Wednesday, November 29, 10:45 a.m.
All eyes were on her when she walked into the conference room. Spinnelli, Jack, Miles. And Solliday. She sat next to Jack, her stomach churning.
"Did the woman from the news video show?" Spinnelli barked without preamble.
Solliday cleared his throat. "No. Mia thought she saw somebody she recognized, but it turned out not to be the video woman. We got some more amateur video taken yesterday evening. We're hoping to find a lead there."
He was covering for her. Mia bit down on the inside of her cheek. As angry as he'd been, he was covering for her. He was acting like a partner. But I didn't.
Spinnelli pushed. "You must have seen somebody you knew to disappear like that." He frowned. "Without communicating your intentions. Who did you see?"
Mia met Spinnelli's hard gaze. "I didn't see the woman from the video. Sir."
Spinnelli drummed his fingers once. "Then who was she?"
Mia laced her fingers together, hard. "It was a personal matter."
Spinnelli's eyes narrowed. "Well, it just became public knowledge. Who was she?"
Her churning stomach turned upside down. Now everyone would know. "I don't know her name. I saw her for the first time three weeks ago. She's popped up a few more times in the last few weeks. Then again today."
Spinnelli's eyes widened. "She's been following you?"
"Yeah." Mia swallowed hard, but the bile still burned the back of her throat.
"What does she say, Mia?" Solliday asked, very quietly.
"Nothing. She just looks at me. Then runs before I can find out what she wants."
"She saluted you today," Solliday said.
She saw it in her mind. That little salute with that small reluctant smile. "I know."
Miles leaned back, his eyes sharp. "You do know who she is."
"I know who I think she is. But she has nothing to do with this case. Sir."
Spinnelli cocked his jaw. "She's following you. Last night you were shot at."
Mia frowned quickly. "That was different. That was Getts."
Spinnelli leaned forward. "You don't know that for sure. So tell me, Mia."
It was not a request. "All right. I found out the day of my father's burial that he'd had a son with… with a woman not my mother. The boy is buried in the plot right next to his. The woman who's been following me was there, at the burial. She looks just like my father." She lifted her chin. "I assume she's his daughter, too."
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Jack reached over and covered her hands with one of his. She hadn't realized how cold she was until she felt his warmth. "You're going to pull your fingers out of their sockets," he murmured, loosening the death grip she had on her hands.
Spinnelli cleared his throat. "I take it you never knew about these… siblings."
"No, sir. But that's not really important. The fact remains that I diverted my attention from a stakeout for personal reasons. I'll accept the consequences."
Spinnelli looked at her, hard. Then blew out a breath. "Everybody out. Except you, Mia. You stay." Chairs scraped as Miles, Solliday and Jack rose to their feet.
When the door was shut, she closed her eyes. "Just get it over with, Marc."
She could hear his footsteps as he paced the length of the room. Then he stopped. "Look at me, Mia." Bracing herself, she did. He stood on the other side of the table, his fists on his hips, his mustache bunched in a frown. "Hell, Mia. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I…" She shook her head. "I don't know."
"Abe said you told him you were distracted that night. Now I guess it all makes sense." He sighed. "I'm not sure I'd have done anything differently."
Her heart thumped hard in her chest. "Sir?"
"Mia, we've know each other too long for this shit. You have a personal problem, you take personal time, okay? But under the circumstances, I would have followed her, too. You think she's a danger?"
Mia drew her first easy breath in an hour. "I don't think so. Like Solliday said, today she saluted me. It was almost… respect. All I could think was that we were watching for suspicious faces and there she was. But she showed up before the arson started."
"She just gives you the creeps."
"Yeah. Makes me wonder how many more there are out there."
"Well, figure it out on your own time," he said, but gently. "Now, get back to work. I want to know who that woman in the news video is, ASAP You're dismissed."
Mia made it to the door, then paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Thanks, Marc."
He just grunted. "Get out of those monkey shoes, Mitchell."
Mia got back to the bullpen and stopped. Dana stood next to her desk, a small cardboard box clutched in her hand. "What's up?" she asked, dropping to her chair.
Dana lifted her brows. "I've come to report a homicide." She set the box on Mia's desk and pulled out a crab, its claws wrapped with rubber bands. It wasn't moving.
Mia wrinkled her nose. "Jeez, Dana, what the hell is that?"
"It was a Maryland crab. I caught it with my own hands. It was alive and would have been alive if you'd come last night. Now it's dead and you're to blame. I want justice."
"I can't believe people eat those. They look like giant bugs from a bad fifties flick."
Dana dropped the dead crab back in the box. "They're pretty tasty, which you would have found out if we could have cooked this one for you. I heard there was a press conference, so I figured you'd be here. I've been worried. How's your shoulder?"
"Good as new."
"And now you've got a new owie. What did you do to yourself now?"
"Dodged a bullet," she said carelessly and Dana's eyes narrowed.
"This new case?"
"No."
"You'll tell me later. For now, I need to know what's happening on this arson case."
"You know I can't tell you specifics, Dana."
Pain flashed in Dana's brown eyes. "I knew Penny Hill." And she was mourning her, Mia could see. "She was a good person. You'll catch who did this?"
"Yes." Now if they had a lead or two, she'd feel better about that promise.
"Good." Dana tilted her head. "And everything else? How's all that?"
"I had to tell Spinnelli. She was at the press conference."
Dana blinked in surprise. "Damn."
"She got away again, but I got half her license plate this time."
"You want Ethan to track her down?"
Dana's husband was a PI with a way around computers. "Not yet. I'll try first." Mia's gaze swerved to the edge of the bullpen, where Solliday had entered, a small television under one arm and a VCR under the other. He'd covered for her when he didn't have to. Dana twisted around to see what she was looking at and whistled softly.
She looked back, her appreciation evident. "So who is he?"
"Who?" But it was a bad plan to play dumb. "Oh. Him."
"Yeah, him." Dana's lips twitched. "Want me to run a background check on him?"
Mia felt her cheeks heat, knowing exactly what Dana meant. She'd run Ethan through the system herself when Dana got all floppy eyed over him and they'd been married just a few months later. It didn't take a detective to connect the dots. "Not necessary. That's my new partner."
Dana's eyes now flashed amusement. "You were a little sparse on the details, girl." She stood up as Solliday put the video equipment on Abe's desk. "Hello, there. I'm Dana Buchanan, Mia's friend. And you are?"
Solliday shook the hand Dana extended. "Reed Solliday, her temporary partner." His mouth curved, his eyes warming. "You're the foster mother."
Dana's smile broadened. "I am. Right now I have five, but I'll get another soon."
"I was a foster kid. My parents were active in the system for years. Good for you."
Dana still held his hand, studying his face in a way that made Mia's cheeks hotter. "Thank you." She let go of his hand and turned back to Mia. "Call me later, or I'll come find you. That's a promise." She gave a backward wave as she walked away.
Mia grabbed Wright's video. "Thanks for getting the TV."
"No problem." Watching her friend from the corner of his eye, Reed tossed Mia the cord. "Plug it in and I'll set it up." When the redhead got to the edge of the bullpen, she stopped and looked back. Her brows lifted in silent challenge, then she disappeared into the hall. There had been a comforting quality to her voice and in the way she'd held his hand, as if they'd been old friends. "She forgot her box," he said.
Mia glanced up and laughed. "She would. It's got a dead crab in it."
"Your friend brought you a dead crab?'"
"It was supposed to be a culinary delight." She ducked under her desk to plug the cord in, then stood, briskly tugging at her dress uniform. "Let's look at Mr. Wright's opus."
Reed popped in the video. "This is the footage of the fire we saw last night." In silence they watched the fire scene, watched themselves. Reed swallowed the wince when the camera caught him fumbling with his boots and Mia taking over the task.
"I'm sorry about that," she murmured and he remembered the look in her eyes when he'd rebuked her. Remote, as if she'd pulled back from a slap. But you're stuck with me. The words were telling in light of what she'd just divulged. What a shock it must have been to find her father had a second family. He searched for something to say.
"Mia, about what happened in Spinnelli's office…"
Her eyes never left the small screen, her jaw going taut. "Thanks for trying to cover for me. You won't have to do it again."
"I didn't mean that. That woman. Your…" He faltered. "It must have been a shock."
Her eyes narrowed at the video as a young woman with a braid came into the picture, briefly. "There's Carmichael, skulking around."
She'd shut the door on the subject. "She kept to the background," he said.
"I should have seen her."
"Maybe. You'll be looking for her next time."
She shot him a guarded glance. "Carmichael, yes."
He held her eyes for a moment before she looked away, back to the screen where the scene had changed. Wheaton stood at the curb, fluffing out her hair and checking her makeup. "Jared's brother Duane was standing pretty far back," he said.
"It's going to make it hard to get anything unless he ventures closer."
"It's still quarter to six according to the time stamp. The woman's not here yet." He pulled Mitchell's chair around their desks. "Sit down. This could take a while." The picture focused on Wheaton, before finally zooming out. Reed sat up straight, suddenly alert. "She's there." The blue Hyundai was parked off to the side and the woman was standing at her car door, staring up at the house, just as she had on Action News's video.
Mitchell had leaned forward, squinting. "Can we get a make on the plate?"
"Maybe your computer enhancement guys can," Reed said doubtfully. "Duane's still too far away for me to see anything and the angle's bad."
Then as if heeding their wish, the camera crept a little closer, taking a trip along the outer boundary of cars and onlookers. Reed held his breath. "Just a little farther."
"Holly's on," Mitchell said. "Her people are paying attention to her. Duane's getting a little braver. Come on, boy. Move your ass closer." Duane did, the video inching closer to the car. Finally it stopped, the plate still too small to read, but in full view.
"Closer, boy," she murmured, but the camera hovered in place for a few seconds, then abruptly moved back to Wheaton's camera crew who were dismantling equipment. Then there was static as the video stopped.
"I think that's the best we're going to get," Reed said. "Let's take this to the computer guys. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Mitchell pushed her chair back. "The computer guys are on the fifth floor. You take them the video. I'll change and meet you. Don't have any fun until I get there."
He watched as she jogged from the bullpen. She'd closed herself off, just as she had when he'd touched her face. He should let it go. But he wasn't sure he could.
Wednesday, November 29, 1:05 p.m.
Mia stared out the window of the SUV as Solliday slowly drove past the teacher's parking lot. "There it is. One blue Hyundai, registered to Brooke Adler, English teacher."
"Your computer guys did a good job blowing up that video frame."
"Technology is a beautiful thing," she agreed as he pulled into a visitor's space. "Adler's got a clean sheet. She doesn't seem like a likely arson suspect."
"Agreed. But she knows something. Or thinks she does."
"Agreed. If she'd set the fire, I think she'd look satisfied, but she just looked guilty."
"The fact that she works with delinquent kids is as good a tie as any so far."
"Our arsonist isn't a novice. You said so yourself. Could he really be a kid?"
"I said his fire-setting methods were sophisticated. I don't think he's a little kid. A teenager would certainly fit the profile." He angled his head. "What's wrong, Mia?"
She met his eyes, troubled. "Penny Hill was burned alive. On purpose."
"And part of you doesn't want to believe a kid is capable of that," he said quietly. "While the other part knows better."
She nodded, the truth of it a bitter taste in her mouth. "That about sums it up."
He lifted a shoulder, sympathetic. "We could be wrong."
"I hope not. It's the first real lead we've gotten." She slid to the ground. "Let's go."
She walked through the school door he held open, thinking she could get used to somebody like Reed Solliday. Doors, chairs, coffee. She was getting spoiled.
A woman sat behind the glass. Her badge said she was Marcy. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Detective Mitchell and this is Lieutenant Solliday. We've already provided ID to your security guard at the gate. We'd like to speak with Miss Adler, please."
"I'm afraid she's in class right now. May I take a message?"
Mia smiled obligingly. "You may not. You may tell her to come talk to us right now."
A man appeared to their left. "I'm Dr. Bixby, director of Hope Center. Can I help?"
Mia distrusted him at first sight. "Only to assist us in speaking to Miss Adler. Now."
"Marcy, arrange for coverage in Miss Adler's room. Come with me." He led them to a small room, spartanly furnished. "You can wait here. It will be more private than the lobby. As her employer, I have to ask. Is Miss Adler in some kind of trouble?"
Mia kept smiling. "We just want to talk to her."
Uncertainly the man closed the door, leaving them alone with an old desk and two worn chairs. The single window was covered with black bars. It was what it appeared to be- a prison for bad kids. "I always wonder if they've got places like this bugged."
"Then let's ask her to step outside," Solliday said simply and Mia looked up at him.
"No 'Don't be so paranoid, Mitchell'?" she asked.
"Does Abe say that?"
"No, never. He just flips a coin to choose lunch. Heads is good. Tails is vegetarian."
He paced the length of the small room and once again she was taken with the fluid grace with which he moved. A man his size should look cramped and out of place in a room this small. Instead, he moved like a cat, balancing on the balls of his feet. Graceful, but… restless. "I take it you're not taken with vegetarian fare," he murmured.
"No. We were a meat and potatoes family."
He'd stopped at the window and now stood looking between the bars, his expression pensive. "So were we, after."
His mood had altered dramatically in the minutes they'd been here. "After what?"
He threw a look over his shoulder. "After I went to live with the Sollidays."
The look was a guarded one that warned her to proceed cautiously. "They adopted you out of the foster care system?"
He nodded, turning back to the window. "I'd been in four homes before they took me in. I'd run away from the last two. I was too close to being sent to a place like this."
"Then we owe the Sollidays a great deal," she said softly and watched him swallow.
"Yes, we do." He turned and sat on the arm of one of the chairs. "I do."
"Sometimes there's a fine line between going good and going bad. One good experience, one kind soul can make all the difference in the world."
One side of his mouth lifted. "I still think good people deal and bad people don't."
"Way too simple. But we'll save that debate for another day. Somebody's coming."
The door opened and Mia found herself looking at the woman from the video. She was very young. "Miss Adler?" she asked and the woman nodded, eyes wide. Scared.
Adler stepped into the room, Bixby behind her. "Yes. What can I do for you?"
"I'm Detective Mitchell and this is my partner, Lieutenant Solliday. We'd like to talk to you," Mia said evenly. "Would you step outside with us?"
Bixby cleared his throat. "It's cold, Detectives. We'd be more comfortable in here."
"I'm not a detective," Solliday inserted smoothly. "I'm a fire marshal."
The color drained from Adler's face and Bixby looked down at her with a frown. "Miss Adler, what's happened?"
She clenched her hands together. "Did Bart Secrest talk to you yesterday?"
Bixby's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. "What have you done, Miss Adler?"
It was a not-so-subtle move to distance himself from his employee. Flinching, Adler moistened her lips. "I just went to see one of the houses in the articles. That's all."
Mia took a step forward. "Um, hello? We'd like to know what's going on here, now."
Dr. Bixby leveled Mia a stern look that she imagined would have reduced the trembling Miss Adler to tears before briskly moving to the telephone on the wooden desk. "Marcy, can you call Bart and Julian? Have them meet us in my office right away."
"Miss Adler, we'd like to talk to you alone, first," Mia insisted. "We won't be long. Although we'd be happy to wait while you get a coat." She held the door open, ignoring the director who'd opened his mouth, but closed it without saying a word.
Adler shook her head. "No, I'll be all right."
Wednesday, November 29, 1:25 p.m.
He could see the parking lot from the window. He stood there now, watching as three people left the building to stand in the sun. Two had gone in. A woman and a man. The woman was Detective Mia Mitchell. He recognized her from her picture in the paper. The man then could only be Lieutenant Solliday. His heart would continue to beat normally. He would not lose his head.
They were talking to Brooke Adler, because she'd gone to the fire scene, the idiot. Not because they knew anything.
They had nothing. No evidence. No suspects. So there was no reason to fear. They could search the whole school and find nothing, because there wasn't anything here. He smiled. Except me.
Mitchell and Solliday would have their little talk with Adler, learn what everyone else already knew-the new English teacher was an insignificant, air-headed little mouse. With, he had to admit, exceptional breasts. He'd often had thoughts about her body-enjoying it, even allowing her to enjoy it. But now, all that would have to change. At least the part about her enjoying it. For bringing them here, she'd have to pay.
But the fun would need to wait. Right now there were cops on the property. But they wouldn't stay long. When they were satisfied there was nothing here, Mitchell and Solliday would leave. And I'll go on. Tonight he'd finish Mrs. Dougherty. He was already getting excited thinking about the new challenge.
But again, the fun would need to wait. Right now, he had someplace to be.
Wednesday, November 29, 1:25 p.m.
Brooke willed her teeth not to chatter as the cop looked her up and down scathingly.
"You were at our crime scene yesterday evening," she began sharply. "Why?"
"I…" She wet her lips and felt them burn dry from the cold air. "I was curious."
"Are you nervous, Miss Adler?" the fire marshal asked gently. Brooke didn't watch much television, but she'd seen enough to know the man was the good cop. The small, blonde woman played the bad cop very well.
"I haven't done anything wrong" she said, but she sounded guilty, even to her own ears. "If you'd go inside, we can explain everything to you."
"We will soon," the fire marshal said. His name was Lieutenant Solliday. She needed to remember that. She needed to remember she hadn't done anything wrong and stop acting like an idiot. "But first, tell us why you went to the burned-out house last night." His smile was kind. "We caught you on the ten o'clock news."
She'd had a bad feeling when she'd seen herself on the news. Her biggest fear had been that Bixby or Julian would see her. This was worse. "I told you, I was curious. I'd read about the fires and I wanted to see them for myself."
"So who is Bart Secrest and what did he tell Bixby?" the woman asked.
"Please ask Dr. Bixby." She looked over her shoulder. Dr. Bixby was standing just inside the front door with a scowl. "You're going to get me fired," she murmured.
Solliday smiled, still kindly. "We'll haul you downtown if you keep wasting our time."
She blinked at the clash between his kind tone and harsh words. Her heart was beating hard and she was sweating despite the cold. "You can't. I didn't do anything."
"Watch us," he said softly. "Two women are dead, Miss Adler. Maybe you know something useful and maybe you don't. If you do, you'll tell us. If you don't, you'll stop whatever game you're playing because every minute we stand here is a minute he has to plan another attack. I'll ask you again. Why did you go to the burned-out house?"
Her mouth went dry. Two women, dead. "One of our students was clipping the articles from the paper about the two fires. I reported him to Bart Secrest, our security dean. The rest you'll have to get from him."
The woman eyes narrowed. "Him, who? Him, Secrest or him, the student?"
Brooke closed her eyes, visualizing the cold expression on Manny's face that morning. She doubted anyone would be able to pry anything out of Manny now. "Secrest," she said and shivered hard, "I've honestly told you everything I can." The two detectives shared a glance and Lieutenant Solliday nodded.
"All right, Miss Adler," the detective said. "Let's go talk to Dr. Bixby."
Wednesday, November 29, 1:30 P.M.
Bixby was waiting for them in the lobby. The look he shot Adler was cold and Mia couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the woman.
He led them to an office as rich as the waiting room had been sparse. He gestured to leather chairs around a mahogany conference table. Two men were already seated. One was in his mid-forties with a kindly face. The other looked like he bashed in walls with his bald head for fun. "Dr. Julian Thompson and Mr. Bart Secrest," Bixby said.
The nice-faced one rose, a smile creasing his face. Immediately Mia distrusted him as much as Bixby. "I'm Dr. Thompson, the school's counselor."
Secrest just scowled and said nothing.
"Sit," Bixby said. He drummed his fingers while he waited for them to do so. Mia took a few extra seconds, just to watch Bixby frown. Finally she sat next to him.
Mia looked at each of the men. "Who is the student and where are the articles?"
The counselor hid his flinch, but not well. Secrest continued to scowl.
"We investigated the student and saw no need to pursue the matter. Miss Adler felt some… personal need to view the scene herself, likely due to her sense of compassion for the victims. Isn't that right, Miss Adler?" Bixby asked.
Adler nodded, unsteadily. "Yes, sir."
Mia smiled. "Uh huh. You're contracted by the state, aren't you Dr. Bixby? Subject to state audits and surprise visits by the licensing board?"
Bixby's jaw tightened. "Please don't threaten me. Detective."
Mia looked at Solliday, amused. "I'm starting to hear an echo. So many people telling me not to threaten them."
"Maybe because everyone we've talked to knows something we needed to know, but didn't want to tell us," he said, very quietly. Almost ominously. His tone was perfect.
"That must be it." She leaned forward, sliding her palm flat on the table until she could look up into Bixby's face. It was a power-shifting move that she normally found very effective. Judging by the annoyed flicker in Bixby's eyes, it was effective once more. "I wonder what you know, Dr. Bixby. You said you investigated. I assume this means you didn't think this student was clipping articles for a school book report.''
"As I told Miss Adler," Solliday said in the same ominous tone, "we have two women in the morgue. Our patience is thin. If your student is not involved, we'll be on our way. If he is, he's a danger to the rest of your students. You don't want that kind of publicity."
A muscle in Bixby's jaw twitched and Mia knew Solliday had hit the right chord. "The student does not leave this facility. There is no way he could be involved."
"All right," Mia said, relaxing. "Tell us about the facility. Do all students live here?"
"Twenty percent are day students," Dr. Thompson said. "The rest are residential."
Mia smiled. "Residential. That means they're locked up?"
Thompson's returned smile was strained. "It means they can't leave. They are not locked in cells as they would be in a jail, no."
Mia widened her eyes. "You never let them outside?" She blinked. "Ever?"
Bixby's eyes flashed. "Residential students are given supervised time outdoors."
"The exercise yard," Mia said and Bixby's cheeks burned. Mia held up her hand. "I know, this isn't a jail. But your neighbors wouldn't be happy to know that a possible murderer was right here, less than a mile from their homes. From their children."
"Because there isn't," Bixby said tightly. "I've told you already."
"And we heard you the first time," Solliday said mildly. He looked over at Mia, one dark brow lifted. "You know you did promise Carmichael she'd be the first to know."
She beamed at him, in perfect accord. "Yes, I did."
Secrest leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "That's extortion."
"Who is Carmichael?" Bixby asked.
"The reporter who wrote the article in yesterday's Bulletin," Secrest said.
Thompson's mouth fell open. "You can't give false information."
Mia shrugged. "She asks me where I've been. I'll tell her I've been here. No lie. Sometimes she even follows me around, looking for news. She might be outside your gates as we speak. I guess as publicity goes, that would suck. The whole not-in-my-backyard thing and all." She stared Bixby down. "And your total lack of cooperation will affect your standing with the state. I'll see that it does."
Bixby looked ready to explode. He hit a button on the intercom. "Marcy, pull Manuel Rodriguez's file." He jabbed the button. "I hope you're satisfied."
"I hope I am, too," Mia said with all sincerity. "So do the families of my two victims."
Thompson's face had gone florid. "Manny's an innocent young man."
Mia lifted her brows. "He's here, Dr. Thompson. He's obviously not that innocent."
"He didn't set these fires," Thompson insisted.
"You searched Manny's room, Mr. Secrest?" Solliday asked, ignoring the counselor.
"I did." Secrest's eyes were like stone.
Mia lifted her brows. "And?"
"And I found a book of matches."
"Were any missing?" Solliday pressed. "And to save us time, if yes, how many?"
"Several. But the matchbook had been used by someone else."
She noticed a twitch in Thompson's cheek. "Do you know where he got them?" she asked. From the corner of her eye she saw Secrest roll his eyes.
"He took them from Dr. Thompson's office," Secrest said. "He smokes a pipe."
Mia leaned back in her chair. "Bring Mr. Rodriguez to us, please." Everyone stood. "Miss Adler, please remain." She looked at Bixby. "Alone."
When the doors were closed, Mia turned to Adler who was pale. "Now tell us why you went to Penny Hill's house."
She licked her lips. "I told you. I was curious. Because of the articles."
Solliday shook his head. "No. We saw you, Miss Adler, on the video. You didn't look curious. You looked like you felt guilty."
"It was the book." In her eyes Mia saw pure, unadulterated misery. "I assigned Lord of the Flies right before Thanksgiving. Right before the first fire." She pursed her lips hard. "Right before the first woman was killed."
"Interesting timing," Solliday murmured. "Still, why go to the victim's house?"
"I needed to know what the police knew. To know if I'd done… caused…"
Mia frowned at Solliday. "I'm missing the connection to the book," she murmured.
"Lord of the Flies," he murmured back. "Teens stranded on an island without adults descend into anarchy. They have a signal fire. Later they burn most of the island down."
"Oh. Dots connected." Mia turned her attention back to Adler who sat quietly, tears running down her face. "Was that really a good choice of a book here?"
"Dr. Bixby approved it, encouraged it even. He wanted to observe the students' reactions. I offered to assign a different one, but Julian said it would be useful in Manny's therapy." She struggled for control. "All I could think was 'What if I caused him to do this? What if my book gave him the idea?' And then there was another fire and another woman died. What if those women are dead because I got him started?"
Solliday sighed. "If Manny did this, you are not responsible, Miss Adler."
"I'll believe you when you find out who really did it. Can I go now?"
"Sure," Mia said, more inclined to be gentle now. "Don't leave town, okay?"
Adler's smile was thin and bitter. "Somehow I thought you'd say that." She shut the door hard, leaving Mia and Solliday sitting side by side. Solliday looked around the ceiling and the walls, then abruptly bent close to Mia's ear.
"This could be a wild-goose chase," he murmured. "A waste of time."
A shiver raced down her back, unexpected and hard as his heat warmed her and the scent of him filled her head. Unbidden, her body tightened, as the memory of him lying on top of her shoved at her logical thought. She made herself focus and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Maybe. But we're here. Other than boxes of files, this is all we have. Cops, social workers, angry kids… And these guys are hiding something. I've got a feeling about all this." And that, she told herself, would be cop instinct and not the fact that her cheek still tingled from where his beard had brushed against her skin.
The door opened and Bixby appeared. "Manny is being brought up front. I will stay with him through your questioning as he is a minor. Is there anything else you require?"
Solliday stood up. "We'd like to search the boy's room ourselves."
Bixby nodded stiffly. "As you wish."
Mia's lips curved. "Your… cooperation is noted, Dr. Bixby. Keep Manny here while we do our search. We'll come back to talk to him when we're ready."
Wednesday, November 29, 2:45 p.m.
Reed stifled a sigh as Bixby led Manny Rodriguez from the room. A search of his room had turned up nothing and Manny was as closed as any youth he'd ever met. "If he did it, he's not giving anything up. But I don't think he did. I think we just wasted an afternoon chasing an English teacher with an overdeveloped sense of guilt."
"Win some, lose some." Mia shrugged into that godawful coat. It looked worse from the slide on the pavement she'd taken last night. "Let's go back and hit the files."
Reed held the door, then followed her to the front desk where a grim-faced Marcy was ready to sign them out. He walked by the front display cases, then stopped when something shiny caught his eye. He backed up a few steps and stared, his pulse picking up a few beats. "Mia, look at this."
She stared at the students' displayed art. "Interesting painting," she said, her eyes taking in the row at her eye level. It was dark with a hint of insanity.
"Look up," Reed said and she did. "Higher," he said and she blinked.
"Well, well." She rocked herself on her toes to get a better view of one budding artist's rendition of a Faberge egg tucked away on the top row. It sparkled with intricate beads and crystals set in geometric patterns. "Pretty. I wish I could get closer to see."
"You want a boost?" he asked and she shot him a glare, but her eyes were amused.
"Smart ass," she muttered. "It took one hell of a chicken to lay that egg."
"I think the chicken had some help." He bent close to her ear. "It's the right size."
"And the right color," she murmured. "I think we need a warrant. I'll take care of it."
His smile was satisfied. "And I'll tell Dr. Bixby that we'll be staying a little longer."
She walked away, flipping open her cell phone. "Damn, you get to have all the fun."
Wednesday, November 29, 3:15 p.m.
The art teacher was built like Reed Solliday, Mia thought as she looked around the room. His muscles bulged beneath the paint-splattered T-shirt he wore. His bald head gleamed like polished onyx. His fingers were bigger than hot dogs, the really expensive kind. His name was Atticus Lucas and he did not look happy to see them.
"Which student did the egg?" Solliday asked.
"I don't have to-"
"Uh-uh-uh," Mia interrupted. "Yes, you do have to tell us. Tell him, Mr. Secrest."
"Tell them," Secrest muttered.
Lucas looked slightly embarrassed. "None of them did."
"So it's a real Faberge?" Solliday asked, tongue in cheek.
Lucas glared. "No need for the sarcasm, Lieutenant," he said. "I did it."
Mia turned to face him, blinking. "You?"
He stood as if at military attention, nodding. "Me."
She looked at his thick fingers. "All that dainty work? Really?"
He scowled at her. "Really."
"Did you do all the art in the display case?" she asked.
"Of course not. I was trying to show the kids that art could take different forms. I wanted them to think another student did it so that-"
"They wouldn't think it was gay," Mia finished with a sigh.
"Something like that," Lucas said tightly.
"Well, now that your art's been outed," she said, "where are the rest of the eggs?"
"In the supply cabinet." He walked to a metal cabinet and pulled the doors open. He took a tub and pulled at the lid. And blinked. "They were in here. They're gone."
Solliday glanced at Mia. "We'll want to get fingerprints on the tub and the cabinet."
"I'll call Jack. But first, Mr. Lucas, when was the last time you touched the tub?"
"I made that egg in August. I haven't touched the tub since then. Why?"
"How many eggs were there?" Mia pressed.
Lucas looked perplexed. "They're just plastic eggs. I don't get the big deal."
"Just answer her question," Solliday snapped and Lucas glared at him.
"A dozen, maybe. They were there when I got here two years ago. Nobody ever touched them except for me and only when I did that one egg."
"A dozen," Solliday murmured. "He's used three. He's got nine more to play with."
Mia pulled out her cell phone to call Jack. "Shit."
Solliday motioned to Secrest. "Take me to the lab. I want to check your chemicals."
Mia held up her hand as they started to walk away. "And we'll be taking Manny downtown. Arrange for a guardian or advocate."
His jaw taut, Secrest nodded.
Wednesday, November 29, 3:45 p.m.
Solliday stood sideways in the small chemical storeroom because his shoulders wouldn't fit. On any other man, the goggles on his face would look geeky, but they didn't hurt Solliday's looks one bit. Because it wasn't the time to think so, she focused.
"You know your way around a lab," she observed.
"A lot of fire inspectors major in chemistry," he said.
"Did you?"
"Kind of." He was checking bottles against the inventory he'd found on a clipboard hanging on the door. "My dad was a chemical engineer and I guess I had something to prove, so I majored in that, too."
That he spoke of his adoptive father was understood. "I thought you were a firefighter before OFI."
He crouched down to check out the bottom shelf. "I was. Being a firefighter was all I'd ever wanted to do. I applied for the academy the day after I got out of the army."
Well, the army explained his obsession with shiny shoes. "But?"
"But my dad encouraged me to get a degree while I was still young, before I had a family to take care of. So I went to school on my GI money full time until I was accepted into the academy and part time after that until I finished. Took me a bunch of years, but it was worth it." He looked up. "How about you?"
"Law Enforcement on a soccer scholarship. What are you looking for?"
"There are a couple different ways to get ammonium nitrate. One is in a bottle." He picked one up. "But this has its original seal and the inventory says they only had one."
"When was it delivered?"
"August, three years ago." He squinted at the label. "I"m really surprised a school this size has an inventory this extensive."
"The previous teacher left it behind. I haven't had to buy anything since I got here."
Mia turned to find the science teacher observing from a few feet away. "How long have you been teaching here?"
"About a year. I'm Mr. Celebrese."
"Dectective Mitchell and my partner, Lieutenant Solliday."
"You'll find the nitric acid in the locked cabinet, Lieutenant. Here's the key."
Mia passed it to Solliday, who checked it off. "I take it a second way to get ammonium nitrate uses nitric acid."
"Yeah, it does." Solliday checked the cabinet and locked it back. "Still sealed."
"We don't use a lot of the stronger chemicals here," Celebrese said.
"Afraid the kids will splash each other with acid?" Mia asked.
Celebrese's jaw went taut. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Solliday emerged from the closet the goggles still on his face. "Not yet." Ignoring Celebrese's scowl, Solliday walked to the far wall, to a booth with a glass front.
"Looks like a salad bar with an overactive sneeze guard," she said and he laughed.
"It's a hood. People use volatiles here because it's ventilated." He pulled out the sniffer he'd used to measure hydrocarbons at Penny Hill's house, pulled the glass window up a crack and slid the sniffer underneath. Immediately it began to squeal and Solliday smiled, a dark edgy smile that said he'd found what he was looking for.
"Jackpot," he murmured. "Celebrese, when was the last time you used the hood?"
"I-I've never used it. Like I said, I don't use strong chemicals."
Solliday pulled the window back down. "Detective, can you ask Sergeant Unger to come down here as quickly as possible? He'll want to take samples here."
Her smile was one of admiration and respect. "My pleasure, Lieutenant."
Behind the goggles his dark eyes flickered. "Thanks."