Karen Rose - Count to Ten

A plan started to form. He had three eggs left and he knew exactly how to use them. His stomach growled. But first he had to get some food and some sleep.

Sunday, December 3, 6:15 p.m.

The mustache and wig afforded him some anonymity. Enough so that he could chance entering a diner and getting some food. Mitchell had made it so he couldn't show his face anywhere in Chicago. He scowled at the television behind the counter. His picture was on the news again. He fought the urge to see if anybody was looking at him, keeping his eyes on the screen. The reporter was talking about Penny Hill.

" Action News has learned today that Ms. Hill was not the caseworker who handled Mr. Kates's placement. An unfortunate accident placed her on disability for a year, during which time case manager Milicent Craven allowed the boy to go unmonitored. The boy was lost in an abusive environment, his cries for help unanswered. Now Penny Hill is dead. Ms. Craven could not be reached for comment. Andrew Kates remains at large, another victim of an American social service system too bogged down by bureaucracy to adequately care for the children whose lives depend on them. We'll keep you up to date on this breaking story. This is Holly Wheaton, Action News ."

Fate had denied his justice with Laura Dougherty. He would not be deprived again.

But the timing was interesting. Mitchell had proved far more resourceful than he'd expected. It could be a trick. He'd check out Craven. If she was legit, then he'd act.

Sunday, December 3, 6:20 p.m.

Spinnelli switched off the television in the conference room. "Good work, Mia."

"And I'd like to thank the Academy…" Mia smiled. "Okay, now what?"

"Now 1 want you to meet Milicent Craven." Spinnelli opened the door to a woman, middle-aged and graying. She came in and sat at the table.

Reed leaned close. She looked fifty, but she was probably no older than Mia. "When I'm fifty, can you make me look thirty again?" he asked and the woman grinned.

"I'll give you my card."

Spinnelli smiled, too. "This is Anita Brubaker. She's undercover, getting ready to come back to the real world. She's been living as Milicent Craven for two years at the address in the phone book. Her neighbors know only that she works for the state."

"So you're the canary in the cage," Mia said. "You okay with this?"

"I am. I'll be in the house every evening through the night until we catch him. Then once we do, I won't need the undercover ID anymore anyway. Everybody's happy."

"Except Andrew Kates." Spinnelli sketched the neighborhood on his whiteboard "This is Craven's house Mia, I want you and Reed here, Murphy and Aidan here, and Brooks and Howard here, in unmarked cars. I'll have cruisers in position. DCFS is alerted that if anybody calls for Milicent Craven they'll be connected to a voicemail we've just set up. If Kates or the press call, they'll get a confirmation of her existence."

He looked around the room. "Questions?" All heads shook no. "Then get busy. This time tomorrow I want Andrew Kates in custody."

Stacy stuck her head in. "Excuse me. There's a man out here saying he needs to talk to whoever's in charge of the Kates investigation. He says his name is Tim Young."

All eyes flew to Reed who shrugged. "Tennant was supposed to call me when Young got into Indianapolis. He never did."

"Show him in." Spinnelli stood arms crossed over his chest. "This should be good."

Tim Young entered slowly, his step heavy. He was about twenty-five. His gray suit was wrinkled, his face dark with stubble. "I'm Tim Young. Tyler Young's brother."

"Please sit." Spinnelli pointed to a chair. "Stacy, call Miles Westphalen. Tell him to get down here as quickly as he can. Tell him why."

When Stacy was gone, Spinnelli took the head of the table. "This is a surprise."

Young looked around the room, took in each face. "I had to change planes in O'Hare. While I was waiting for my flight to Indy I saw the paper. I walked out of the airport and took a cab straight here. Andrew Kates is a name I've tried for ten years to forget."

"Why?" Mia asked.

"Andrew and Shane were placed with my family ten years ago. Andrew was thirteen, Shane nine. I was fifteen and counting the days until I could graduate and leave. My father had a farm. He liked foster kids because they were an extra pair of hands. My mother went along with it, because she did everything he said. My older brother Tyler…" He let out a breath. "Was bad."

"He abused the boys," Mia said softly. "And you?"

There was pain in his eyes. "Until I got big enough to fight back. He used to laugh that he liked his boys young enough to be flexible but old enough to put up a fight. He knew to back off when his prey got too big. Normally, none of the kids stayed that long."

"Did your parents know?" she asked.

"I don't know. I never knew if they knew or if my father would have cared if he had. My mother would have looked the other way. I don't suppose you understand that."

Mia's eyes flickered and Reed knew she understood too well. "So what was Tyler's age of initiation?" she asked.

"Ten." Young's lips curled. "But he nearly made an exception with Shane. Shane was an attractive child and he'd had it before. Tyler could always tell."

"He'd been abused by his aunt's husband," Reed said.

"Like I said, Tyler could always tell. He teased Andrew that he'd make an exception for Shane, just to see Andrew try to fight back. Then he'd take Andrew. But Tyler had standards and methods. He'd hurt the older ones, then count to the younger ones. He'd count from one up to their age, then smack his lips and say 'when I get to ten, you'll be mine.' Shane was nine. Tyler would count to nine, then taunt Andrew that soon Shane would be ten. 'Count to ten, Andrew,' he'd say. And laugh."

"That connects a lot of dots," Mia said. "What happened when Shane turned ten?"

"Andrew was desperate. He'd tried to run away with Shane at least a dozen times, but the police always brought them back. He begged my mother to do something, but she told him not to make up stories. He hated her. I know Andrew had tried to set a few fires in the basement. Newspapers in the trash can kind of fires. He wanted to get caught. He wanted somebody from social services to come and take them away before Shane turned ten. Anyplace would have been better than our house."

"What did you do?" Reed asked.

Young's laugh was mirthless. "Nothing. I've lived with that for years. Not just with Andrew and Shane, but all the others. So many others. But you're interested in Shane."

"For now," Mia said. "We'll sort through the others later. Tell us about Shane's tenth birthday. That was the day of the fire. The day Shane died."

He let out a breath. "The day Shane turned ten, Tyler… did his thing. First thing that morning. Shane was…" He shuddered. "The look on that boy's face-I can still see it. He was just a kid. He was bleeding. But Tyler cleaned him up and our mother sent him to school. That afternoon, Andrew left school early. I saw him go." He lifted a shoulder. "Andrew was thorough. The house burned very well. But he didn't know Shane had left school early, too. Later the nurse said Shane had a stomachache. Later people said a lot of things. Nobody knew anything."

"He set the fire in the trash can," Reed said quietly and Tim Young nodded.

"In a trash can in the living room, then he ran away. He came back a little later, pretended to be shocked. He knew I knew. He thought I'd tell, but I stayed quiet about that like I did everything else. Then the firefighters found Shane. They carried him out, looking like a rag doll. He was dead. Andrew went numb, into shock. Catatonic even.

"The social workers came then. Took him away. A few cops asked me questions and I lied. I said he'd been at school. He couldn't have done it. The autopsy showed Shane had been sodomized. But nobody said anything. And eventually, life went on. We rebuilt the house. I graduated high school and left town and never looked back."