Tuesday, November 28, 9:45 a.m.
Reed was just happy to get his hands clean. He came out of the men's room at the convenience store still scowling at his shoes. He should have changed them before going into that house. That's why he kept several pairs in the back of his truck. Nasty cat. Covered in mud and a number of other things best left unidentified, it was currently being restrained in the box on Mitchell's lap. From where he stood, Reed could see her in the truck, her elbows propped on the box, face intent as she talked on her cell phone. She'd been on hold with DCFS when he'd come in to wash up, waiting for information on Penny Hill "s next of kin. Now her expression changed, grew softer. Pained. She was informing Hill's son, some three hundred miles away. But her face had looked like that when she'd informed the Burnettes in person.
Hill's family wasn't just an entry in Mia Mitchell's notebook. She'd insisted on using Penny Hill's name, rather than the victim. She cared. He liked that.
A yawn cracked his jaw. It had been a sleepless night and an afternoon of reading the fine print of case files loomed. He carried two cups of coffee to the cash register, then froze as his eyes dropped to the stack of newspapers at his feet.
"Will that be all?" the cashier asked.
Reed glanced up, then back down to the paper. "The coffee and a paper. Thanks."
When he got outside, she'd finished her call and was staring straight ahead. But when he knocked on her window she was quick to respond, rolling it down so she could take the coffee from his hands. "What's that?" she asked, looking at the paper.
"Your friend Carmichael. She was following you last night."
"Dammit," she said, scanning the page. "It's not the first time she followed me to a crime scene. It's like she has radar or something. 1 wonder when the woman sleeps."
"/ wonder where she was hiding. I checked the crowd. I should have seen her."
"She seems able to disappear. If she saw us, she would have hidden."
Reed started the engine. "How'd she get the story in this morning's edition?"
One side of her mouth lifted wryly. "The Bulletin goes to press at one a.m."
"You know this from experience."
She shrugged. "Like I said, it's not the first time. Looks like she's got a couple big stories on the front page. The fire is above the fold and me tackling DuPree yesterday afternoon is below." She made a hissing sound. "She named Penny Hill. Dammit."
He'd seen that. "You were able to inform the family before they found out?"
She looked glum as she read on. "The son, yes. Not the daughter."
"It says the authorities were unavailable for comment."
"Which means she called me on my office line while I was at the scene. She's a real piece of work." She sighed. "The neighbors talked, after I asked them not to."
"Some people like to see their name in print."
"Hopefully you do, because you're in the article, too." She busied herself adding cream to her coffee, using the box on her lap as a tray. "Stay still, cat," she muttered when the box shifted. "Says here that you're decorated. So dish, Solliday."
"A few citations, like yours. Next stop is the lab so we can get rid of that cat."
Mitchell patted the box. "Poor kitty."
"Dirty kitty." Reed pulled out into traffic. "That cat reeks."
She laughed. "He does have a certain… bouquet. What, don't you like animals?"
"Clean ones, yes. My daughter has a puppy. Big muddy paws all over everything."
"I always wanted a pet." She said it almost wistfully.
"So get one."
"Too much guilt. I tried goldfish once. Kind of a test. I failed. I pulled a thirty-six hour shift and when I got home I was so tired I forgot to feed it. Fluffy ended up floating."
He had to smile. "Huffy? You named a goldfish Fluffy?"
"I didn't. My friend Dana's foster kids did. It was a kind of a group effort. Anyway, all my friends have pets so I just play with theirs. That way I can't hurt anything." She sipped her coffee, quiet for so long that he turned to look at her. Immediately she straightened her back, as if she'd realized her thoughts had drifted. "Penny Hill's son said he'd drive up to claim his mother's body. He'll be here tomorrow morning."
"What about Hill's daughter? The neighbor thought she lived in Milwaukee."
"The son said his sister got divorced recently and moved back to Chicago."
"Do you have her address?"
"Yeah. She's about a half hour from here."
"Then let's drop off Percy and pay her a visit." Mitchell sighed. "I just hope she doesn't read the Bulletin."
Tuesday, November 28, 12:10 p.m.
Manny Rodriguez looked both ways before throwing the newspaper in the garbage outside the cafeteria. Behind Brooke, Julian swore softly. "You were right," he said.
"I saw him with the newspaper at the end of first period. You want to fish it out?"
Julian lifted the lid. "This is the Bulletin. Yesterday was the Tribr
"Both are available at the front desk," she said.
"Well, whatever he cut out was front-page news. You go eat your lunch. I'll check to see what Mr. Rodriguez was reading. It could just be an article about sports."
"Do you really think so?"
He shook his head. "No. Did you have any issues with him today during class?"
"No. He was actually very quiet. He didn't say a word, even when we started talking about the signal fire in the book. It was like he was bothered by something."
"I'll talk to him. Thank you, Brooke. I really appreciate your help in this."
With a frown Brooke watched Julian walk away. He didn't seem very worried by any of this. Maybe I'm just green, she thought. Maybe I'm just making a big deal out of nothing. But she didn't think so. She wondered what other items Manny collected. She wondered if Julian would have Manny's room searched. If he didn't, he should. I would.
"Brooke? Is something wrong?" Devin was coming out ot the catetena.
"I'm just worried about Manny. He's clipping newspaper articles about arson."
Devin frowned. "That doesn't sound good. Did you tell Julian?"
"Yes, but he doesn't seem very concerned. What does it take to have a student's room searched?"
"A valid concern. I'd say yours qualifies, Brooke. Talk to the security dean. He'd want to know something like this."
Brooke considered Bart Secrest, the dour-faced head of security. He made her nervous. "Julian might think I'm going around him."
"He'll understand. Let me know if you want me to go with you to talk to Bart later. Bart looks mean, but he's really a cream puff."
"A cream puff." She shook her head. "Sour cream maybe."
Devin just grinned. "Talk to Bart. His bark is far worse than his bite."
Tuesday, November 28, 12:30 p.m.
Jack's team was at Penny Hill's house when she and Solliday got there. Instead of Jack's normal smile, she was met with a scowl. "Thanks a lot, Mia."
She blinked at him. "What?"
"What were you thinking, dropping a damn cat off at the lab?"
Mia's lips twitched. "He's evidence, Jack."
Jack's scowl deepened. "You ever try to bathe a cat?"
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "I'm bad with pets."
Behind her Solliday chuckled. "Just ask Fluffy the goldfish."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Next time you drop off a live animal, call first, okay?" He motioned them to follow him. "Cover your feet. We think we found something."
CSU had gridded off the kitchen and Ben was sifting through debris near the stove. Ben looked up, sweat running lines through the grime on his face. "Hey, Reed. Detective."
"Ben." Solliday looked around with a frown. "You find anything?"
"More egg fragments, just like the other house. I sent them to the lab to see if there were any pieces big enough for prints. And then there's the floor. Show, 'em, Jack."
Jack stopped near where they'd found Hill's body. He ran a gloved finger along the floor and showed them a finely ground dust, dark brown.
Mia immediately sensed a change in Solliday as he grabbed Jack's hand and held it up to the light. "Blood," he said, then looked back at Mia. "Or it was. At temperatures of this fire, the proteins begin to degrade. It was too dark to see this last night."
"There was a lot of blood," Jack said. "It soaked through the seams in the linoleum."
Mia stared at the floor, in her mind seeing Hill's body as they'd found it, curled up in a fetal ball, her wrists still bound together. "So he shot her, too?"
Jack shrugged. "Barrington could tell you for sure."
"You find any prints in that blood?" she asked.
"No." Jack stood up. "We haven't found any prints anywhere. He probably wore gloves. But…" He led them to the front door. "Look here."
The doorknob had a brown smear. "He came out this way with bloody hands," Solliday said. "It's consistent with the neighbor's story. He heard tires squeal, then saw Hill's car tearing down the street."
Jack tapped the air above the newel post. "Now look here."
Mia got close to the wood, then looked up at Solliday. "Brown hair caught in the wood grain. They fought here."
"Just like Caitlin," Solliday murmured.
"We'll bag that and take it in," Jack said "The brown hair has gray roots, so I'm thinking it's your victim's and not the killer Sorry."
"I wouldn't think she'd be strong enough to knock his head into the newel post," Mia agreed as she pushed at the front door, checking out the tree-lined front porch. The evergreens had been badly burnt but neighbors had told her that the trees had been full and thick. "You didn't find any evidence of forced entry on the back door, did you?"
"None," Jack confirmed.
"Char patterns indicate the back door was closed through the fire," Solliday added.
"Then he probably came in through the front. He could have easily concealed himself behind those trees and waited for her to come home. It's late. She's tired. I talked to her supervisor this morning when I called to get her next-of-kin info. He said she'd had a little too much of the punch at her retirement party. When I first called he thought I was calling to say she'd been hauled in for DUI."
"So she's unsteady on her feet," Jack said. "He waits for her to open the front door, then pushes in behind her and knocks her into the post."
"He surprised Caitlin inside the house. He was waiting for Penny outside in the cold. Why didn't he just break in?" Mia scanned the wall. "I don't see an alarm panel."
"There isn't one," Solliday said. "Here or on the back door."
"That doesn't make sense," she said with a frown. "He waits for her outside in twenty-degree weather, pushes his way in, overpowers her, then forces her to the kitchen where he shoots her, sets the place on fire, then steals her car."
"We found her car yet?" Jack asked.
"Not yet." Mia looked around the foyer. "Did you sweep this area?"
"Twice," Jack said dryly. "Debris's on its way to the lab."
She ignored his tone. "Did you find a shopping bag of presents? Or a briefcase?"
"No, neither."
"Her supervisor said she left the party at 11:15 last night with a bag full of gifts and her briefcase. He thought we'd find her Day Planner in the briefcase."
"It was late," Solliday said. "Maybe she left the bags in her car."
"Maybe." Mia drew in a breath. "I'd sure as hell like to have her Day Planner."
Jack made a sympathetic grimace. "No chance she had GPS in her car?"
"No. Her car was ten years old and her son said she didn't have any fancy electronics." She blew out a breath. "I'm still stuck on why he waited for her here. Why didn't he break in the back door like he did at the Doughertys' house? It's not like she had a big… Hell. Wait." Quickly she walked back to the kitchen, and carefully stepped her way across the grid to the cabinet. It had collapsed along with the counter. Glass and ceramic pieces littered the floor. "Did you check through this stuff yet, Ben?"
"Not yet," Ben said.
Mia crouched down and started picking through the pottery.
Jack crouched down next to her. "What are you looking for?"
"Something like… this." She pulled a thick fragment out of the pile, between her thumb and forefinger. She wiped the fragment clean and held it up. "Paw print."
Solliday sucked in one cheek. "A dog dish. She had a dog."
"Who is AWOL," Mia said flatly. "I don't get this guy. He lays in wait for this woman, shoots her and leaves her to burn, but he spares the dog just like he spared Percy."
"He doesn't fit the profile," Solliday said. "Most arsonists would have killed the pets."
"None of the neighbors mentioned a dog," Mia said. "Why not?"
Solliday's brows rose. "Let's ask them."
"I have Mr. Wright's number." She dialed her cell. "Mr. Wright? This is Detective Mitchell. I talked to you last night. I have a question. Did Mrs. Hill have a dog?"
"No, but her daughter did. I didn't even think… Oh, God, that poor animal. He was a nice dog, too. Her daughter's apartment didn't allow dogs, so Penny kept the dog."
"Daughter's dog," Mia mouthed. "What kind of dog is it, Mr. Wright?"
"Golden retriever, Great Dane mix. He was huge, but friendly. Penny would joke…"
Mia could hear him take a shuddering breath. "She would joke what?" she asked.
"That the dog was so friendly it would lead a burglar to the silver for a Milkbone."
"Mr. Wright, if you see him wandering the neighborhood, can you call me? Thank you." She hung up with a sigh. "Big dog. Dane-golden mix. That's why he waited. The dog was big. He thought he was vicious."
"But he didn't shoot him when he had the chance." Solliday commented.
"Have you talked to the daughter?" Jack asked.
"No. I called a half dozen times and we stopped by her apartment, but the landlord said she hadn't been home since Saturday morning. Her car's gone."
"You checked the inside of her place?"
"Under the circumstances we thought it was prudent," Solliday said. "But she wasn't there. Her answering machine was flashing with a number of calls. Mia called for a warrant, so if we don't hear from her in a few hours, we'll go back."
Mia blinked, a little startled at hearing him use her first name. He'd started calling Jack by his first name, too. Apparently the lieutenant was feeling more at home. Unfortunately Mia wasn't ready to let him settle in. She was still Abe's partner.
But before she could reply, Solliday's cell phone rang. "It's Barrington," he told them. "What do you have, Sam?" He listened for a moment. "We'll be right down." He flipped his phone closed, his mouth gone flat. "He's got something."
Tuesday, November 28, 1:35 p.m.
"He's autopsying somebody else's case right now," Sam's tech told them, motioning to the door. "You can go in and talk to him through the glass."
"Can't he come out here?" Mitchell asked, then squared her jaw. "I just ate, okay?"
The tech chuckled. "I'll tell him you're here."
"Hill's body is going to be worse than an autopsy," Reed cautioned quietly.
"1 know. I remember." She closed her eyes for a second, just long enough for a shudder to shake her. "I hate to watch them cutting. I know it makes me a wuss, but-"
"It's all right, Mia," he interrupted.
"So we're on a first name basis now," she said. "I thought you'd slipped before. You must have decided to keep me after all," she added, her voice hard with sarcasm.
"The first time was a slip," he admitted. "But why stand on formality now?"
"Why indeed?" she murmured, then turned as Sam emerged, pulling at the surgical mask he wore. "What do you have?" she asked.
Sam walked to a sheet-covered body. "Your vie had carbon monoxide in her lungs."
"Whoa," she said.
"Wait," Reed said at the same time. "CSU found blood at the scene. We thought he'd shot her like he shot Caitlin Burnette."
"No. X-rays show skull shattering, consistent with the pressure caused by the high temperature. No vent holes this time. She was alive when the fire started."
Mitchell's brows had snapped together. "How long was she alive?"
"Carbon monoxide levels indicate maybe two to five minutes. Not much more."
Reed was almost afraid to ask. "Was she conscious?"
"I didn't find any evidence of pre-mortem head trauma."
Mitchell's face had gone a bit pale. Reed drew a breath, unable to imagine the pain the woman must have experienced if she had been conscious. Grasping at straws, he asked, "Is it possible she was drugged, Sam?"
"I've sent out for a tox screen to look for drugs in her system. Her bladder was essentially destroyed, so I couldn't do a urine tox. The blood samples I took indicated a blood alcohol level of.08. That's a lot of alcohol for a woman of her size."
"She'd been to a party," Mitchell murmured, then straightened her spine and strengthened her voice. "If he didn't shoot her, then where did the blood come from?"
Carefully Barrington pulled back the sheet and Reed felt Mitchell tense beside him. "I have to be careful," Barrington said. "The body's very fragile. But come here." He moved to one side, motioning them closer. "Look at her arms."
Hill's torso was black, but her arms and legs were blistered, the skin loose and… Reed's stomach took a roll and beside him, Mitchell's swallow was audible.
"God," she murmured, then again straightened. "Her arms looked blacker before."
"Soot. We had to swab the skin. Her torso took the greatest brunt of the fire. It's really difficult to totally destroy an adult body in a house fire," Barrington said, as if lecturing med school students. "The body is composed of so much water."
"He coated her torso with the solid accelerant, but not her limbs," Reed said quietly.
"I found ammonium nitrate on her torso. It was helpful knowing what to look for."
"The blood, Barrington?" Mitchell bit out. "Where did the blood come from?"
Unperturbed, Sam pointed to his own inner arm, just above his elbow. "He cut her brachial artery, here. If you look closely, you can see the skin curls in around the slice."
"He sliced her?" Mitchell shot a puzzled look up at Reed, then back at Sam, her eyes narrowed. "How long would it have taken her to bleed out?"
"Two to five minutes," Sam said.
Mitchell "s face hardened. "Son of a bitch. He wanted her to bleed out slowly. Shooting would have been too merciful."
Reed exhaled slowly. "He wanted her to feel the pain. He burned her alive."
"How long would she have been conscious?" she asked between her teeth.
"Without drugs? A few minutes. It's hard to say."
"Her hands are intact," Reed said. "Did you check them?"
"Yes, but I didn't find anything. If she scratched at him, she didn't get skin."
"Did you check her teeth?" Mitchell asked and Sam shook his head.
"Not yet, but I will."
Mitchell blew out a breath. "What kind of knife are we looking for?"
"Probably not serrated, but very sharp. There's no evidence of sawing, just a slice."
Mitchell stepped back from the body. "We'll need to see if any knives are missing from Penny Hill's house. Hopefully her daughter will know what she had in her kitchen."
Reed checked his watch. "Your clerk should have pulled Burnette's case records by now. Let's go by DCFS and get Hill's records, then we can start cross-checking."
She took one long last look at Hill's body, her jaw tight. "Yeah. Let's go see who hated Penny Hill enough to do this."
Tuesday, November 28, 3:15 p.m.
Mia's arm was throbbing, but she gritted her teeth as she held on to the box of DCFS files. Solliday carried the heavier box, his expression grimly stark as hers must also be. It was if their moods had combined into one dark cloud. After leaving the morgue, she'd felt angrier than hell. But after leaving DCFS, she felt completely drained.
Penny Hill had been well loved. The grief at DCFS had been palpable. Phones rang and social workers moved through their daily business, but there had been a hush over the place. Like in a church before a funeral. Or at a graveside after.
The elevator slid open and Mia walked into the bullpen, counting the seconds until she could drop the heavy box, but she stopped short at the sight of her desk, piled high with more boxes. Abe's desk, conversely, was still well-ordered and immaculately clean, with not a folder to be seen.
"God save me from pissy clerks," she muttered. Stacy had been miffed that Mia hadn't been more appreciative of her desk cleaning efforts. Now Mia couldn't see her desk at all. Without a word she marched to her desk and dropped the box on the floor. Solliday more sedately slid his box onto Abe's desk and sank into Abe's chair. Before she could quell the reflex, Mia's hand stretched out, a protest rising in her throat. "No."
Solliday's head lifted and his eyes met hers as her cheeks heated.
"I'm sorry." she said. "That was stupid."
His lips curved inside his goatee. "I promise I won't put my dirty shoes on his desk," he said, and the wry humor in his voice made her smile as she dropped into her chair.
"I am sorry. Abe would want you comfortable. It's just that I haven't been so tired in a long time."
"I know. We were up most of the night. And then… that kind of grief." He pulled a stack of files from his box. "It drains the very life out of your soul."
Mia blinked. "That sounded remarkably poetic, Solliday. I mean… like a real poem. Not like my 'bully named Bubba.'"
His eyes dropped to the files. "How do you want to handle these?" he asked and struck with curiosity, she leaned forward. His cheeks were decidedly red.
"Solliday. You're blushing."
He cocked his jaw to one side, stubbornly refusing to meet her eyes and Mia found herself thoroughly charmed. "Let's go through the files Hill's boss cherry-picked first." he said.
"Ah, yes. The many arsonists Penny Hill tried to place in foster care. We need a system or we're never going to find a connection. How about you write down all the names you come across in Hill's files, I'll do Burnette's. In an hour we break and compare." She frowned at the boxes. "If I can figure out where to start."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pain reliever. "Start with this. You make me hurt just looking at you. You carried in that damn box like you didn't have a hole in your shoulder." He tossed the bottle across their desks and Mia caught it.
"Are you always such a mother?" she asked.
He looked surprised. "No, I'm a father. Why can only mothers make you take medicine?"
"Because-" She bit her tongue. Because fathers are the reason you have to take medicine in the first place. Mothers just give you a pill and tell you not to provoke him anymore. She grabbed the top file and started reading. "Let's just get to work, okay?"
She could feel his eyes on her, watching, but in the end he said nothing, just settled himself into Abe's chair and began to read.
Tuesday, November 28, 4:00 p.m.
Bart Secrest was a scary looking man. Kind of like Mr. Clean, but mean. His office was dark and stark, without one picture or personal memento to soften his image.
Brooke took the chair he offered with a silent gesture.
"You did the right thing, Miss Adler," he said without preamble.
"I didn't want to cross Julian." Who'd been livid over the search of Manny's room.
"Julian will live," Bart said in a tone that made Brooke think there was no love lost between them. "You were right to worry about Manny Rodriguez, Miss Adler."
"So you found something?"
He nodded. "Lots of stories about fires."
"Local fires, like the two articles I saw him clip?"
"No, those were the only local articles. The others were more how-to."
"Oh Lord. He was collecting articles on how to set fires?"
"He was." Secrest leaned back in his chair. "And we found a pack of matches hidden in one of his shoes. Obviously smuggled in from somewhere."
She frowned. "But we're in lockdown. How could something get smuggled in?"
"Every castle has a bolt-hole, Miss Adler."
She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
His smile was brief and somehow still made him look mean. "Every institution has a supply pipeline for contia-band. Even this one. But I'll find it. That I guarantee."
He stood and she guessed the interview was over. "Well… good night."
His answer was a curt nod as she backed out of his door. She'd turned the corner toward the main entrance when she heard her name. Julian standing outside his office, looking furious. "Brooke, what the hell have you done?"
Brooke straightened her spine. She'd done the right thing. Bart Secrest said so. "I reported suspicious behavior, Julian. The way you were supposed to."
Julian came closer until he was practically standing on her toes. He leaned over her, invading her space and tickling her nose with the aroma of pipe tobacco that lingered in his jacket. "You insolent little…" He hissed a breath between his clenched teeth. "Don't you dare tell me what I should have done. You have ruined months of progress with that boy. Months. Thanks to you any trust I'd built with him is gone."
Brooke's heart was hammering so hard she thought he could hear it. He was big and way too close and breathing her air. Still she lifted her chin and stared up at him defiantly. "You said he wouldn't start any fires here at the school."
"And he wouldn't have."
She shook her head. "Secrest found matches in his room."
Julian narrowed his eyes. "Not possible."
"Talk to Secrest. He'll tell you. Manny could have started a fire that put every teacher and student in danger. I did the right thing, even if you don't agree."
Shaking from head to toe but proud she hadn't caved and apologized, she made it to her car and drew a deep breath as she buckled herself in. Hands trembling, she pulled the two articles she'd copied in the last two days. One from Monday's Trib, the other from today's Bulletin. Two fires, local. Two fatalities. Manny had been withdrawn that morning in class. Preoccupied. Disturbed. And they'd found matches in his room.
That Manny could have been involved in these fires was impossible. He couldn't leave the property. But someone had managed to smuggle matches in. These two fires were the only local articles he'd clipped. What made these fires so special? Or had she reignited Manny's compulsion and any articles on fire would have sufficed?
She winced. Ignited. Poor choice of words. Two people were dead because of these fires. She wouldn't be able to sleep as long as she worried she herself was somehow …To blame was also a poor choice of words. Connected was better. She needed to find out if Manny was somehow connected, and through him… me.
She could call the police. That would be the sensible thing to do. But it was more than likely she was being compulsively ridiculous and there was no connection at all. It would be a wild-goose chase for the police and that wouldn't be good.
But if there was a connection, the police should be told. There was one way to find out. The second fire was in a neighborhood closer to the school. She'd see for herself.
Tuesday, November 28, 4:15 p.m.
"Mia. Mia.'"
She looked up from Burnette's files with a jolt, blinking furiously to bring Solliday into focus. Shit. She'd dropped off, right here at her desk. "You ready to trade names?"
He shook his head. "We have company," he said quietly. A woman was crossing the bullpen, her eyes red and swollen. "She matches the description of Hill's daughter."
Mia came to her feet, alert now. In the woman's hand was a copy of the Bulletin.
"I'm Margaret Hill. I'm looking for Detective Mitchell. She left me a message."
"That's me. You're here about your mother."
"Is it true?" she whispered, holding the paper. "What this says about my mother?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Hill. Let's go somewhere where can talk more privately." She led her into a small room next to Spinnelli's office. Still clutching the newspaper, Margaret Hill sank into the chair and closed her eyes. Sollliday closed the door behind them.
"Miss Hill, I'm so sorry for your loss. This is Lieutenant Solliday with the fire marshal's office. We're investigating your mother's death together."
Margaret nodded and swiped her cheeks with her fingertips. Solliday put a box of tissues in her lap and leaned against the edge of the table so that Margaret was between them.
"Miss Hill." His voice was so very gentle it made Mia's throat thicken. "You know from the newspaper that your mother's house burned down last night."
Margaret looked up, her cheeks streaked. Her gaze locked onto Solliday's face. "It says… It says the police think she was murdered."
"She was, ma'am," Solliday said and Margaret began to cry again.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just can't… My God. Oh, Mom."
Mia touched her hand. "Did she mention anyone or anything that worried her?"
Margaret visibly controlled herself. "Mom was a social worker. She took children from crackhead mothers and abusive fathers every week for twenty-five years."
"Did she worry about all those mothers and fathers?" Solliday asked.
"Not really. She worried sometimes about going into their houses. Once she was shot and she almost died. I was so happy she was retiring. I thought for once she could finally sleep at night."
"She wasn't sleeping? You said she didn't worry about the parents," Mia said.
"She didn't." Margaret's smile was hard and bitter. "She was so terrified she'd miss something. Miss a detail, and a child would get hurt. She used to wake up screaming. It got worse after she got shot. We'd thought we'd lost her then. I was only fifteen."
"What happened to the shooter?"
"He got jail time. He only shot Mom. He killed his wife."
"Is he still in jail?"
"I think so. They were supposed to tell us if he got out."
Mia noted it. "Miss Hill, did anyone else have a personal issue with your mother?"
Margaret nodded. Slowly. "My ex-husband wanted to kill her."
Solliday's brows lifted. "Why?"
"Because my mother finally convinced me to leave him. Two months ago I filed for divorce. Mom should have said 'I told you so." But she never did."
"Why did you leave him?" Mia asked and Margaret rolled up her sleeves. Solliday didn't quite manage to control his flinch. Small round scars were scattered up and down her arms. Cigarette burns. Mia pursed her lips briefly. "Okay. That answers that."
"Where is your ex-husband now, Miss Hill?" Solliday asked tightly. He was very angry, Mia could tell. But still in control. That was good.
"In Milwaukee."
Mia pulled Margaret's sleeves back down. "Your mother knew about the abuse?"
"I managed to hide it from her for a while. But she found out."
"So what did your ex-husband do when he found out you were gone?"
"Doug tried to push his way into Mom's house, but she threatened to call the cops and he left, cursing her. I was hiding in the back room the whole time. Looks like I ended up running from Doug just like I ran from Mom."
Solliday's brows crunched. "How do you mean?"
"Mom and I had a hard relationship. I think I married Doug just to punish her. High and mighty social worker, can't control her own kid. You can't possibly understand."
Mia thought about her own sister. I need to tell Kelsey what happened at Bobby's grave. "Yes, I can. We'll need your husband's full name and address."
Her jaw tight, Margaret wrote. "His last name is Davis. I hate that SOB."
"I can understand that, too," Mia said. She could feel Solliday's eyes watching her, looking deeper than she wanted him to see. It sent a prickling shiver down her spine. Steadfastly she focused on Margaret. "Miss Hill, does your ex-husband like animals?"
"No. He hates dogs. When I left, I took Milo to Mom's and… Oh, no. Is Milo alive?"
"He didn't appear to be in the house at the time of the fire," Solliday said.
Relief and confusion battled in her eyes. "Mom never let him out without his leash."
"We'll call you if we find him," she said. "Your brother is coming up tonight."
Margaret closed her eyes. "Oh, wonderful."
"You don't get along with your brother?" Solliday asked.
"My brother is a good man, but no, we don't get along. He warned me that one day I'd cause more trouble for Mom than she'd be able to clean up. I guess he was right. He usually is." She stood up unsteadily. "When can I see my mother?"
"You can't," Mia said gently. "I'm sorry."
Tortured emotion twisted the woman's face before she nodded and walked away.
"Well," Mia said. "Doug may be a spouse-abusing prick, but I don't think he did this."
"Me, either. But the sooner we rule him out, the sooner Margaret Hill can let go of some of her guilt." He checked his watch. "You can call Milwaukee PD while I drive."
Mia frowned. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the university. We still have to talk to Caitlin's friends. I called the housemother at the sorority house. She's going to have all the girls there at five thirty."
"When did you do that?"
"When you were asleep." He waved her quiet when she opened her mouth. "Don't say you're sorry. You were up all night. You tackled that guy yesterday and you should still be on disability. I think even you need to sleep, Mia."
There'd been a wry admiration under his criticism. "Thanks. I think."
Tuesday, November 28, 4:30 P.M.
"Hello," he drawled. "May I speak with Emily Richter, please?"
Her sigh was longsuffering. "This is she. With whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Tom Johnson. I'm calling from the Chicago Bulletin."
"How do you reporters keep getting my phone number?" she demanded.
"You're listed in the phone book, ma'am," he said politely. Damn idiot woman.
"Well." She sniffed. "I talked to one of your reporters already. A woman. Her name was… Carmichael. You should talk to her if you want details about the fire."
"Well, ma'am, I'm not covering the fire itself. I'm with a different department. I'd like to feature your neighbors in a small piece. Let the community know they have a need. Give folks a way to help out, this being the holiday season and all.
My deadline's in just a few hours. If you could help me out, I"d sure appreciate it."
"Well, what do you want from me?" she snapped.
I'd love to shut you up, you old bag, he thought, then injected a lazy smile into his voice. "I've been trying to reach the Doughertys, but nobody knows where they are. I'd like to talk to them, find out what they need the most, things like that."
"They just got back this morning." She sniffed. "From Florida. They were here, talking to the police. I went out after the police were gone, to offer my help, of course."
Of course. "Did they mention where they were staying by any chance?"
"I didn't ask. But they had a parking permit from the Beacon Inn."
Thank God for gossiping old busybodies, he thought with a grin. "Thank you, ma'am. Happy holidays." He hung up, satisfied.
Mrs. Dougherty, you and I have a date. A hot one. He chuckled. A hot date. Sometimes I slay myself. He dragged the mammoth phone book from below the phone and found the hotel's number, dug in his pocket for more change and dialed.
A perky voice answered. "Beacon Inn, this is Tania. How can I help you?"
He deepened his voice. "Yes. I'd like the room number for Joe Dougherty, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't give out the room numbers of guests. I can connect you."
The back of his neck heated in anger. "Actually, I'm having flowers delivered to him and his wife. I just need the room number to tell the florist."
"Just tell the florist our hotel name and location. We'll deliver them for you."
Her smug tone clawed at him. We'll deliver them for you. She wasn't going to tell him, the high-and-mighty bitch. He gritted his teeth against the impotent rage. "Thank you, Tania. You've been so helpful." He hung up and narrowed his eyes at the phone.
Flowers it would have to be. And Tania would wish she really had been helpful.