Karen Rose - Count to Ten

"I thought threatening belligerent boys with bullies named Bubba was."

She grinned unexpectedly and his heart lifted a little, the sour mood brought on by the shrink fading away. "Not bad, Solliday. Added a few more poetic words there. Not bad at all. Let's stop by a drive-through on the way to the Doughertys". I'm starving."

Tuesday, November 28, 8:45 A.M.

He blinked down at the front page of the newspaper. Wow, the reporter moved fast. He hadn't expected to see the story until tomorrow. But there it was on the front page of the Bulletin- //smc serial arsonist/murderer at large.

I'm not all that large , he thought and smiled at his own joke.

They'd named Penny Hill as the victim right off the bat. None of the "withholding name of the victim pending family notification" crap. He read on and frowned. Somebody had seen him driving away. Well, they couldn't identify him even if they did since he'd been wearing the ski mask. It wouldn't matter if they'd seen the license plates of the car-they belonged to Penny Hill herself.

"The victim was Penny Hill, forty-seven years old." Hmm. She looked pretty good for an old lady. At least she had. Once again he chuckled. Now she looked like a marsh-mallow left in the fire too long.

At least he imagined she did. What he really wanted was to see the body. To see the house. To see the destruction he'd caused. But that wasn't prudent as long as the law was on the case. So who was chasing him? He scanned the article. Lieutenant. Reed Solliday, OF1. A lieutenant. They'd sent a higher-up looking for him. None of this junior G-man shit. Good . This Solliday was decorated. Experienced. He'd prove a worthy adversary. That just meant he'd have to work hard to keep his work area clean. Leave nothing for the good lieutenant and his partner to find. So who was his partner?

His lips curled into a sneer. Detective Mia Mitchell. A woman? They'd actually picked a woman to try to find him?

They'll never catch me in a million years . But overconfi-dence would not be his downfall. He'd plan and act as if two qualified men chased him. But he'd sleep easy.

He tore the article from the paper and scanned it a last time. They mentioned Caitlin. He'd missed it the first time, so anxious had he been to see Penny Hill's name in print. "The victim of the first fire is nineteen-year-old Caitlin Burnette, daughter of Sergeant Roger Burnette-" His heart nearly stopped.-"A twenty year veteran of CPD."

Shit. He'd killed the kid of a cop . What was the daughter of a cop doing there anyway? Shit . Furious, he shoved the article into his book, along with the one on the Dougherty fire from yesterday's Trib and the other one from Saturday's Spring-dale Gazette on the Thanksgiving fire. Shit . The police would hunt him now, like he was a dog. He swept all his things into his bag with one angry swoop. Dammit. This totally sucked .

He headed for the door, his heart racing as fear set in. I have to stop .

Then he stopped in his tracks. No . He couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. He was doing this for his own future. The anger has to go, remember? You can't stop until you're done. Or it would be like… like not finishing a bottle of antibiotics .

It'll just be worse, stronger, more powerful the next time . The next time he could lose his head and get caught. But right now, he was in full control. He hadn't lost his head last night, nor would he. He was conscious of every action. He was thinking smarter. Working smarter.

He wouldn't stop. Not till he was done. He'd have to be fast not to get caught. He'd have to be perfect. But right now, he had someplace to be. He had to be on time.

Tuesday, November 28, 9:05 a.m.

Mia was folding her breakfast sandwich wrapper when they pulled in front of what had once been the Doughertys' home. A middle-aged couple stood on the curb staring up at the blackened structure in shock. "I think that's the Doughertys," Mia said quietly.

"I'd say you were right." Solliday blew out a sigh. "Let's get this done."

Mr. Dougherty turned as they approached. "You're Lieutenant Solliday?"

"I am." He shook hands with the man, then his wife. "This is Detective Mitchell."

The couple exchanged a worried glance. "I don't understand," Dougherty said.

"I'm with the Homicide division," Mia said. "Caitlin Burnette was murdered before the fire was started in your house."

Mrs. Dougherty gave a strangled cry, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh God."

His face horrified, her husband put his arm around her. "Do her parents know?"

Mia nodded. "Yes. We informed them yesterday."

"We know this is a bad time," Solliday said. "But we have to ask some questions."

"Wait." Dougherty shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "You said the fire was started , Detective. This was arson ?"

Solliday nodded. "We found incendiary devices in the kitchen and your bedroom."

Mr. Dougherty cleared his throat. "I know this sounds insensitive and please be sure we'll do everything in our power to help you… But what do we do now? Can we contact our insurance company? We don't have a place to live."

Beside him, Mrs Dougherty swallowed convulsively. "Was anything left?"

"Not much," Solliday answered. "Contact your insurance company. Just to prepare you, they'll be conducting an investigation."

Now Mr. Dougherty swallowed. "'Are we suspects?

"We'll rule you out as quickly as possible," Mia interjected calmly.

Mr. Dougherty nodded. "When can we go in to see what we can salvage?"

"Our wedding photos…" Mrs. Dougherty's voice broke and her eyes again filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I know Caitlin's… But, Joe… Everything's gone."

Dougherty rested his cheek on the top of his wife's head. "It'll be all right, Donna. We'll get through this, just like we got through everything else." He met Solliday's gaze. "I assume either you or the insurance company will be checking our financial records."

"That's standard practice," Solliday confirmed. "If you've got something to tell us, this is a good time, sir."

"We were sued five years ago. A customer fell in our hardware store." Dougherty's mouth twisted. "The jury found in favor of the plaintiff. We lost everything."

"It's taken us five years to dig our way out," Mrs. Dougherty said wearily.

"When my dad retired two years ago, he sold us his house, cheap." Bitterly he looked up at the ruins. "We were starting all over again. Took our first vacation in years. And now this. We had the minimum insurance on this place. Just enough to get a policy. There's no financial incentive for us to destroy our own home."

"Where do you work now, Mr. Dougherty?" Solliday asked

"At a home improvement superstore." Again his mouth twisted. "I'm in charge of nuts and bolts. My boss is a kid half my age. My wife is a secretary. She takes in sewing to make ends meet. We're not rich people, but we did not do this."

"Mr. Dougherty," Mia said quietly and the man met her eyes without flinching. "Can you think of anyone who'd have a grudge against you and your wife, specifically?"

"Besides the kook that sued us?" He shook his head. "No. We kept to ourselves."

"The neighbors said you changed all the locks on the doors," Solliday commented and Mia glanced up at him. His expression was calmly unreadable.

"Emily Richter," Mr. Dougherty bit out. "The biggest busybody. My parents always asked her to watch the house when they went away. I didn't want her in my house."

"She would have gone through ourthings," Mrs. Dougherty said. "And then told everyone about our finances. She was angry when we got the house at such a bargain."

Mia took out her notebook. "Who was the kook who sued you?"