"Yes. I picked up traces of hydrocarbons in the air space above the body. You can also see the checkerboard pattern here on the subfloor. It's what happens when gasoline seeps between the tiles. The adhesive is softened and the floor beneath it gets scorched. He probably poured gasoline over her and splashed some on the floor."

"I can't imagine him taking a chance on lighting a match with all that gas in the room," Unger said thoughtfully.

"I think when the plastic egg exploded, bits of the burning accelerant would have landed on her. Either way, gasoline burns off pretty quickly unless you have a constant supply. That's why there was enough bone left for Barrington to X-ray."

Mitchell stood up, her jaw clenched. "So where did the little fucker shoot you, Caitlin?" She walked around the fallen rafters and into the hall where one of Jack Unger's men worked with Ben, gridding off the room with string and stakes. "Hello."

"Ben, this is Detective Mitchell from Homicide and Sergeant Unger from CSU."

Ben nodded. "Nice to meet you. Reed, we found something just a few minutes before you got here." He carefully stepped across the gridded area, a small glass jar in his hand. "Looks like it came from a necklace."

Reed held it up to the field lights. "The letter 'C'." He handed it to Mitchell.

"Where did you find it?" she asked, studying it with a frown

Ben pointed to the grid. "Two up, three over. I was just looking for the chain."

She turned her eyes to the staircase. "You said you found pages from her statistics book upstairs. That means she was studying upstairs, so she had to come down the stairs at some point. Either alive or dead."

Unger nodded. "If he shot her upstairs and then dragged her down the carpet, there will be traces of blood in the fibers. We'll take the whole carpet and check it out."

"He may have shot her in the kitchen," Reed pointed out.

"Then we take the whole damn floor," Mitchell said grimly. "Shit. I hate fire scenes. There's just nothing left."

Reed shook his head. "There's lots left. You just have to know where to look."

"Yeah," she grunted, holding the glass jar up to the light. Her eyes went fierce. "They fought here," she said, one hand fisted at her throat as if she clenched a necklace. "Caitlin must have heard something, come down the stairs."

"He discovered her, overpowered her," Reed continued.

"Grabbed the necklace. The chain broke and the charm flew. Then he shot her."

"Then I'll find spatter on the carpet." Unger looked around. "We'll bring some bright lights in here and go over the place with a fine-toothed comb. You said three points of origin. We've seen the kitchen. What about the other two?"

"The one in the master bedroom was the same accelerant- another egg."

"What about the living room?" Unger asked.

Ben had done most of the living room analysis. "Go ahead, Ben," Reed said.

Ben cleared his throat. "That fire was started in a trash can with newspaper and a cigarette, probably filterless. It would have smoldered for a few minutes before escaping the can. It caught the drapes on fire, but the truck put that one out pretty fast."

"Can we see the master bedroom?"

"Carefully." Reed led them up the stairs, then stopped in the doorway. "Don't go in. The floor isn't stable."

"The hole in the floor was caused by the fire?" Mitchell asked.

"Yes, it was. The hole in the ceiling was cut by the firefighters to vent the heat."

Mitchell drew a breath and grimaced. "I need to get some air."

"You okay, Mia?" Unger asked, concern in his voice.

"I took some Advil on an empty stomach," she said. "My stomach is now protesting."

Reed frowned. "You should have asked me to stop. I could have gotten you lunch."

"That would mean she was actually taking care of herself." Unger took her elbow. "Go get lunch. We'll be here a while. I'll call you if I find anything earth shattering."

She glanced over at Reed. "Lunch, then the sorority?"

"That sounds like a plan."

Monday, November 27, 12:05p.m.

Brooke Adler rapped on the door to the school counselor's office and felt it give. She poked her head in to find

Dr. Julian Thompson sitting behind his desk and one of the other teachers sitting in one of the guest chairs. "I'm sorry. I'll come back later."

Julian waved her in. "It's okay, Brooke. We're not talking about anything important."

Devin White shook his head with a smile that made her heart flutter. She'd noticed him many times since she'd come to Hope Center. But this was the first time they'd actually exchanged words. "I have to disagree, Julian. It was of universal importance." He lifted a brow. "Bears or Lions on Sunday?"

Brooke knew little about sports, but Chicago was home. "Bears?"

Devin scowled playfully. "I guess we can't argue with hometown loyalty."

Julian gestured toward the chair next to Devin. "Devin's betting on the Lions."

"It's a personal weakness." he said. "Do I need to leave? Is this a private matter?"

Brooke shook her head. "No. I could actually use another teacher's perspective. I have some concerns about some of my students. One in particular."

Julian leaned back in his chair. "Let me guess. Jeffrey DeMartino."

"No, not Jeff. Although he as much as admitted sending Thad Lewin to the clinic."

Julian just sighed. "Thad's not talking. He's too scared to give Jeff up and we don't have any proof. So if not Jeff, who?"

"Manny Rodriguez."

Both men were surprised. "Manny?" Devin asked. "He's never given me a problem."

"Me, either. But this morning he was unusually interested in the lesson. We're reading Lord of the Flies.'"

Julian's brows shot up. "Are stories about teen anarchy wise around here?"

Brooke shrugged. "Dr. Bixby thought it would make a good study." The school's director had recommended it, in fact. "Anyway, today we talked about the signal fire."

Julian tilted his head. "Manny's eyes glazed over, didn't they?"

"He was practically salivating."

"And you want to know if Manny started fires before he came here."

"Yeah, I do. I mean, I'm happy he's interested, but… It was creepy."

Julian rested his chin on steepled fingers. "He set fires, yes. Lots of little fires, from the time he was five years old. Then he set a very bad one that destroyed his foster home. It was then he was brought here. We've been working on impulse control."

Brooke sat back in her chair. "I wish I'd known. Should I do a different book?"

Devin scratched his chin. "What would you read instead? Anything that's worth discussing will have some controversial theme affecting at least one kid in your class."

"I thought that," she confessed.

"This may not be a bad thing," Julian said. "Now that I know what Manny has been reading, we can use it in our therapy. This is a place he can't start a fire, so presenting him with tempting images here is about as safe as you can make it. We can work on constructive ways to manage his impulses while they're fresh in his mind."

Brooke stood up and both men followed suit. "Thanks, Julian. I'll send you a report every few days. Let me know if it gets to the point that changing books is the right thing to do."

Devin held the door open. "I hear it's mac and cheese and Tater Tots day in the cafeteria."

Her lips curved. "Then we'd better get in line. Tater Tots always go fast."

Devin grinned. "And they don't hurt when they throw them at you. Bye, Julian."

"I haven't been in a food fight yet," she said as they walked down the hall together.

"I was last summer. Unfortunately it was apples day. That really hurt. I wouldn't worry too much about Lord of the Flies, Brooke. So many of these kids have seen far, far worse." His smile faded. "It's enough to break your heart."