Count to Ten (33 page)
He blanched. “I’m a suspect? I guess I’d have to be. I was at home. Asleep.”
“Anybody to verify that?” she asked pleasantly.
“My fiancée.”
Mia blinked at him. “But I thought you and Miss Adler...”
“Friends. I helped her out when she was scared. But there was nothing romantic.”
Mia gave him her card. “Thanks. Please call me if you remember anything else.”
White stood and tucked his book under his arm. “You’ll watch Bixby, right?” he whispered. “I never thought the man could be... evil, but now I’m not so sure.”
She didn’t respond to White’s dire assessment of Bixby. “Thank you, Mr. White. We appreciate your information.” She opened the door to find the dour-faced Marcy waiting. With a shaken sideways look, White slipped away and Marcy frowned.
“There’s a Sergeant Unger waiting outside. He says you’re expecting him.”
“Yes. Can you give us another room? Sergeant Unger will be redoing fingerprints of all staff and students.”
Marcy’s back snapped straight. “Dr. Bixby didn’t approve that.”
“Dr. Bixby doesn’t have to,” Mia told her mildly. “You are required to be fingerprinted by the state. We have -reason to believe... mistakes were made in your records. Please find the sergeant a room. He’ll need a table and an electrical outlet.”
Reed leaned back in his chair. “I think Dr. Bixby should be the first one they print.”
“I agree.” She sighed. “No wonder Bixby wanted to know what she said before she died. That was a bombshell. We’ll keep talking to the teachers while Jack gets set up.” She poked her head into the hall. “Whoever’s next, please come in.”
Thursday, November 30, 10:15 A.M.
“Please sit down Miss Kersey.” Jackie Kersey had been crying hard, her face red and puffy. “I’m Detective -Mitchell and this is my partner, Lieutenant Solliday. We’re very sorry for your loss, ma’am, but we need to ask you some questions.”
They were the same words she’d said to the math teacher, the history teacher, and the librarian they’d just finished interviewing, but in no way did her words sound any less sincere. Kersey nodded shakily. “I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to stop crying.”
Mia squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. Now what do you teach here, Miss Kersey?”
She sniffled and drew a huge breath. “I teach geography to the middle school.”
“What can you tell us about Miss Adler?”
Jackie Kersey wrung her hands. “Brooke was young. So full of... optimism. You lose that pretty fast around here. She wanted to do the right thing, to reach these kids.”
“Any kids in particular?”
“She was worried about Manny.” She frowned. “She was afraid of Jeff.”
Four out of four teachers had mentioned this Jeff, Reed thought.
“Are you?” Mia asked softly.
“Let’s just say I’m glad he’s in lockup. When he turns eighteen I’ll say yes.”
“How well did you know Miss Adler?” Reed asked.
“About as well as anyone. She’d just started to come out of her shell. I convinced her to go to Flannagan’s after work on Monday. Devin was going, and she liked him.”
“Did he like her?” Mia murmured.
“Devin likes everybody.” She managed a watery smile. “He likes you more if he can sucker you into his football pool. But yeah, he liked her.”
“Like as in a girlfriend?”
“I saw him staring at her chest more than once, so I think he was attracted to her, but to my knowledge they didn’t see each other outside of school. Look, we all know you were here -yesterday. Somehow Brooke was involved and now she’s dead. I don’t mean to be crass, but are the rest of us in any danger?”
Mia hesitated long enough to make Jackie Kersey pale. “Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“Oh my God,” Kersey whispered. “This place is a nightmare. I knew it.”
Reed frowned. “You knew what, ma’am?”
“I came here because my old school closed and I needed a job. But it’s never felt right. I can’t tell you any more than that, because it’s only a feeling.”
Mia squeezed Kersey’s hand before giving her a business card. “Trust your instincts, Miss Kersey. That’s why you have them. To keep you alert and safe.”
When she was gone, Mia came around to Reed’s side of the table and leaned one hip against its edge. “Kersey didn’t know White had a fiancée already,” she murmured.
“I know.” Reed pulled out Kersey’s personnel file. “She’s only been here eight months.” He looked up, thoughts connecting. “Have you noticed that all the teachers in this school have been here less than two years? But the school’s been here for five. As have Bixby and Thompson. Secrest has been here four.”
“Huh.” He could see that she hadn’t thought of it but unlike earlier this morning, she wasn’t annoyed that he had first. “You’re right. Lucas, Celebrese, the history teacher, the librarian, White, Kersey, Adler. All less than two years.” She ran her thumb down the stack, counting. “About two dozen. Let’s take a look before we talk to any more teachers to see if this is true for all of them.” She gave him an impressed nod. “Nice.”
Her simple praise shouldn’t make him feel like turning cartwheels, but it did. Pushing the feeling aside, he opened the first file. “I’ll read, you write?”
She waved her pen. “Let’s roll.” They’d checked three of the files, all three staff employed less than a year, when Jack knocked on the door.
“This is Officer James. He’s here to sweep. Officer Willis is almost ready to take the prints. I just came along to make sure everything was perfect. By the frickin’ book. I don’t want to have any questions about that unmatched print when we’re done.”
Reed and Mia followed Jack to another conference room where an officer was plugging a scanner into a laptop -computer. “You’ll have to get Thompson’s print from his office,” Reed said. “He’s AWOL.”
“Interesting. I’ll take his prints and Willis can get started on the staff.”
“Did Spinnelli send the units to cover the exits?” Mia asked.
“I didn’t see them when I got here,” Jack said.
Willis looked up. “They pulled in just after me. I was a few minutes behind.”
“Willis stopped for a yellow light,” Jack sneered.
Willis gave Mia a knowing wink. “It was red. I would’ve had to give myself a citation.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Bixby stood in the doorway, glowering. “Coming in here and fingerprinting us like we’re all common criminals. This is outrageous.”
“No, it’s not,” Reed said, losing his patience. “We have four dead women in the morgue, Dr. Bixby. One is your former employee. I’d think you’d want to know who is responsible. I would think you might even be a little afraid for yourself.”
Bixby paled a shade. “Why should I be afraid for my-self?”
“I can’t imagine you have no enemies,” Reed said quietly. “So do yourself a favor and stay out of the way. Better yet, take Sergeant Unger to Dr. Thompson’s office and let him do his job.”
Bixby nodded stiffly. “This way, Sergeant.”
Mia was smiling at him. “Nice,” she said again, just as her cell phone rang. “It’s Spinnelli,” she murmured. “This is Mitchell... Uh-huh...” Her eyes widened. “Aw shit, Marc. You’re kidding.” She sighed. “Not yet. Willis is just about to start. Thanks.” She snapped her cell phone closed. “Well, looks like we found Thompson.”
Reed leaned back and looked at her frustrated face and knew. “How dead is he?”
“Very, very. Somebody slit his throat. Some guy on his way to work found him. He saw a car on the side of the road with what looked like mud caked on the windshield. The mud turned out to be blood. Car’s registered to Dr. Julian Thompson. Let’s go.”
On their way out Mia found Secrest’s office. “We need to step out for a little while.”
“Forgive me if I don’t cry,” he said sarcastically, arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t you even want to know why?” she demanded.
“Should I?”
Mia blew out an angry breath. “Goddammit, what kind of cop were you, Secrest?”
His eyes flashed. “A former one, Detective.”
“Thompson’s dead,” she said and he flinched, then his face returned to stone.
“When? How?”
“I don’t know when and can’t tell you how,” she snapped. “While we’re gone, Sergeant Unger will fingerprint the staff and students.”
He stiffened. “Why?”
Reed cleared his throat. “Because we found a discrepancy in your records, Mr. Secrest,” he said calmly. “Your cooperation would be appreciated.”
He nodded. “Anything else, Lieutenant?” and Reed nearly winced at the civility in his voice, a marked contrast to the derisive tone he’d used with Mia.
Mia tilted her head, ignoring the slam. “Yeah. Nobody, nobody comes in or goes out of this complex. Anyone attempting to will be taken to the precinct. You’re all on -lockdown until we settle the issue of fingerprints. Are we clear, Secrest?”
“Crystal.” He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Ma’am.”
“Good,” she said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Thursday, November 30, 10:55 A.M.
H
ell.” Mia grimaced as she walked up to Thompson’s Saab.
It was the first word she’d said since leaving Hope -Center. He’d pissed her off, stepping in to smooth and soothe again. But they’d needed Secrest calm and Mia was not making that happen. Thoughts of Secrest vaporized when he saw -Thompson in the driver’s seat. His head lolled, like a rag doll missing stuffing. Blood was everywhere.
Gingerly Mia stuck her head in the window. “Oh God. He went all the way to bone.”
“Head’s hanging on by a patch of skin about three inches wide,” the ME tech said.
“Wonderful,” she muttered. “He’s still wearing his seat belt. Kept him upright.”
The ME tech was making notes. “They say seat belts save lives. Didn’t help him.”
“That’s not funny,” Mia snapped. “Goddammit.”
The ME gave Reed an is-it-PMS look. Reed shook his head. “Don’t,” he mouthed.
“Time of death?” she demanded acidly.
“Between nine and midnight. Let me know when I can move him. I’m sorry,” he added. “Sometimes a joke’s a way to take off the edge when we find a body like this.”
Mia took a deep breath and let it out, then turned to the young ME tech with a rueful smile. She squinted to see his badge. “I’m sorry, Michaels. I’m tired and frustrated and I snapped at you.” She stuck her head back in the car. “Anybody see his keys?”
“No.” A woman with a CSU jacket rose from inspecting the other side of the car. “We haven’t touched him yet. The keys could be under him.”
Mia opened the back door on the driver’s side. “He sat back here. Grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back and slashed. Any sign of struggle or skid marks or dings on the car? Was he forced over?”
The CSU tech shook her head. “I’ve checked all around the vehicle. Not a scratch. This car was brand-new. Pretty expensive car not to steal.”
“Luxury car on a juvie salary,” Mia murmured. “Move him when you’re ready.”
The ME techs did, immobilizing Thompson’s head to keep it from completely ripping from his body. “He’s wearing a ring,” Reed noted.
Mia lifted Thompson’s hand. “Ruby. I’m betting it’s real. Not a robbery, then.”
“Did you think it was?” Reed asked and she shook her head.
“No. Wallet’s still in his back pocket. Cell phone’s in his front.” She took it out and punched buttons. “He made six calls yesterday afternoon.” Her eyes narrowed. “Four to 708-555-6756, one was to me, and one to... This is the number for Holding.” Rapidly she pulled out her own cell and dialed. “Hi, this is Detective Mitchell, Homicide department. Did a Dr. Julian Thompson visit last night?” Her brows lifted. “Thanks.”
She dropped her phone in her pocket and looked up, meeting Reed’s eyes for the first time since they’d left Hope -Center. “He visited Manny Rodriguez,” she said. “He signed out on the visitor sheet five minutes before he called my voice mail last night.”
“Can you trace the other number?” Reed asked.
“I’m betting from the exchange that it’s a disposable cell,” she said.
Michaels looked up from securing Thompson’s head. “You could call it.”
She smiled at him. “I could, but then he’d know we’d found Thompson. I’m not sure I want to tip my hand yet. But thanks.” She patted the young man’s shoulder. “And, um, Michaels? That crack about the seat belt? It was kind of funny. In a real juvenile, break-the-tension kind of way.” She huffed a tired chuckle. “Wish I’d thought of it.”
Michaels’s face was full of empathy. “Feel free to borrow at any time, Detective.”
Thursday, November 30, 11:45 A.M.
Solliday parked his SUV. “If I make a juvenile joke, will you speak to me again?”
She looked up, brows furrowed. He’d broken her train of thought. “What?”
“Mia, you’ve given me the cold shoulder for the last two hours. I’m ready to grovel.”
Her lips quirked. “The ride over was the cold shoulder. The ride back I was just thinking. But a little groveling wouldn’t hurt.”
He sighed. “You were making Secrest mad on purpose. You didn’t need to.”
She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “But it felt so good.”
“We might need him.”
“Oh, all right. But I’d feel a lot better if I knew why he quit CPD early.”
“I’d feel a lot better if he respected you.”
She shrugged. “I got that all the time from my old man.” She slid down before he could ask the questions he so obviously wanted to. “Let’s see what Jack’s been up to.”
Secrest waited for them at the front door. “Well?”
“He’s dead,” Mia said. “Throat slit. We’ll need to contact his next of kin.”
This time Secrest’s flinch was more pronounced. He opened his mouth to speak, then cleared his throat. “He was divorced,” he murmured. He looked away, his face grown pale. “But I know his ex-wife. I’ll get you her number.”
“Bring it to where we’re doing the printing,” she said, trying to be nice. “Thanks.”
Officer Willis was printing Atticus Lucas’s beefy fingers when they walked in. “Mr. Lucas,” Mia said. “Thanks for cooperating.”
“I got nothin’ to hide.” He ambled out and Mia shut the door behind him.
The mobile fingerprinting unit was a digital system, ink-free. Once a print was scanned, it could be immediately compared to the database. Jack looked up from his laptop screen. “Both rooms are clean. No bug concerns. What did you find?”
“Thompson’s dead. Throat slit. He visited Manny -Rodriguez last night.”
Jack blinked. “Interesting.”
Solliday pulled up a chair and looked at Jack’s screen. “Well?”
“I’ve printed all the staff but one. I asked the desk dragon to go get him. She just paged him on the loudspeaker. When we get his prints, we’ll start on the students.”
Mia’s lips twitched. Marcy the Desk Dragon. She liked it. But she sobered, taking in the stack of print cards. “So do we have any obvious differences?”
“Sorry, Mia. Everybody’s prints match the ones in the state’s database.”
“And the fingerprint cards Bixby gave us?” Solliday asked.
“Just a nice souvenir the printing agency gives, really. The official print I go by is what’s in the state’s system. And none match the odd print we found in the art room.”
“Who’s the teacher you haven’t printed?” Solliday asked.
There was a knock on the door and Mia opened it to Marcy, aka the Desk Dragon.
“I’ve looked everywhere for Mr. White. I can’t find him anywhere in the building.”
Secrest came up behind her, looking grim. “And his car isn’t in the parking lot.”
Mia’s brain started to churn. “Shit. Aw, shit.”
“He can’t be gone,” Jack said. “There’s been a unit out front all morning.”
“He was standing here when Marcy announced you’d arrived, Jack,” she remembered. “He must have heard we were getting ready to fingerprint. Willis was a few minutes behind and that’s when the units got to the front gate.”
“Thompson,” Solliday said through gritted teeth. “The cell phone number. He called White last night.”
Solliday rushed for the teachers’ personnel files he’d left in the other conference room. She ran to look over his shoulder. “Please say White’s cell isn’t 708-555-6756.”
“It is.” He looked up, her frustration mirrored in his eyes. “It was White. He’s gone.”
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her chin dropped to her chest. “Shit, damn, fuck.” A wave of weary despair washed over her. “He’s slipped right through our fingers.” Brooke Adler’s face flashed in her mind, as she’d been a few hours ago, burned and in blinding pain. The woman had clawed and clung to life long enough to give them important information.
Count to ten. Go to hell.
They’d use it to find the bastard. “Let’s go find him. Before he kills anybody else.”
Thursday, November 30, 12:30 P.M.
“Beacon Inn, River Forest. This is Kerry. How can I help you?”
He kept his back to the pay phone, eyes scanning the street, ready to run. “Hi. Can you connect me with Joseph Dougherty, please?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but the Doughertys checked out yesterday.”
I kind of figured that out on my own.
“Oh dear. I’m calling from Mike Drummond’s Used Cars. We heard about the loss of their home and wanted to offer them use of one of our cars until their insurance supplied them with another one. Could I possibly get a forwarding address or telephone number?”
“Let’s see...” He heard the clacking of a keyboard. “Here. Mr. Dougherty asked deliveries be forwarded to 993 Harmony Avenue.”
“Thank you.” He hung up, well-satisfied. He’d head on over there right now to make sure they were there. He wouldn’t let them slip through his fingers a third time.
He got back into the car he’d stolen. He was boiling mad on the inside, but freezing on the outside. He’d had to walk out of Hope Center with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the book in which he’d stuffed all his articles. And not a minute too soon. He’d been halfway down the block when a cruiser pulled up to the front gate. Another minute and he’d have been trapped. He’d quickly abandoned that car and stolen another in case they detected his absence right away.
Damn bitch cop. She’d gotten to the print discrepancy sooner than he’d expected. He’d thought he’d have another day at least.
Shit.
For the time being he’d have to travel light. He’d run back to his house, taking time only to leave a surprise for the lady of the house and to grab his seven remaining eggs. He had to make sure the woman who’d cooked and cleaned for him all these months wouldn’t give him up to the cops, because he had big plans for his little bombs. And when everything settled down, he’d go back to the house for the rest of his things. His souvenirs of the life he was leaving behind. Then he’d go on with a new life, all sources of anger eliminated from existence. He’d finally be free.
Thursday, November 30, 2:45 P.M.
“You gonna eat those fries?” Murphy asked and Mia gave him the Styrofoam box.
They were sitting around Spinnelli’s table, Reed and Mia, Jack and Westphalen, Murphy and Aidan. Spinnelli paced, his mustache bunched in a scowl.
“So we have no idea where he is?” Spinnelli said for the third time.
“No, Marc,” she said, irritated. “The address on his personnel sheet was fake. He told us he had a fiancée, but nobody at the school knows her name. He has no credit cards. He’s cleaned out his bank account, the address on which is a PO box in the main post office with about a million other people who don’t want to be found. We have an APB on his car, but so far it hasn’t turned up. So, no. We don’t know where he is.”
Spinnelli glared. “Don’t get sarcastic with me, Mia.”
She bristled. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Marc.”
“What do we know about Devin White?” Westphalen inserted in a way that made Reed think the old man had calmed those two down before.
“He’s twenty-three,” Reed said. “He taught math at Hope Center starting this past June. Before that he was a student at Drake University in Delaware. According to the résumé in his personnel file, his degree is in math education and he played on the school’s golf team. The registrar’s office at the university confirms he was a student there.”
“He had to live somewhere,” Spinnelli said. “Where did they mail his checks?”
“Direct deposited,” Reed said.
“We lifted prints from the coffee cup in his classroom,” Jack said. “They matched the ones I’d been looking for so I didn’t bother reprinting the students.”
“How did he get through the background check?” Aidan asked.
Jack shrugged. “I talked to the company that does Hope Center’s fingerprinting. They swear they printed him and that they uploaded his prints into the system.”
“I used to work with ex-cons in a rehab program,” West-phalen said. “On drug test days, they’d pay people for their urine. We had to change our system. One of us had to go in the toilet with these guys and watch them give their sample.”
Everyone grimaced. “Thank you for that picture, Miles,” Spinnelli said dryly.
Westphalen smiled. “My point is, if White didn’t want to be in the system, there are ways to avoid it if the security at this printing company was lax enough.”
Spinnelli sat down. “How reputable is the company?”
Again Jack shrugged. “It’s a private firm. It does employee fingerprinting for a lot of companies in the area. I suppose it’s possible White got somebody to take his place, but why would he? His prints aren’t in AFIS.”
Murphy’s mouth bent speculatively. “Maybe he was worried they were.”
“He could have been arrested for a misdemeanor,” Mia mused. “But he still would have shown up on a records check. Unless... this guy has no credit cards, and all the addresses he’s given are fake. He’s flying really low under the radar. What if Devin White’s a fake?”
“The university confirmed he’d gone there,” Reed said. Exhausted, he dragged his palms down his face. “Graduated with honors.”
“Yeah, they confirmed Devin White went there.” She tilted her head. “Can we get a picture from the university? A yearbook picture or something?”