Karen Rose - Count to Ten

"I'm not sure he's going back. He might stay here tonight, as our guest."

Manny's chin jerked up. "You can't do that. I'm a kid."

"We have a special area for men under eighteen accused of capital crimes." He took his time finding the photos, watching Manny from the corner of his eye.

Manny's face was panicked. "What's a capital crime?"

Reed glanced up. "Death penalty."

Manny jumped up. "I didn't kill anybody." He turned to the advocate. "I didn't."

"Lieutenant." The advocate drew herself up straighter, although her voice shook. "You're just scaring him. He's done nothing." She pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Manny." He sat and she folded her hands on the table. "He wants a lawyer. Now."

"He hasn't been arrested," Reed said carelessly. "Should he be?"

"No!" Manny exploded.

Reed walked behind him, leaned over him and put the photos of the charred bodies on the table. "Should you be?"

Beside him the advocate covered her mouth and gagged.

Manny pushed his chair back, but Reed kept him from going anywhere. "Look at them," Reed said harshly. "This is what your fire did, Manny. This is what you did. This is what you'll look like when they pull your sorry ass off the electric chair."

Manny grabbed the table and pushed away with all his strength. " Let me go ."

Hearing the boy's panicked tone. Reed stepped back and the chair flew to the floor, but it was too late as Manny retched.

It was a good thing they had more copies of the photos. It was a better thing that Reed had an extra pair of shoes in his SUV. The boy sank to his hands and knees, heaving, sobbing. Grimacing, Reed went into the anteroom to talk to the others.

Mia shot him a wince. "Sorry. If I'd known he'd do that…"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You still would have asked me to go in."

She nodded philosophically. "Probably. I gotta say though, not bad, Solliday. Especially the part about the electric chair. I'll have to remember that."

"I didn't know if he'd know we hadn't used the chair in years," Reed said absently as he watched. The advocate was trying to help him. Manny just jerked away and hung there, shuddering. Reed shook his head. "He didn't do this. I think if he did he'd have been intrigued by the pictures. Fascinated, even." Manny crawled to the wall, arms around his knees, rocking. His eyes were closed and his lips moved. "He's not."

"No," Mia murmured. "He's scared. Listen to him." She turned up the volume.

"Can't tell." Manny muttered it to himself over and over. "Can't tell. Won't tell."

Everyone turned to Patrick. "Well?" Spinnelli asked. "Can we hold him?"

Patrick huffed in frustration. "What do you have, exactly?"

"We've got missing eggs and lots of fingerprints," Mia said. "Jack found more than twenty different prints in the art and science rooms. He's cross-checking all the prints against the teachers and inmates." She lifted her brows. "I mean children."

Patrick looked unhappy. "That's all?"

Mia smiled at Reed. "You found it," she said. "You get to share the best part."

It was the plum. "We also found remnants of chemicals used in the devices."

This caught Patrick's interest. "Explain."

That Mia's eyes held respect and admiration shouldn't make him feel as good as it did. But it did. "We checked out the science class lab. Under the hood I found evidence of hydrocarbon vapors and on the countertop remnants of gunpowder and sugar."

"Used for?" Spinnelli asked.

"What's a hood?" Patrick asked at the same time.

"A hood's a contained area with a ventilation shaft. I'm betting the samples Jack took today will show traces of kerosene-our analysis of the solid showed our guy mixed it with the ammonium nitrate. Mixed with liquid fuel, fertilizer becomes explosive."

Patrick looked appropriately impressed. "And the gunpowder and sugar?"

"Homemade fuses. He would have used the gunpowder and sugar to coat regular shoelaces." Reed shrugged. "I've seen it done before. Terrifyingly simple to find on the Internet. One of the pages Manny had hidden away gave the instructions."

Spinnelli's eyes were intense. "But you still don't think he did this?"

"Not alone," Mia said. "Just listen to him. Unless he's a really good actor…"

Behind the glass, Manny still rocked himself, still muttered the same words.

"Patrick, is this enough to hold him?" Spinnelli asked.

"Hell, yeah. I'll petition a new trial with family court based on what you found. That'll give you a few days to figure out what he knows and who else is involved."

"One night in holding will be all Manny needs to convince him to talk," Mia said.

"We'll see," Westphalen said quietly still watching the boy. "I hope you're right."

"And next?" Spinnelh asked.

"Jack's got Latent analyzing prints and the lab analyzing the powder Solliday found in the lab. And we're back to the files, to see if we can find a connection between Roger Burnette, Penny, and anybody in that screwy school." Mia pointed at Patrick. "When this is done you guys need to check that school out . They're just plain off ."

"I'll add it to my list," Patrick said dryly. "Call me tomorrow with an update."

"I'll set up time tomorrow for a formal exam for Manny," Westphalen offered.

Spinnelli followed them out. "We appreciate it, Miles."

Behind the glass an officer escorted Manny back to holding and the advocate gave them a hard look through the glass before leaving through the same door Manny used.

And then, they were alone in the dim anteroom. Mia sighed. "Now we hit the files."

"First I change my shoes."

Her lips twitched. "I'm really sorry about that."

Reed had to chuckle. "No, you're not."

She grinned up at him. "You're right."

He met her eyes, intending to raise her one better, but he stopped. And really looked. The laughter faded from her eyes, uncertainty taking its place. And as he watched, her uncertainty mixed with awareness and his throat grew thick. Once again they were connected on a different level, just as they'd been the night before in the quiet of his kitchen. Gently he grasped her chin and tugged her face toward the light. The bruise on her cheekbone was beginning to yellow, the scrape on its way to healing.

She wasn't a classically beautiful woman, but there was something about her face that drew him. He knew it wasn't wise. He told himself to let her go, but he didn't seem able. No, that wasn't true. He just didn't want to. And that was something that hadn't happened in too many years to remember. His thumb grazed her jaw and he watched the awareness in her eyes treble.

"You should have gone to a doctor. You might have a scar."

"I don't scar easily," she murmured, so low he almost didn't hear it. "I guess I'm lucky that way." She pulled away, took a step back, both physically and emotionally. "I've got to get to those files." And she was gone before he could open the door for her.

Wednesday, November 29, 5:00 p.m.

Brooke paused, trembling as she stood before Dr. Bixby's office door. She'd been summoned. It didn't sound good. Drawing a breath, she made a fist and rapped hard.

"Come." Dr. Bixby looked up from his desk, his expression forbidding. "Sit."

She did, as quickly as her knocking knees would carry her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bixby waved his hand. "Let's cut to the chase, Miss Adler. You did a stupid thing. Now the police are crawling all over my school and this will not sit well with the advisory board. You have jeopardized my work. I should fire you right now."

Her mouth slightly agape, Brooke could only stare. Bixby's lips curled in a sneer.

"But I won't," he continued. "Because my lawyers have advised against it. Seems like your Detective Mitchell spoke to the attorney while she was searching the premises this afternoon. Said you were worried about getting fired. Said any move to terminate you would look bad in the event of a lawsuit. Are you planning to sue me, Miss Adler?"