Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Reed sat up. "A math book?"

Spinnelli's smile was sharp. "Algebra One. Somebody should be bringing it in the next few minutes. Until then, what will we do next?"

"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," Spinnelli said. "Mia?"

"We have the list from DCFS of all the kids Penny Hill placed with the elder Doughertys. We're going to follow up on that today. We've got nine names with no known address to track down and a few alibis from the known ones to verify."

"Okay," Spinnelli said. "Did we get anything out of the two boys from Hope Center?"

"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 Manny watched the door. They threatened to gut him like a pig if he told. So, he didn't tell. Regis Hunt gets moved to adult prison pending an investigation and trial. Thad will transfer to another juvie facility. But Dr. Bixby's still missing."

"He's not home, dead or otherwise," Spinnelli said. "I've got an APB out for his car."

"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?" Spinnelli asked.

"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 Spinnelli? I'm from Impound. I have some evidence for you."

"Thank you. We hope this is good." Spinnelli handed the book to Mia when the officer from Impound was gone. "Do the honors, Mia."

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 grinned. "One clipping from the Gazette in Springdale, Indiana, thanksgiving night fire leaves two dead. It's dated the day after Thanksgiving."

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

Mia scanned the article, her heart picking up. "One of the victims was Mary Kates."

Mia scanned it, her heart picking up. "One of the victims was Mary Kates. Kates is one of the names on the DCFS list." Hurriedly she found the list. "Two names. Andrew and Shane Kates. They're brothers. Andrew would be the right age."

"This is good." Spinnelli paced. "Very good. Now that we know who the hell this guy is, we need to know where he'll strike next or where he'll hide or run. The four of you find out. I'm going to call the captain and tell him we finally made some progress."

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 running if he fired them. So he'd do it the oid-fat›hioüed way. From under his jacket he pulled his pipe wrench and smacked the old lady's head. Like a rag doll she crumpled, blood from her wound starting to soak the carpet. He bound her hands and feet and gagged her before stuffing her in the closet.

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?

On the top of the stack was an obituary she'd ripped from the paper without even trimming the edges. He fought the urge to trim them himself and read it. Her father had died three weeks before. Interesting. She was survived by a mother. More interesting still. She'd come to heel if her mother were in danger.

He kept searching. Lots of kids' school pictures. And a wedding picture. Mitchell in pink with a tall redhead in white lace. On the back it said "Mia and Dana." Bingo. But Dana who? And where would he find her? Ask and you shall receive. Under the wedding photo was an invitation.

DANA DANIELLE DUPINSKI AND ETHAN WALTON BUCHANAN

request your presence… It was completely intact. He smiled. Shed been a bridesmaid so there d been no need to send in the RSVP. He pocketed the card and the obituary. Dana Dupinski lived a good half hour from here. He'd better hurry.

Saturday, December 2, 6:45 p.m.

"Talk," Spinnelli said from the head of the conference table. They'd regrouped, Reed and Mia, Murphy and Aidan, and Miles Westphalen. "What do we know?"

The table was again full, this time of paper. After more than seven hours of phone calls, faxes, and e-mails, they'd been able to put together a great deal of Andrew Kates's past. Reed was energized. They were closing in.

"We know where Andrew Kates has been," he said, "where he's likely to go, and importantly, why ten is the magic number."

Mia stacked her notes. "Andrew and Shane Kates were born to Gloria Kates. Aidan tracked Andrew to the Michigan juvie system who faxed us copies of their birth certificates. No father listed for either boy. Andrew is older by four years and served time in Michigan juvie for stealing a car when he was barely twelve. Nobody there remembcicd him, but it's been about ten years."

"Is that the count to ten?" Westphalen asked and Mia shook her head.