The art teacher was built like Reed Solliday, Mia thought as she looked around the room. His muscles bulged beneath the paint-spattered T-shirt he wore. His bald head gleamed like polished onyx. His fingers were bigger than hot dogs, the really expensive kind. His name was Atticus Lucas and he did not look happy to see them.
“Which student did the egg?” Solliday asked.
“I don’t have to—”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Mia interrupted. “Yes, you do have to tell us. Tell him, Mr. Secrest.”
“Tell them,” Secrest muttered.
Lucas looked slightly embarrassed. “None of them did.”
“So it’s a real Fabergé?” Solliday asked, tongue in cheek.
Lucas glared. “No need for the sarcasm, Lieutenant,” he said. “I did it.”
Mia turned to face him, blinking. “You?”
He stood as if at military attention, nodding. “Me.”
She looked at his thick fingers. “All that dainty work? Really?”
He scowled at her. “Really.”
“Did you do all the art in the display case?” she asked.
“Of course not. I was trying to show the kids that art could take different forms. I wanted them to think another student did it so that—”
“They wouldn’t think it was gay,” Mia finished with a sigh.
“Something like that,” Lucas said tightly.
“Well, now that your art’s been outed,” she said, “where are the rest of the eggs?”
“In the supply cabinet.” He walked to a metal cabinet and pulled the doors open. He took a tub and pulled at the lid. And blinked. “They were in here. They’re gone.”
Solliday glanced at Mia. “We’ll want to get fingerprints on the tub and the cabinet.”
“I’ll call Jack. But first, Mr. Lucas, when was the last time you touched the tub?”
“I made that egg in August. I haven’t touched the tub since then. Why?”
“How many eggs were there?” Mia pressed.
Lucas looked perplexed. “They’re just plastic eggs. I don’t get the big deal.”
“Just answer her question,” Solliday snapped and Lucas glared at him.
“A dozen, maybe. They were there when I got here two years ago. Nobody ever touched them except for me and only when I did that one egg.”
“A dozen,” Solliday murmured. “He’s used three. He’s got nine more to play with.”
Mia pulled out her cell phone to call Jack. “Shit.”
Solliday motioned to Secrest. “Take me to the lab. I want to check your chemicals.”
Mia held up her hand as they started to walk away. “And we’ll be taking Manny downtown. Arrange for a guardian or advocate.”
His jaw taut, Secrest nodded.
Wednesday, November 29, 3:45 P.M.
Solliday stood sideways in the small chemical storeroom because his shoulders wouldn’t fit. On any other man, the goggles on his face would look geeky, but they didn’t hurt Solliday’s looks one bit. Because it wasn’t the time to think so, she focused.
“You know your way around a lab,” she observed.
“A lot of fire inspectors major in chemistry,” he said.
“Did you?”
“Kind of.” He was checking bottles against the inventory he’d found on a clipboard hanging on the door. “My dad was a chemical engineer and I guess I had something to prove, so I majored in that, too.”
That he spoke of his adoptive father was understood. “I thought you were a firefighter before OFI.”
He crouched down to check out the bottom shelf. “I was. Being a firefighter was all I’d ever wanted to do. I applied for the academy the day after I got out of the army.”
Well, the army explained his obsession with shiny shoes. “But?”
“But my dad encouraged me to get a degree while I was still young, before I had a family to take care of. So I went to school on my GI money full-time until I was accepted into the academy and part-time after that until I finished. Took me a bunch of years, but it was worth it.” He looked up. “How about you?”
“Law Enforcement on a soccer scholarship. What are you looking for?”
“There are a couple of different ways to get ammonium nitrate. One is in a bottle.” He picked one up. “But this has its original seal and the inventory says they only had one.”
“When was it delivered?”
“August, three years ago.” He squinted at the label. “I’m really surprised a school this size has an inventory this extensive.”
“The previous teacher left it behind. I haven’t had to buy anything since I got here.”
Mia turned to find the science teacher observing from a few feet away. “How long have you been teaching here?”
“About a year. I’m Mr. Celebrese.”
“Dectective Mitchell and my partner, Lieutenant Solliday.”
“You’ll find the nitric acid in the locked cabinet, -Lieutenant. Here’s the key.”
Mia passed it to Solliday, who checked it off. “I take it a second way to get ammonium nitrate uses nitric acid.”
“Yeah, it does.” Solliday checked the cabinet and locked it back. “Still sealed.”
“We don’t use a lot of the stronger chemicals here,” -Celebrese said.
“Afraid the kids will splash each other with acid?” Mia asked.
Celebrese’s jaw went taut. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Solliday emerged from the closet, the goggles still on his face. “Not yet.” Ignoring Celebrese’s scowl, Solliday walked to the far wall, to a booth with a glass front.
“Looks like a salad bar with an overactive sneeze guard,” she said and he laughed.
“It’s a hood. People use volatiles here because it’s ventilated.” He pulled out the sniffer he’d used to measure hydrocarbons at Penny Hill’s house, pulled the glass window up a crack and slid the sniffer underneath. Immediately it began to squeal and Solliday smiled, a dark edgy smile that said he’d found what he was looking for.
“Jackpot,” he murmured. “Celebrese, when was the last time you used the hood?”
“I—I’ve never used it. Like I said, I don’t use strong chemicals.”
Solliday pulled the window back down. “Detective, can you ask Sergeant Unger to come down here as quickly as possible? He’ll want to take samples here.”
Her smile was one of admiration and respect. “My pleasure, Lieutenant.”
Behind the goggles his dark eyes flickered. “Thanks.”
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, November 29, 5:00 P.M.
Reed came out of Interview to find Spinnelli, Westphalen, and state’s attorney Patrick Hurst waiting on the other side of the glass. “You rang,” Reed said.
In Interview, Manny sat slumped in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Mia sat on the boy’s end of the table, crowding him, trying to bully Manny into offering details, hoping he would correct her mistakes. So far all she’d gotten was a bored look.
“That’s him?” Spinnelli asked.
Reed nodded. “Manuel Rodriguez, fifteen.”
“Who’s the woman?” Patrick asked, referring to the wispy--looking woman who sat at Manny’s other side looking at turns angry and uncomfortable.
“His court-appointed advocate. We were shocked she let us go on this long.”
“Our gain,” Patrick said. “His history?”
“Manny’s been at Hope for six months. Before that he burned down his foster house. He used gasoline and a match, nothing sophisticated. His foster mother was seriously burned. He seems to have remorse for hurting her, but not for setting the fire.”
“They searched his room last night?” Hurst asked. “And found matches?”
“Yeah. At first the matches was all they’d admit they’d found, but after we found the eggs, they admitted that they’d found his stash of reading material. How-to articles on arson, but all on liquid accelerants, like the right mix of gasoline and oil. None mentioned the plastic egg
as a delivery device. None mentioned ammonium nitrate.”
“Did they also find pornography?” Westphalen asked quietly, his eyes on the boy.
“Yes, but that wasn’t a big surprise. It’s common with arsonists,” Reed told Hurst when the man’s brows lifted. “Many arsonists start fires, then... gratify themselves.”
“I get the picture,” Hurst said dryly. “So did he do it?”
“I didn’t think so the first time I talked to him, at the school.” Reed shrugged uneasily. “I still don’t. This boy loves the fire. Practically salivates when you show him pictures of burning buildings. If he started a fire, he would have stayed to watch it burn. I don’t think he could have forced himself to run away. Also, I don’t get the sense of fury in this kid. Manny hurting his foster mother seems to have been an accident.”
“But our guy used gasoline on Caitlin Burnette,” Spinnelli pointed out.
“But pouring it on a person is different than on a floor,” Reed countered. “Manny has no history of direct violence against people, just structures.”
Spinnelli turned to Westphalen. “Miles, what do you think?”
“I’m inclined to agree. But first, do you have photos of the bodies, Lieutenant? I want to see his response to the results of his handiwork, if it is indeed his.”
“Mia has them in her briefcase.” It was in the chair next to her. “We didn’t want to show him actual photos of the scene or the bodies without Patrick’s okay.”
Patrick considered for a moment. “Do it. I want to see his response, too.”
Spinnelli tapped on the glass. Mia leaned closer, delivering a few more parting verbal shots. The boy continued to look bored, never breaking his disaffected pose.
“The killer’s fury has been pointed at women so far,” Reed murmured. “We wanted to see if she could get a rise out of him. Intimidate him.”
“But he’s not taking that bait,” Westphalen commented. “Another reason I’m inclined to agree with you.”
Mia shut the door. “He’s not budging, but I have his advocate shaking in her boots.”
“What do you think, Mia?” Spinnelli asked.
“He’s hiding something, I think. He’s got motive and means—his history of arson, possession of matches, and all those how-to articles—but I still get stuck on opportunity. I mean, the kid’s been in lockup. How the hell did he get out to kill Caitlin and Penny and if he could get out, why the hell did he bother to go back?”
She’d voiced this concern on the way back from the school and it was valid. Reed had given it a lot of thought. “If he found a way out, he might come back just because it’s more convenient to do so. It’s cold outside and Hope Center is warm and gives him three squares a day. He’d have his cake and eat it, too.”
Mia’s brows bunched as she considered it. “It’s possible. I’ll be more inclined to believe he’s involved if we can tie him to Caitlin or Penny. So what now?”
“The doctor wants you to show Manny the photos of the bodies,” Reed said.
“Okay, but you should go in. He talks to you. He just stares at my chest.”
And for that, Reed thought, no man on the planet could blame the boy. “Anything special, Doc?”
Westphalen thought a second. “See if you can get him off his guard before you show the pictures. I don’t want that bored look. He hides too much behind it.”
“I’ll try.” Reed walked back into the interview room and closed the door at his back.
The advocate lifted her chin. “Manny is tired. He’s told you what you want to know. When are you going to stop this nonsense and let him go back to Hope Center?”
“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 instru
ctions.”
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?” Spinnelli 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.