Karen Rose - Count to Ten

"Then she will. She's a good cop."

Mia swallowed, but her smile didn't falter. "Jeremy, you wait here in my car where it's warm, okay? I'm going to trust you not to touch anything."

"I won't."

She started to walk away, then stuck her head back in the window. "Jeremy, we won't go inside until we have a warrant, but will your mom come out?"

"She's probably still asleep. Sometimes she takes sleeping pills."

Mia nodded briskly. "That's fine. I'll be back soon." She backed away from the car slowly, but her expression had grown grim. "Are you EMT trained, Reed?"

"Yeah. You think she OD'd on pills?"

Mia was jogging now, going around the back where Jack linger was poised for action, waiting for the warrant. "Not knowingly, maybe. But she saw White. She lived with him. He's not gonna let her live."

"We get the warrant?" Jack asked.

"Not yet. I think the mom took some pills. We're going in." She threw her shoulder into the back door and it cracked. But she winced and hissed. "That hurt."

"Y'think?" Reed said. "Move." And with one heave the door splintered. Both of them drew their weapons and he followed her in.

"Mrs. Lukowitch, this is the police." She ran back to the bedroom where a woman lay curled in a fetal ball. "Ah, shit. Ah, hell. I smell cyanide." She holstered her gun and felt for a pulse. Then stepped back. "She's dead, Reed. Rigor's already setting in."

Reed sighed. "Eleven."

"You were right. Bodies weren't what he was counting." She closed her eyes. "Now how do I tell that baby his mother is dead?"

"With me. I'll tell him with you."

She nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Saturday, December 2, 8:10 a.m.

Mia and Reed shielded Jeremy with their bodies as the ME wheeled his mother out in a body bag. But the boy wasn't watching. He was looking straight ahead, at nothing at all. Mia crouched down when the ambulance had driven away. "Jeremy, sweetie, I have to work on your house."

"What will happen to me?" he asked so softly she had to lean forward to catch the words. "My mom is dead. My dad is gone. Who will take care of me?"

Me , Mia wanted to say, but didn't. This was a boy, not a cat. "I've called a social worker. They'll put you in a temporary home until we can get something worked out."

"A foster home," he said dully. "I seen them on TV. Kids get hurt there."

Reed shot her a look and she stepped back. He crouched down in front of Jeremy. "Son, I know what you've seen on TV. But you need to understand, those are only the bad ones and they're rare." The boy wasn't buying it, so Reed tried again. "Jeremy, you're a very smart boy. How many airplanes do you think fly in America every day?"

Jeremy turned his head. "Thousands," he replied flatly.

"That's right. How many times do you hear about plane crashes on the news? Not many. You hear about the one or two bad planes, but never the thousands of good ones that reach their destinations safely every day. Same with foster care. Bad ones happen, but they're rare. I grew up in a good one. so I know."

Jeremy's shoulders sagged. "Okay." He looked up at Mia. "Can I still see you?"

Her heart squeezed. "You bet. Now we have to do our jobs, Jeremy. You sit tight and don't leave without me, Lieutenant Solliday, or one of these officers."

His look was far too wise for seven years old. "I'm not stupid. Detective Mitchell."

She ruffled his hair. "I know."

Murphy waved to them. "Got the warrant."

"That was good, what you said to him," she murmured as they walked. "Thanks."

"Mia…"

"Not now, Reed. I can't." She hurried off, leaving him watching her back. Confused and torn he jogged after her to watch what buried treasure Jack would dig up.

Saturday, December 2, 10:30 a.m.

It was a good day to be alive. Things were finally looking up. Put on a happy face. He grinned as the ridiculous phrases flitted through his mind. He'd left Tyler alive and burning. Immensely satisfying. He'd nearly started straight for Sante Fe, but the adrenaline high had quickly ebbed. Exhausted, he found a cheap roadside motel and went to sleep. When he woke, he was clear minded once more. He'd drive to Santa Fe, sticking to back roads. Once there, and once finished, Mexico seemed the best idea for laying low. Eventually his picture would be old news and he could return.

He had to go under. Hide like a girl. Because Mitchell had his picture everywhere.

Rage for the woman bubbled up and he pushed it back. He'd tried to get her once. He needed to learn from Laura Dougherty. Listen to fate. Let it go .

Control returned and with it the logistics of his plan. Even when he emerged from Mexico, he would not return to Chicago. He'd settle somewhere south, where it was warm. So he need to get his things. His memories. It was another eight hours of his life, from Indy to Chicago and back south to where he'd started that morning. But he'd waited ten years. What was another eight hours? He wanted his things.

His instinct was alerted blocks from the house. He turned two blocks too soon and slowed to a stop. He could see cruisers and vans and men with shovels. At his house.

Mitchell had found his house. She'd taken his stuff . Coldly he turned his car around. To hell with fate. The woman had to pay. She'd dodged a bullet twice this week. Lucky bitch. But her luck was about to run out.

Saturday, December 2,11:45 a.m.

Mia rocked back on her heels, fists on her hips. The table was covered with the items they'd recovered from the Luko-witches' yard. And they'd needed both the X-ray and metal detectors. Jeremy would be proud of that at least. "This is remarkable."

Spinnelli was examining each item. "We've got Caitlin's purse, a necklace from Penny, fourteen sets of keys… shoes, more necklaces… My God."

"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," Spinnelli said with satisfaction. "I still want forensics, but this is a hell of a lot better than what we had."

"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," Spinnelli said. "Sam called. He said the urine tox on Yvonne Lukowitch showed Valium laced with cyanide, not the Ambien in her prescription."

"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.

Spinnelli looked hopeful. "I may have something for you. I got a call this morning from Impound. They recovered a car that was reported stolen on Thursday. It was found in the area Murphy was searching. Impound found a book under the seat."