Count to Ten (23 page)

“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, airheaded 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, blond 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’s 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 has known 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.”