"So what did your ex-husband do when he found out you were gone?"
"Doug tried to push his way into Mom's house, but she threatened to call the cops and he left, cursing her. I was hiding in the back room the whole time. Looks like I ended up running from Doug just like I ran from Mom."
Solliday's brows crunched. "How do you mean?"
"Mom and I had a hard relationship. I think I married Doug just to punish her. High and mighty social worker, can't control her own kid. You can't possibly understand."
Mia thought about her own sister. I need to tell Kelsey what happened at Bobby's grave. "Yes, I can. We'll need your husband's full name and address."
Her jaw tight, Margaret wrote. "His last name is Davis. I hate that SOB."
"I can understand that, too," Mia said. She could feel Solliday's eyes watching her, looking deeper than she wanted him to see. It sent a prickling shiver down her spine. Steadfastly she focused on Margaret. "Miss Hill, does your ex-husband like animals?"
"No. He hates dogs. When I left, I took Milo to Mom's and… Oh, no. Is Milo alive?"
"He didn't appear to be in the house at the time of the fire," Solliday said.
Relief and confusion battled in her eyes. "Mom never let him out without his leash."
"We'll call you if we find him," she said. "Your brother is coming up tonight."
Margaret closed her eyes. "Oh, wonderful."
"You don't get along with your brother?" Solliday asked.
"My brother is a good man, but no, we don't get along. He warned me that one day I'd cause more trouble for Mom than she'd be able to clean up. I guess he was right. He usually is." She stood up unsteadily. "When can I see my mother?"
"You can't," Mia said gently. "I'm sorry."
Tortured emotion twisted the woman's face before she nodded and walked away.
"Well," Mia said. "Doug may be a spouse-abusing prick, but I don't think he did this."
"Me, either. But the sooner we rule him out, the sooner Margaret Hill can let go of some of her guilt." He checked his watch. "You can call Milwaukee PD while I drive."
Mia frowned. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the university. We still have to talk to Caitlin's friends. I called the housemother at the sorority house. She's going to have all the girls there at five thirty."
"When did you do that?"
"When you were asleep." He waved her quiet when she opened her mouth. "Don't say you're sorry. You were up all night. You tackled that guy yesterday and you should still be on disability. I think even you need to sleep, Mia."
There'd been a wry admiration under his criticism. "Thanks. I think."
Tuesday, November 28, 4:30 P.M.
"Hello," he drawled. "May I speak with Emily Richter, please?"
Her sigh was longsuffering. "This is she. With whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Tom Johnson. I'm calling from the Chicago Bulletin."
"How do you reporters keep getting my phone number?" she demanded.
"You're listed in the phone book, ma'am," he said politely. Damn idiot woman.
"Well." She sniffed. "I talked to one of your reporters already. A woman. Her name was… Carmichael. You should talk to her if you want details about the fire."
"Well, ma'am, I'm not covering the fire itself. I'm with a different department. I'd like to feature your neighbors in a small piece. Let the community know they have a need. Give folks a way to help out, this being the holiday season and all.
My deadline's in just a few hours. If you could help me out, I"d sure appreciate it."
"Well, what do you want from me?" she snapped.
I'd love to shut you up, you old bag, he thought, then injected a lazy smile into his voice. "I've been trying to reach the Doughertys, but nobody knows where they are. I'd like to talk to them, find out what they need the most, things like that."
"They just got back this morning." She sniffed. "From Florida. They were here, talking to the police. I went out after the police were gone, to offer my help, of course."
Of course. "Did they mention where they were staying by any chance?"
"I didn't ask. But they had a parking permit from the Beacon Inn."
Thank God for gossiping old busybodies, he thought with a grin. "Thank you, ma'am. Happy holidays." He hung up, satisfied.
Mrs. Dougherty, you and I have a date. A hot one. He chuckled. A hot date. Sometimes I slay myself. He dragged the mammoth phone book from below the phone and found the hotel's number, dug in his pocket for more change and dialed.
A perky voice answered. "Beacon Inn, this is Tania. How can I help you?"
He deepened his voice. "Yes. I'd like the room number for Joe Dougherty, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't give out the room numbers of guests. I can connect you."
The back of his neck heated in anger. "Actually, I'm having flowers delivered to him and his wife. I just need the room number to tell the florist."
"Just tell the florist our hotel name and location. We'll deliver them for you."
Her smug tone clawed at him. We'll deliver them for you. She wasn't going to tell him, the high-and-mighty bitch. He gritted his teeth against the impotent rage. "Thank you, Tania. You've been so helpful." He hung up and narrowed his eyes at the phone.
Flowers it would have to be. And Tania would wish she really had been helpful.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday, November 28, 6:45 p.m.
Reed yawned as he pulled into the parking space beside Mitchell's little Alfa.
"Don't do that," she protested. "I still have tons of reading to do tonight."
"You're not going back to your desk. I know I need some sleep. So do you, Mia."
"I won't go back right away. I have something I need to do first. But I've got to get through some of those files. We've got nothing so far."
"The info we got from the sorority was disappointing," he agreed glumly.
"They can't tell us what they didn't see. If this guy stalked Caitlin, he was damn careful about it. At least we can rule out Doug Davis and Joel Rebinowitz."
"Lucky for Doug he has a temper. Being held without bail for aggravated assault in a Milwaukee jail gives him a tight alibi. We can tell Margaret Hill he's not blame."
"And luckily the arcade has a security camera." It had clearly shown Joel playing pinball during the hours in question. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and shot him a weak smile. "Go home and see your daughter, Solliday. Fluffy just isn't the conversationalist he used to be, so I won't be missing anything at home."
He didn't smile back. Fatigued, frustration flared and with it his temper. "No way. Tired people have accidents. People die. Go the hell home."
She blinked at him, surprised. "I'm not that tired."
"That's what the guy said who ran a red light and broad-sided my wife." Immediately he wished the words back, but it was too late.
Her blue eyes flickered sympathy. "And she died?"
"Yes." The one word vibrated with an anger that surprised him. But at the moment he wasn't sure who he was most angry with.
She sighed. "I'm so sorry."
So was he. "It was a long time ago." He gentled his voice. "Go home, Mia. Please."
She nodded. "Okay. I will."
That had been too easy. It didn't take a detective to realize she wasn't going home.
Something perverse nagged at him. She was going to get herself killed, and dammit, she was starting to grow on him.
He now understood why Spinnelli spoke so highly of her. He also had to admit she'd piqued his own curiosity.
Reed waited until she'd driven away, and then followed. At the first traffic light she hadn't detected his presence. She really must be tired, he thought. He pulled out his phone and said, "Home," and waited for voice recognition to do its thing.