Karen Rose - Count to Ten

"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.

"Hell." 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 voicemail 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 Unger is 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. Ah, 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."