"The victims here were Mr. and Mrs. Joe Dougherty, the same couple whose house was destroyed last Saturday night."
Mia stopped and Reed wanted to protest. But he'd cut her off at the knees the last time the two dueled. This time he'd keep his mouth shut. As long as he could, anyway.
"We don't release the names of victims until their families have been notified." She looked directly at the camera very soberly. "It's our department policy and it's the humane thing to do. I hope you agree. Now, if you'll allow us to get back to our jobs."
"Detective Mitchell, Caitlin Burnette will be buried today. Will you be there?"
Mia kept walking and Reed started to draw an easy breath.
"Detective Mitchell, some have said the murder of Caitlin Burnette was related to her father's career. Do you think a child should be punished for the sins of her father?"
Mia paused, her body snapping rigid. Her head turned, her mouth opened to spit out what would no doubt have been a scathing retort on Burnette's behalf. Then Reed felt the abrupt change as her shoulders relaxed. She stepped up her pace. "Follow me," she said, her voice low so that only he could hear. "Holly might have something."
Chapter Nineteen
Friday, December 7, 5:40 a.m.
Mia met him at the curb. "I'm sorry. I didn't want her to follow us here."
Reed looked around. It was a well-kept neighborhood. "Where is here?"
"Blennard's daughter's house. Something Wheaton said about the sins of the father made me think."
"Wheaton was just trying to get a rise out of you, Mia."
"I know." She started walking up the front walk. "But what if the Doughertys were killed because of the sins of Joe Junior's parents! And based on the way Donna Dougherty died, the sins of his mother? Blennard said the Doughertys were always taking in boys."
Realization dawned. "Foster parents. And they're both Joe Dougherty. Joe Junior never even needed to change the name on the mailbox. He killed the wrong couple."
"I think so. I tried calling to confirm with Joe Senior, but the cops in Florida say his heart attack was really bad. He's intubated, so he can't talk. But maybe Blennard remembers something." She rang the bell and a man came to the door. "I'm Detective Mitchell and this is my partner, Lieutenant Solliday. We need to talk to Mrs. Blennard."
"Clyde, who is it?" Mrs. Blennard came to the man's side, the hearing aid now in her ear. Her eyes widened. "What can I do for you, Detectives?"
"Ma'am," Mia started. "You said the Doughertys 'took in lost boys.' Did you mean they were foster parents?"
"Yes. For ten years or more after Joe Junior moved away and got married. Why?" Her old eyes sharpened. "The other woman killed, Penny Hill… she was a social worker."
One side of Mia's mouth lifted in respect. "Yes, ma'am. Do you remember any trouble they had with anyone? The boys? Their families maybe?"
She frowned, thinking. "It's been a long time. I know they took in a lot of boys. I'm sorry, Detective, I can't remember. You should ask Joe Senior. I'll get you his number."
"It's all right. I called him." Mia hesitated. "Ma'am, he didn't take the news well."
The old cheeks went a shade paler. "His heart's been bad for years. Is he dead?"
"No, but he's not good." She tore a page from her notebook and scrawled a name. "This is the officer I talked to in Florida. Now, we have to go. Thank you."
"He spared Joe Junior and stopped in the middle of his revenge against the woman he thought was Laura Dougherty," she said when they were outside.
"Because he realized he had the wrong woman. It makes sense. Nice job."
"Would have been nicer if I'd figured it out sooner." She stopped at her car where the white cat lay curled on her seat. "Now we have to find a list of all the kids Penny Hill placed with the Doughertys."
"And figure out which kid is connected to White."
"Or whatever his name is. Move over, Percy." She got in, shoved the cat to the passenger seat. "But first, I have to talk to Burnette."
"I'll follow you there."
Friday, December 1, 6:05 A.M.
Mia was waiting at the curb. "The house is dark," he said. "They're probably asleep."
Mia turned only her head, leveled him a sober look. "Reed, he's going to bury his daughter today. Burnette thinks he's responsible. If it were Beth… Could you sleep?"
Harshly he cleared his throat. "No. I couldn't." They walked up the sidewalk to the door where the picture of the turkey still hung. Such a small thing, but it made his chest hurt. Time had stood still for this family. For a week, a father had lived with the knowledge that he'd been a tool in his child's brutal murder. If it had been Beth…
Mia knocked. The door opened to Roger Burnette, his face haggard and worn.
"Can we come in?" Mia asked and he nodded wordlessly and led them inside.
In the living room, Burnette stopped with his back to them and Reed couldn't help noticing that the room which had been so neat and tidy before now… was not. Mostly there was clutter. But in one wall there was a hole, waist-high and fist-sized and Reed could picture a father, tormented by grief and rage and guilt putting it there.
Burnette slowly turned. "You caught him." It was barely a murmur.
Mia shook her head. "Not yet."
Burnette's chin lifted, eyes cold. "Then why are you here?"
Mia met the man's eyes without wavering. "We found out tonight that the real target at the Doughertys' house were the previous homeowners. Joe Dougherty's parents." She paused, let it sink in. "Not Caitlin. And not you."
For a moment Burnette stood, rigid and unmoving. Then he nodded. "Thank you."
She swallowed. "Try to sleep now, sir. We'll see ourselves out."
They'd turned for the door when Reed heard the first sob. More like the cry of a wounded animal than a man. But it wasn't the expression on Burnette's face that stabbed Reed's heart the deepest. It was the expression on Mia's. A naked, desperate longing that before last night Reed would not have understood.
Roger Burnette had loved his child. Bobby Mitchell had not.
Shaken, Reed took her arm and gently pulled. "Let's go," he murmured.
"Detective."
Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Mia turned back. "Sir?"
"I'm sorry, Detective. I was wrong."
Reed frowned, but Mia seemed to know what he meant. "It's all right," she said.
"No, it's not. I said some terrible things. You are a good cop. Everyone says so. Your father would have been very proud and I was out of line to say anything different."
The nod she gave Burnette was harsh. "Thank you, sir."
Under Reed's hand, she trembled violently. "We'll be going now," Reed said. "Again, our condolences." He waited until they stood at the curb. "What was that?"
She wouldn't look at him. "He came by last night. After you left. He was not pleased that we had not caught the man who mutilated and killed his child."
Fury took him by surprise. "The bruise on your arm?"
"It was nothing. He's a grief-stricken father."
"That didn't give him the right to put his hands on you."
Reed's own hands clenched.
"No, it didn't." She started walking. "But at least he cared."
"And your father wouldn't have. I'm sorry, Mia."
Her hand faltered on the car door. "Yeah. Well." She sniffed at her sleeve. "I smell like a stale fireplace. I'm going back to Lauren's for a shower before morning meeting. Do you think she'd mind if I brought Percy with me? He's had kind of a hard week."
The subject of Bobby Mitchell was closed. For now. "I sure she wouldn't mind at all."
"Fine. I'll meet you at Spinnelli's at eight."