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."
"And never heard from Andrew?" Mia asked, kindly now.
"No. Although barely a day goes by that I don't think about him or one of the others."
"Andrew always saves the pets," Reed commented. "Do you know why?"
"Yes. We had a dog." His smile was sad. "Sweet old mutt. After Tyler was done with Andrew, Andrew would hide in the barn. A few times I found him, curled up against that old mutt. But he never cried. He just petted that old dog till it was a wonder he still had any coat. The day of the fire that old dog was in Shane's room. He died, too."
"He never told the sheriff any of the times he was caught running?" Spinnelli asked.
Tim's smile turned sardonic. "You mean Sheriff Young, my uncle?"
Spinnelli looked grim. "I see."
"I'm curious, Tim," Mia said. "You said you lied and gave Andrew an alibi that day, but didn't his teachers or some of the other kids notice he was missing?"
"Funny thing about that," Tim drawled, his tone self-mocking. "See, Tyler was a bully at school, too. All the kids knew it. The teachers did, too. Andrew's teacher at the end of that school day would have been Miss Parker. She was young and pretty and terrified of Tyler. Nobody 'missed' Andrew that day." He sighed. "Maybe if we had, none of this would have happened."
"I don't think you can know what would have happened, Tim," Reed said quietly.
"Perhaps not. I've spent the years since I left home time trying to make up for what I did. And what 1 didn't do. Now I have to face my part in this. I can't be free until I've made some kind of restitution. Legally and morally. I'll do whatever you need me to do."
Sunday, December 3, 8:35 p.m.
Mitchell thought she was smart. I am smarter. He approached Penny Hill's car, then reached in the backseat for her briefcase. He was glad now he'd left it behind. If he'd buried it in the backyard, Mitchell would have it by now.
Bitch cop, thought she could fool him. He'd found Milicent Craven's home address with ease. He'd called DCFS, was transferred to her voicemail. It was luck that he'd called again when the operator had been busy with another call.
Well, not luck. That was instinct. He'd known it sounded too good to be true. When the operator was busy, calls were sent to the automated line. Please enter the first few letters of the person's last name. So he had. Three times. And all three times got the same answer. No names match the letters you have entered. Please try again.
So Milicent Craven was suspicious. Probably a fraud. But in the event he was wrong, he'd look at Penny Hill's belongings. She'd had a retirement party the night he'd killed her. There were presents and cards. If Milicent Craven existed, maybe she had signed one them. Maybe she'd be listed in Hill's Day-Timer. He needed to know.
He sat on the seat and started sorting through the contents of her briefcase. It was stuffed full of papers and files, but one labeled folder stood out. shane kates.
After a moment his heart started beating again. He opened the folder and stared at the photo inside. He hadn't looked at his brother's face in nine years. He'd been such a beautiful little boy. Too beautiful. Too much of a temptation for perverts like his aunt's boyfriend or Tyler Young. They'd killed him. Every last one of them had killed Shane.