was sitting up in bed, the game on the TV. He muted the sound and turned to her with a guarded look that wiped the smile from her face. "Depends. What is it?"
He peeked in the bag, then looked up, his expression inscrutable. "You can stay."
Awkward, Mia stuck her hands in her pockets while she searched his face. He was thinner. Gaunt. Her heart skipped a beat as new guilt piled high. He said nothing, just sat looking at her, waiting. She puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" he asked evenly.
She looked away. "Everything. Letting you get shot. Not coming to visit you." She shrugged. "Getting you poked with a really big needle if you eat what's in the bag."
He grunted. "Nurses' trash talk. They don't scare me. Sit down."
She sat, but couldn't meet his eyes. She took the silence as long as she could before blurting, "So… Where's Kristen?"
"Home with Kara." Their daughter that Abe treated like the precious treasure she was. "Mia, look at me. Please."
No anger blazed in his blue eyes. Instead there was sorrow there that she didn't know if she could take. She lurched to her feet, only to have him grab her arm.
"Sit down, Mia." He waited until she had, then muttered a soft curse. "Did you think for a moment, one single moment, that I blamed you for this?"
She met his eyes squarely. "I thought you should. I knew you wouldn't."
"I didn't know if you were all right. Mia…" He swallowed hard. "I thought you'd gone after them," he said harshly. "And I wasn't there to watch your back."
She laughed sadly. "I did. But I couldn't find them."
"Don't do that to me again. Please."
"What, let you get shot up?"
"That, too," he said dryly. "Kristen said she tore you a new one this morning."
"I hope I never have to face her across a courtroom. I felt about an inch tall."
"You would have been a layer of slime on the floor if she hadn't felt sorry for you. You told her you weren't paying attention that night. Why?" He stopped her mid-denial. "Don't. We've been partners too long. I knew something was bothering you."
She drew a breath. "I guess my dad and the funeral… It just caught up to me."
His eyes narrowed. He hadn't bought it. Somehow she hadn't thought he would. "Is it so bad that you can't tell me?"
She closed her eyes, saw the headstone that lay next to her father's. The stranger's eyes meeting her over it. "If I say yeah, will you be hurt?"
He hesitated for a heartbeat then asked in a quiet voice, "Are you in trouble, Mia?"
Her eyes flew open, saw the concern on his face. "No. It's nothing like that."
"Sick?" He winced. "Pregnant?"
"No. And way no."
He sighed his relief. "And it's not a guy because there haven't been any in a while."
"Thanks," she said sarcastically and he smiled. "I'd nearly forgotten."
"Just trying to help." The smile faded. "If you need to talk, you'll come to me, right?"
"Yeah." She was glad that was over. "I have news. Remember Getts and DuPree?"
"I have a vague recollection," he said, his voice gone dry again.
"Well, it seems you got DuPree before Getts got you."
His eyes narrowed, focused. "Good. Hope the son of a bitch hurts a lot."
"DuPree hurts worse now." Her smile was a mere baring of teeth. "/ got him today. Joanna Carmichael told me where he was." His eyes widened in surprise and she nodded grimly. "Shocked the hell out of me, too. I guess all that skulking around she does is finally paying a dividend. But… Getts got away."
"Damn," he said softly.
"I'm sorry."
"Mia. You idiot. He shot you, too. Now he knows you know where he hangs. You got his buddy in custody. He's either going to go under or come out fighting."
"I'm betting he'll hide."
"Until he catches you unaware. I didn't see either of their faces, but you did. You're the only one who can identify Getts. We wanted them for murder before. Now we're tacking on attempted murder of a cop. You think he's gonna want you around?"
She'd already considered it. "I'll be careful."
"You tell Spinnelli you want a partner to watch your back. Until 1 come back."
"I got one already. Temporarily," she added hastily when his dark brows went up.
"Really? Who?"
"I've been loaned to OFI. Arson/homicide case. Guy's name is Reed Solliday."
Abe leaned forward. "And? Is he old, young? Rookie, experienced?"
"Experienced enough. A little older than you. Old enough to have a fourteen-year-old." Her shudder was exaggerated. "Keeps his shoes too shiny."
"He should be flogged."
She chuckled. "He seemed obnoxious early on, but it looks like he might be okay."
Abe opened the bag and she knew all was forgiven. "You don't want any, do you?"
"I ate mine on the way. And if the nurse asks, the bag's got mugshots in it."
He cast a furtive glance at the door. "Do you hear her?"
Her lips twitched. "I thought you weren't afraid of the nurses and their trash talk."
"I lied. The night nurse is the antichrist." He snagged a piece of the dessert and settled back against his pillow. "Tell me about the arson case. Don't leave out anything."
Monday, November 27, 11:15 p.m.
Penny Hill wasn't home. Why wasn't she home? He glanced at his watch, then fixed his gaze back on the house he'd scoped so carefully the night before. She'd been here last night, tucked into bed by eleven. He'd returned tonight, ready to roll and she wasn't here. He peered in her front window, hidden from the street by thick evergreens. There was only a great big dog sleeping on the living room floor. He clenched his teeth.
He had three choices. One, come back tomorrow night. Two, torch the place without her in it. Three, be patient and wait. He considered the options. The risks of waiting here, of perhaps being seen. The rewards of the hunt. Last time he surrendered the kill, anxious for the fire. Tonight he wanted more. He remembered little Caitlin with a shiver of restless pleasure. He could remembered the energy pulsing through his body. That incredible rush.
He wanted that rush again. The complete and total power of life and death.
And pain. He wanted the bitch to feel such pain. To plead for mercy.
He wanted Penny Hill to pay. His lips curved, wolfish. He"d wait. He had time. All the time in the world. She didn't. She'd count to ten and go to hell.
Monday, November 27, 11:25 P.M.
Mia climbed the stairs to her apartment. She'd hoped an hour run would get rid of all her nervous energy, but all it had done was soak her in sweat and make her taped shoulder throb. The second she pushed her door open she felt the difference. The air was warm and it smelled like… peanut butter?
"Don't shoot. It's just me."
A breath rushed from her lungs. "Dammit, Dana, I could have shot you."
Her best friend sat at her dinette table, hands up. "I'll replace the peanut butter."
Mia closed her apartment door and flipped the deadbolts. "Ha-ha. Nobody loves a dead comedian. When did you get home?" Dana and her husband had taken their foster kids to Maryland's Eastern Shore to spend Thanksgiving with Ethan's old friends.
"About midnight last night. Getting the kids up for school this morning was such a joy. Ethan and I put them on the school bus and went back to bed."
Mia pulled two beers from the fridge. "Going to bed with Ethan is such a hardship."
Dana grinned. "I'll survive." She shook her head at the offered beer with a grimace. "No thanks. Doesn't go with the peanut butter." She waited until Mia was slouched in a chair. "You didn't return any of my phone calls. I was worried."
"Join the chorus." Then she sighed when irritation flashed in Dana's brown eyes. "I'm sorry. God, I feel like a fucking broken record today. Sorry, sorry, sorry."
Dana lifted a brow. "You done?"
"Yeah." It came out surly and childish. Which was about right at this point.
"Okay. Look, I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren't dead or something. Nobody loves a dead sulker. So what have you been doing with yourself the last two weeks, Mia, besides avoiding me, and apparently everybody else?"
Mia took a long drag from the bottle, then went to her kitchen cabinet and pulled out… the box.lt was a simple wooden box, no decoration or labels. It was incredible that such a little box could hold so much hurt. She put it down in front of Dana. "Ta-da."
"Why do I feel like Pandora?" Dana murmured and lifted the lid. "Oh, Mia." She lifted her eyes, understanding now. "At least now you know. About the boy, anyway."
"I found the box in Bobby's closet when I was pulling together clothes to bury him in. I didn't open it until I got home from the cemetery. I was going to put his shield in it."
With great ceremony the shield had been presented to her mother at Bobby Mitchell "s graveside, lying atop the flag that had draped his coffin. Her face haggard and worn, Annabelle Mitchell had turned and placed them in Mia's hands. Too stunned to react, Mia had accepted them. The tri-folded flag was now propped up against her toaster. The flag probably had Pop-Tart crumbs in its folds, but apart from a reluctance to dirty an American flag, it was hard to care.
She pointed at the box with her bottle. "Instead, I found that."
Dana pulled the photo from the box. "Damn, Mia. He looks just your baby pictures."
Mia's laugh was hollow. "Bobby had some powerful genes." She walked around to look over Dana's shoulder at the chubby-faced boy sitting in a little wooden rocking chair, a red truck clutched in his fist. The boy she'd never seen, although she now knew his name. His birthday. And his death day. "That should look like my baby picture. That's our rocking chair, mine and Kelsey's. Bobby had our pictures taken in it, too."
"How tacky." Dana's words were bland, but her mouth was set in a firm line. "But then we knew that about him."
Only Dana knew. Dana and Kelsey. And perhaps Mia's mother. Mia wasn't entirely sure what her mother knew. She stared at the little boy's face. "He has Bobby's blond hair and blue eyes, just like me. And like her, whoever the hell she is."
"You've spent the last two weeks trying to find her. I thought you would."
She was the stranger Mia had seen at her father's burial. A young woman with blond hair and round blue eyes… just like mine. For one brief instant it had been like looking in a mirror. Then the woman had dropped her eyes and disappeared into the crowd of cops paying their final respects. After the burial service Dana had searched the crowd, leaving Mia to accept the respects of each and every cop there.
That had been the hardest part of the whole sham. Nodding soberly to each uniform as they grasped her hand, told her in hushed tones that her father had been a good cop. A good man. How could everyone on God's earth have been so damn snowed?
When the last uniform was gone and Mia stood alone with her mother she'd lifted her eyes to Dana who'd shaken her head. The woman was gone. One look at her mother's face had told her all she'd needed to know. Annabelle Mitchell had seen her, too. But unlike Mia, her mother hadn't seemed the least bit surprised. And like so many times in her life, her mother's eyes had shuttered. She was unwilling to discuss the woman, the little boy. The damn headstone, //smc liam
CHARLES MITCHELL, BELOVED SON.
"I'm glad you saw her, too. Otherwise I might be on the shrink's couch right now."
"You didn't imagine her, Mia. She was there."
Mia finished off the beer. "Yep. I know. Then and later."
Dana's eyes widened. "She came back?"
"A few times. She never speaks, just looks at me. I'm never close enough to grab her. I swear this is driving me crazy, Dana. And I know my mother knows who she is."
"But she won't tell you."
"Nope. Good old Annabelle. I did get her to tell me about the boy." She set the beer down, its taste suddenly bitter. "I've got to tell Kelsey. She needs to know."
The last time she'd spoken with her sister had been the day their father died, through the Plexiglas as she always did.
Mia never asked for any special visitation with her sister. Having the other inmates know Keisey Mitchell's sister was a cop would not be in Kelsey's best interest.
Kelsey needed to know what she'd found. Maybe she could finally find peace.
"I can go tell her," Dana offered.
"No. It's my responsibility. But thanks. I'll have to fit it in. I got a new case today."
"With who?"
Mia studied her bottle carefully. "With Reed Solliday. Arson."
Dana's brows lifted, knowing her moods well. "And?"
"Seems like a nice guy. Not married. Fourteen-year-old kid. Moves like a dancer."
"I never understood how that was such a turn-on for you."
Mia chuckled ruefully. "Me, either. Good thing he's off limits."
"You said he wasn't married."
She sobered. "I also said he was a nice guy."
Dana made a frustrated sound. "Mia, you piss me off."
"I don't mean to."
Dana sighed. "I know. So… What will you do with the box?"
"I don't know." Her mouth twisted. "I put my dogtags in it."
Dana's eyes dropped to her chest. "Then why are you wearing them now?"
Mia fingered the chain around her neck. "Because once I put them in the box, I couldn't sleep. I don't know, it was like a panic attack or something. So I got up and put them back on." She lifted a brow. "That was the night before Abe was shot."
"You were shot, too, Mia."
"And look at me." She spread her arms wide, sardonic. "Good as new."
"I can't understand how a smart woman like you is so superstitious."
Mia shrugged. "I'd rather be superstitious and alive than logical and dead."
"And if it were a rabbit's foot, I'd say no harm, no foul. But they're Bobby's, Mia, and until you take them off, you're still connected to him." With a frustrated sigh, Dana stood and put on her coat. "Ethan will be worried about me so I have to go. Come out to the house tomorrow. I'll fix you a special treat for dinner. The kids brought you something."
"Please say it's not another goldfish," she begged and Dana smiled.
"No, not a goldfish." She gave Mia a hard hug. "Get some sleep."
Monday, November 27, 11:35 p.m.
Penny Hill breathed a sigh of relief. Her garage door was several inches closer than it usually was. I never should have had any of that punch. But it was my retirement party, after all. Should have called a cab. She'd been lucky not to have hit another car or been stopped by a cop for DUI. Wouldn't that look just dandy in my file?
But her file was now officially closed. After twenty-five years with the Department of Children and Family Services, she was calling it quits. A lot of families had come her way. A lot of successes. A lot of regrets. One moment of shame. But that water had flowed under the bridge years before. She couldn't change it now.
She was free. She tugged at her briefcase, teetering on her feet. It was unusually heavy. She'd cleaned out her desk and stuffed the briefcase full. Too much punch made her too unsteady to haul it in tonight. I'll get it tomorrow. Now, all she wanted was a strong antacid and a soft pillow. Wearily she opened her front door.
And flew forward, violently. Her head smacked the newel post as the door closed and she was jerked to her feet by a pair of strong hands. Pulled against a hard body. She started to scream but a cold gloved hand covered her mouth and she felt the bite of a blade against her throat. She stopped fighting, feeling a spear of hope when her daughter's dog bounded into the room. Please, Milo. Don't be friendly for once.
But the dog just stood there wagging his tail and the man behind her relaxed. He forced her forward, into her kitchen. "Open the door," he said. "Let the dog out."
She did as he said. Happily Milo bounded away across her fenceless backyard. "Now lock the door, just like it was before," he said and she obeyed. He let go of her mouth just before he forced her to her knees. Then flat on her face. She cried out as he grabbed her hair and smashed her head into the linoleum. Hard.
"If you scream, I'll cut out your tongue."
She drew a deep breath into her lungs to scream anyway. Laughing softly he pressed her face into the floor again, his knee hard against the back of her neck. He shoved something in her mouth. Cloth. She tried to spit it out and gagged. Don't throw up. You 11 die if you throw up. You 'll die anyway. Dear God. I'm going to die.
A whimper of terror escaped her throat and he laughed.
He tossed the ziplock bag holding the used condom in his backpack. He'd been lucky with Caitlin. He wouldn't rely on luck this time. If by any chance he failed to completely incinerate Penny Hill, he'd made sure there would be none of his DNA left behind. She lay on the floor, curled in a fetal position. She was in pain. But not enough. She would be, though. A few more things to do and he could be on his way.
In her car, which he'd left running in her driveway, her briefcase was in the backseat. The briefcase was an unexpected find. Who knew what information he'd find inside?
But first things first. He spread the same nitrate gel over her torso that he'd used in the egg and ran a fuse out of the room, alongside the fuse that led to the egg. He'd come prepared this time. Caitlin Burnette had been unplanned and he hadn't been thinking. He'd used gasoline on her when he should have used the gel from the second egg. Gasoline burned off too quickly. He wanted Miss Hill to burn very thoroughly. But in the event she did not, he didn't want her surviving to tell tales. That would be bad.
Once more he returned to his backpack, pulling out the two garbage bags he'd packed. He pulled one of the bags over his head and poked his arms through the sides. With the wrench he removed the valve on the gas line behind the stove. In a few minutes the top half of the room would be filled with gas.
He'd crouched down next to Penny Hill, the knife in his hand, before realizing he'd nearly forgotten the most important thing. Quickly he ran to the far corner of her house, crumpled some newspaper and threw it in the trash can. Then he pulled the filterless cigarette from his pocket and carefully lit it, sat it on one end so that the burning tip rested away from the paper. In a few minutes, the cigarette would burn to its end.
Back to Miss Hill. He ran back to the kitchen and grabbed her arm. Hard. Her eyes slowly opened. "For Shane," he said. "You remember Shane. You placed him and his brother in some godforsaken foster home in the middle of fucking nowhere." Her eyes flickered in startled recognition. "You never came to check on them. For a whole year. They were sodomized there. So now you understand why I had to do that to you."
Quickly he sliced her arm, just above her elbow and blood spurted all over the plastic bag he wore, warm and wet. "You'll die," he promised. "But first, you'll burn." He crouched closer, until he was in her face.
"Count to ten, bitch Then go to hell"
He pulled off the plastic bag, rolled it up and put it in the clean bag, threw his tools in his backpack, shouldered it, then lit the fuses from the relative safety of the laundry room. Ten… Nine… He ran to the front door, pulled it firmly closed… Eight… Then he was in her car, peeling out of the driveway, counting down all the while.
Three, two… and… Right on cue the air shook with the explosion, broken glass flying from the windows of Hill's house. He'd done a much better job at estimating the length of his fuses this time. He was at the end of the street before the first neighbor ran from their house. Carefully he drove, making sure to arouse no suspicion. Driving on, he pulled far off the deserted side road where he'd left the car he'd stolen that evening. He covered Hill's car with evergreen branches. Nobody would find it there.
He changed cars, making sure to take his backpack. Settling behind the wheel, he pulled off the ski mask and drove away. Penny Hill would be in a lot of pain right about now. He'd savor the satisfaction later.
Tuesday, November 28, 12:35 a.m.
"You were right. He's done it again."
Reed turned. Mia Mitchell stood behind him, her gaze fixed on the inferno that used to be the residence of Penny Hill. She'd gotten here fast. "It appears so."
"What happened?"
"Residents reported an initial explosion at about five minutes after midnight. Companies 156 and 172 responded at 12:09 and 12:15 respectively. They arrived at the site and the battalion chief immediately saw the similarity to Saturday's fire. Larry Fletcher called me at 12:15." He'd immediately called Mitchell, expecting a cranky middle-of-the-night reception. Instead she'd been instantly alert, professional. He glanced at the crowd, dropped his voice so only she could hear. "They think the homeowner was home. Her name is Penny Hill. Two guys went in to look for her."
Horror and pity and sad resignation flickered in her eyes. "Ah, shit."
"I know. The pair checked the right side of the house, but she wasn't there."
"They check the kitchen?"
"Can't get close enough yet. They've turned off the gas and run a line into the house. They're working it. There was a smaller fire in the living room."
"Trash can?" she asked and he lifted a brow.
"Yeah."
"I've been mulling it over. The trash can was the odd thing at the Doughertys'."
"Agreed. The solid accelerant was sophisticated. The gasoline was like an afterthought, but the trash can was almost…"
"Childish," she supplied. "I bounced it off Abe tonight. He thought the same thing."
Abe. her partner who was laid up in a hospital bed. "How is he?"
She nodded once, briskly. "He's good."
So then, he suspected, was she. Which made him glad. "Good."
"You talk to the crowd?"
"Yeah. Nobody saw anybody before, but everybody was inside, asleep or watching TV. Then all of the sudden, the big boom. One of the neighbors heard the squeal of tires just before the explosion, but he's pretty shaken up." Reed pointed to a man standing at the front of the crowd, his expression one of shocked horror. "Daniel Wright. There are skid marks on the driveway and Mrs. Hill's car is gone."
"I'll put out an all points for her vehicle."
"I already did." His brow lifted when hers went up. "Hope you don't mind."
Her eyes had blinked with surprise, then settled. "Of course not. Just so it gets done." She turned her gaze back to the fire. "They've got it under control."
"Knocked this one down faster. It hadn't caught hold in the top floor yet."
"He wanted that bed to burn in the Doughertys' house," she noted. "Why not here?"
He wondered the same thing. Two firefighters emerged from the house. "Come on," he said and started toward the truck where Larry stood with his radio. "Well?"
Larry's expression was grim. "She's in there. Mahoney says she looks like the last one. We couldn't get close enough to get her out in time." He eyed Mitchell. "You are?"
"Mia Mitchell, Homicide. You must be Larry Fletcher."
Larry's expression went from grim to wary. "I am. Why Homicide?"
She looked up at Reed, her blue eyes accusing. "You didn't tell him?"
Reed scowled. "I left him a message to call me."
"Tell me what?" Larry demanded and Mitchell sighed.
"The victim in the last fire was dead before it started. This one may have been, too."
Larry's frown was troubled. "I shouldn't feel relieved, but I do."
"Human nature," she said. "There wasn't anything you could have done."
"Thanks. Maybe we'll sleep tonight. You'll want to talk to the guys who went in. Mahoney and the probie. Hey!" he shouted at the men. "Mahoney. Hunter. Over here!"
Mahoney and the newest probationary member of their company trudged toward them, still in full gear with the exception of their breathing apparatus which hung around their necks. Both wore looks of exhausted devastation. "We were too late," Brian Mahoney said, his voice rough from the smoke. "She's charred, just like the last one."
The probie just shook his head. "My God." His voice was thick, horrified.
Mitchell stepped forward, peering up under the brim of the probie's hat. "David?"
The probie pushed his hat back. "Mia? What are you doing here?"
"I should say the same thing to you. I knew you took the exam, but I thought you were still waiting for an assignment."
"Been with the 172 for three months. I guess since you're here we should assume these were homicides. That the fire was just to cover them up."
"That's a good assumption. Do you know Solliday?"
The probie shoved his hat under his arm. Sober gray eyes met Reed's and annoyance prickled as Reed studied his face. Even dirty, this guy was a calendar boy. "No. I'm David Hunter, the new guy."
"Reed Solliday, OFI. I take it you know each other."
One side of Mitchell's mouth lifted wryly. "Yeah, we've had our fun in the past."
The thought of Mitchell having fun with the pretty probie sent a wave of irritation through Reed, so hard and fast it shocked him. Whoa. If Mitchell and Hunter were a number, it was none of his damn business. This fire was. "Tell me what you saw."
"Nothing at first," Hunter admitted. "The smoke was too thick. Black. The spray went to vapor right way. Showered back down on us. We kept moving, checked the bedrooms and didn't find anybody in the beds. We finally got close to the kitchen." He closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively. "I almost stepped on her, Mia. She was…"
"It's okay. Not an easy sight even if you've seen it before. How was she laid out?"
Hunter took a breath. "Fetal."
Mahoney took off his hat, wiped at the sweat on his brow. "The fire was high up, Reed. Char lines at eye level. Just like the last one. And the stove was pulled away."
"What about the trash can in the living room?" he asked.
"Just a metal wastebasket filled with newspaper," Mahoney said.
"The girl we found Saturday was dead before the fire," Larry said. "This one probably was, too."
Mahoney blew out a breath. "Thanks. It helps a little. You done with us?"
Reed looked down at Mitchell. "You done?"
"Yeah. David… Tell your mom hi," she said in what was an obvious substitution.
Hunter's mouth lifted. "I will. Don't be a stranger."
Mahoney and Hunter walked away and Reed unclenched his jaw. "You can't go in yet," he said, annoyed with himself for his curt tone. "Your boots won't protect your feet from the heat." He turned for his SUV, Mitchell following behind him.
"When can Jack and his team go in?"
"An hour. Ben and Foster and I will go in first, but go ahead and call Unger." He sat on his tailgate to change into his boots. Her call completed, she dropped her phone in her pocket and watched him, fists on her hips. Her watching him, combined with the cold air and his own ire, made his fingers even clumsier on the clamps of his boots. Finally, Mitchell lightly smacked his hands away and took over the task.
"Are you always so stubborn about asking for help?" she snapped.
"Are you always so sensitive to other people's feelings?" he shot back and her chin immediately lifted, her eyes narrowed. Cold.
"No. That's why people like dealing with Abe better. But Abe's not here, so you're stuck dealing with me." She dropped her hands and stepped back. "Now you're ready, Sluggo. Check on our victim if you don't mind, since I don't have appropriate footwear."
Her sarcasm took the starch from his shorts. "Look, I…" What? You what, Solliday? "Thanks." He grabbed his kit and headed for the house. "Can you get somebody to keep the crowd back while I go in? Also, call the ME."
"Will do."
Mia watched him enter Hill's house, flashlight in one hand, his bag of gizmos in the other. Nice going. Once again, she'd stepped on toes without meaning to. Or fingers, in this case. Just get to work, Mia.
She drew Mr. Wright off to the side. "I'm Detective Mitchell. You knew Mrs. Hill?"
His shoulders sagged. "She's dead, then? Penny's dead?"
"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?"
He nodded. "I was asleep, but this squealing woke me up. I ran to the window and saw Penny's car take off down the street. A second later… Her house exploded."
"Did you see anybody behind the wheel, Mr. Wright?"
He shook his head miserably. "It was dark and it happened so fast… I'm sorry."
So was Mia. "Did she normally park her car in the driveway?"
"Just recently. Her daughter had to move out of her house into an apartment, so Penny was storing her stuff in the garage."
"Did you know Mrs. Hill's daughter?"
"I talked to Margaret once or twice, a month ago. She used to live in Milwaukee. I don't know where she's living now. Penny has a son in Cincinnati. His name is Mark."
"Do you know where Mrs. Hill worked?"
"She was a social worker."
Alarm bells went off. Social workers made great grudge targets. "Thank you." She pressed one of her cards in his cold hand. "If you remember anything, please call me."
She canvassed the crowd, but it seemed only Mr. Wright had seen anything of value. She walked to the back of the fire engine as they were rolling up the hose. David Hunter leaned with his back against the engine, his eyes closed, his face drawn.
"How are you, David?" she murmured and wearily he turned to look at her.
"How do you stand it?" he asked instead.
"Like you will. One day at a time. Most of yours won't be this way. Thankfully, most of mine won't, either." She rested her good shoulder against the side of the truck and looked up at him. He was taller than Solliday by several inches, but not nearly as broad. And David was clean-shaven, so there was none of that devil-look Solliday had down so well. "You sell your garage when you joined up?"
"No. I hired someone to run it for me. I go out there on my off days and yank engines. Whatever I need to do." He lifted a brow. "Your Alfa need a tune-up?"
"No, it's still good from the last one you gave it. So you're keeping busy."
He met her gaze squarely. "It seemed like the wisest thing to do."
David Hunter had a bad case of a wounded heart. Long ago he'd fallen for Dana, but Mia's friend had never seen it. Then Dana had fallen in love with someone else and nobody who'd seen Dana and Ethan Buchanan together thought they were anything less than perfect for each other. Mia was happier for her best friend than anyone else, but seeing the stark pain in David Hunter's eyes had always been like a kick in the gut. "Nobody knows, David. If it's up to me, nobody ever will."
His smile was sardonic. "I guess there's comfort in that somewhere." He pushed himself away from the truck. "So what's going on here, Mia. Really?"
"We don't know yet. Listen, have you seen any other fires that looked like this?"
"No, but I've only been here three months. You should ask Mahoney."
"I will. How about trash can fires? How many of them have you seen?"
"I'd have to think. A few, at least, but most of them are set by little kids, elementary school age." He looked back at the house. "This wasn't done by a kid."
She frowned. "Most arsonists are under the age of twenty, right?"
"Yeah. But your friend Solliday would be better for that kind of information."
He's not my friend. The sharp edge of the thought was unexpected. He's just temporary. "I'll ask him. Now I need to talk to Mahoney before you guys head out."
Tuesday, November 28, 1:35 a.m.
Now that, he thought, had gone a great deal better. He tossed a shovelful of mud to one side. Practice makes perfect, after all.
Quickly he covered the hole he'd dug, burying what he'd taken from the scene. The condom and bloody plastic bags would keep until he could come back and dispose of them properly. He should have stopped on his way back to dispose of them, but he'd been paranoid, constantly watching his rearview mirror.
His caution had been unnecessary. Nobody had followed him. Nobody had seen him. Penny Hill's car was now abandoned, its license plates and VIN tags removed. He'd moved it far enough off the deserted road to keep it from being found for a while. He knew he'd left nothing behind, but one could never be too careful. One hair could convict him.
Of course, they'd have to catch him first. And that, they'd never do.
He'd been careful. He'd been skillful. He'd been ruthless.
He smiled as he gave the earth a good stamp with his foot. She'd suffered. He could still hear Penny Hill's moans. Unfortunately they'd been muffled by the gag in her mouth, but that had been a necessary evil. But the gag hadn't hidden the hollowed, glazed look in her eyes when he'd finished with her. And she'd known exactly why. That made it all the sweeter.
He stopped abruptly, one hand gripping the shovel handle. Shit. He'd forgotten the briefcase. Penny Hill's briefcase was still in the backseat of her car. He made himself calm down. It was okay. He'd go back and get the briefcase when he could. He'd hidden the car well enough that nobody would bother it before then.
He looked up at the night sky. There were still hours before dawn. He could get a little sleep before his day officially began.
The boy watched at the window, his heart in his throat. He was there, again. Burying something, again. He should tell. He should. But he was so afraid. He could only watch as he finished, covering his hiding place once more. His imagination conjured all kinds of hideous pictures of what he'd just buried. But the reality of what he'd do if he told was every bit as bad. This the boy knew for sure.