Count to Ten

Spi

"These keys belong to Dr. Thompson," Reed said. "These are Brooke's. We think he took them Wednesday night when she'd had too many beers. These belong to Tania from the hotel, these are Niki Markov's, the saleswoman. The rest we don't know."

"Now we can tie him to the Burnette and Hill murders," Spi

"Atlantic City is sending someone to look at this stuff," Aidan said. "The women he raped there say he took their keys, his way of saying he could come back anytime."

"Sonofabitch," Reed muttered.

"I think we'll all second that emotion," Spi

"We found a receipt from a photography shop," Jack said. "He bought the cyanide there. It's used in film developing. Sam said she never would have felt a thing."

She sighed. "Later on it will mean something to Jeremy that his mother didn't commit suicide. Now it's not much comfort to a terrified seven-year-old. Jeremy said his mother met White when she was leading a dog training class in the park last June. His mother came home talking about this new man she'd met. White brought her wine and roses. She asked him to move in within three weeks."

"That's fast," Jack said.

"She was lonely," Mia returned. "We found a scar on her body, collarbone to breast, from a knife slice. Jeremy said White did it the first night he moved in. He told her if she told, he'd do worse and to Jeremy. Jeremy and his mom have been living in terror since the end of last June."

"And we still don't know his name," Murphy said bitterly.

Spi

Reed sat up. "A math book?"

Spi

"I'm following leads from the photo on the news," Aidan said. "And I'll be the liaison to Atlantic City PD. I sent the photo to Detroit PD, but we don't have anything yet."

"Keep calling," Spi

"We have the list from DCFS of all the kids Pe

"Okay," Spi

"Miles talked to them," Mia said. "Thad admitted after he learned Jeff was dead that it was Jeff who assaulted him. He said Jeff and Regis did it and Ma

"He's not home, dead or otherwise," Spi

"And it doesn't appear that his keys are in the pile," Reed added.

"So he could be alive and hiding, or dead and hidden. What else?" Spi

"Just something Jeremy said," Mia mused. "Remember, Murphy, he said that White buried something in the backyard last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. If he killed somebody then, we haven't found them yet."

There was a knock at the door and an officer stuck his head in. "Lieutenant Spi

"Thank you. We hope this is good." Spi

Mia pulled on a pair of gloves and slid the book from the paper evidence sack. "One math book. And inside…" She looked up. "Newspaper clippings. Hill and Burnette." She grimaced. "And me. Here's the one of me taking down DuPree and here's the one with my address, thank-you-Carmichael, and… hello." She gri

"The first time Jeremy saw White burying something in the backyard," Murphy murmured. "Who did he kill?"

Mia sca

Mia sca

"This is good." Spi

Mia felt invigorated. Renewed. She stared at the table with all his souvenirs, her heart pumping gallons. "Andrew Kates. Your days are numbered, you sonofabitch."

Saturday, December 2, 5:15 p.m.

The wig was making his head sweat. "How much is the rent?" It was an empty apartment in Mitchell's building. The super held the key in her hand. He was waiting for the right moment to get the information he needed If she couldn't tell him, he'd take her keys and investigate Mitchell's place himself.

"Eight fifty," the old woman said. "Due first of the month."

He made a point of looking in the closets. "And is the neighborhood safe?"

"Very safe."

No more than a couple shootings a week on the street outside. The woman lied like a rug. "I read about that detective in the paper."

"Oh, that. She's moved out. It'll be very quiet from here on out."

Panic rose in his throat. But she was probably lying again. "That was fast."

"Well, the movers haven't come yet. But she's out of here. No need to worry."

But there was every need to worry. He wanted Mitchell. He needed to get into her place before she moved all her things. Surely there was some clue to where she'd gone. He considered shooting the old bag where she stood, but the new gun in his back waistband would be loud. Tyler had built quite a gun collection. He'd wanted to take them all, but he still had to travel light, so he'd taken only two. A.38 and a.44, both of which would bring people ru

With her key he let himself into Mitchell's place. She needed a good decorator Methodically he checked the coat closet. Other than a trifolded flag on the shelf, it was empty. Her kitchen cabinet was filled with boxes of Pop-Tarts, her freezer with microwave meals. She needed a good nutritionist more than a decorator.

Her bedroom was a mess, blankets in a pile on the floor. But interestingly, a box of condoms sat opened on the night-stand. Her closet was such a mess, there was no way to know if she'd taken clothes or not. Frustrated, he returned to the living room. A pile of mail covered a lamp table. Greedily he searched it. The only thing remotely personal was a postcard with a crab on the front. "Dear Mia, wish you'd come with us. Miss you. Love, Dana." Dana? A friend with whom Mitchell might stay?

He opened the lamp table drawer and pulled out a photo album with a grin. He'd struck gold. He lifted the cover and sighed. Mitchell was no more organized about her photos than she was about anything else. None of the photos were put into the plastic sleeves. It was just a pile, as if she threw everything in here with the plan to someday do it right. How had she ever managed to get as far as she did?