Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  “What was Powell’s sentence?” Kelly asked.

  “Nothing. The prosecution—a.k.a. Darrell Reid—was assigned the case and had the charges dropped. Good for us, her prints weren’t removed from the system.” Herrera took a pause, then added, “You might also care to know that Powell is a self-made millionaire. She started up some jewelry line called Pixie Jewels six months after the charges were dropped. The company’s worth three million today.”

  “Quite the change in luck,” Kelly said, suspicious of whether Powell’s success was at all related to Darrell Reid and what—if anything—that could mean.

  “I’d say. I’ll shoot her info over now. You might want to pay her a visit.”

  “No question there,” Jack replied drily. “Any updates on the missing maid?”

  “As you know, we were waiting for the building manager to return. He just got back, so I have officers headed there now, and I plan to meet up with them. I’ll keep you posted on what we find.” There seemed to be an enclosed request that Jack start doing the same for the captain.

  “Thanks.” Jack ended the call and selected Nadia from the favorites list. She answered on the second ring, and he got right into the reason he called. “We need you to dig a bit into a woman by the name of Jane Powell. She was Reid’s mistress. See if she has any connection to the previous victims.”

  “You got it, Jack.”

  “Thanks.” He clicked off and looked over at Kelly. “We just want to cover all—” Then his phone rang, and caller ID showed it was Brandon.

  “Whatcha got?” Jack answered.

  “We really think we’re looking for a serial killer acting of her own accord,” Paige said, and went on to explain how they’d concluded this because of the compromising photos sent to the widows and not proof of death. “Wise’s widow received pictures, too. Making three out of four, including Arlene Reid. Now, we figured our sniper has a military background, but Brandon and I think she might have been discharged, say, in the last year.”

  “I see we’re going with a female sniper now?” Jack said.

  “Not yet decided,” Paige said.

  “You said discharged—for what?” Jack turned up the speaker volume.

  “Mental instabilities, PTSD, that type of thing.” Paige’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Oh.” Kelly’s skin on the back of her neck tightened, and the hairs rose on her arms. “If we’re looking at someone with health issues, what about veteran hospitals? There have to be some in the vicinities of the crime scenes.”

  The line fell silent.

  “Did we lose you?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Paige replied. “Hope you don’t mind, Jack, but we went ahead and spoke to Nadia. We’re seeing if she can narrow down snipers discharged in the last year with mental and emotional issues. We also asked about VA hospitals.”

  Kelly felt her heart sink. Every time she thought she’d made a great suggestion, it either went bust or someone else beat her to it.

  “Anyway,” Paige went on, “Nadia informed us that there’s a VA hospital right here in Albuquerque, super close to our current location.”

  “We can just talk to the person in charge, see if we can get anywhere or if they’d have any names,” Brandon added.

  “Let’s have Nadia do her thing first,” Jack said firmly. “We’ll make sure to have her check to see if there are any VA hospitals within close proximity of the other shooting sites. It’s possible the sniper was treated at different locations. It might help in whittling things down to a name. Unless she’s on that already?”

  The ensuing silence would have given him the affirmative answer.

  “With all these calls to Nadia, did you have time to track down Wise’s mistress?”

  “Not yet, but Brandon and I were thinking we’d visit the hotel room where the sniper had set up their nest. We could get a feel for the place ourselves and, if we’re lucky, turn up a clue that might help us ID the sniper.”

  “Probably six months too late, but keep me posted.”

  “We’ve got an ID on Reid’s mistress,” Kelly shared.

  “We’re headed over to see her now.” Jack ended the call.

  “I knew it, Jack,” she squeezed out, though her throat felt stitched together.

  “Knew what?” Displeasure seeped into his voice, and she hated that it was directed at her.

  She squared her shoulders, trying to find courage to stand up to Jack.

  “Knew what, Agent?”

  “Fine, I guess there’s no time like the present.” It was a phrase her grandfather had said often. “I stopped suspecting we were looking at a hired gun a bit ago.”

  “Why not voice your opinion before now?”

  She clenched her hands, digging fingernails into palms. She had never held back saying her thoughts out loud until she’d joined Jack’s team. Hypothesizing and talking out theories were often how cases got solved: ideas sparked, epiphanies realized, and boom. It also worked the other way, knocking down rubbish and clearing the way to revelations. Really, how much longer could she just keep quiet, mind her tongue, bide herself?

  Her chest pinched; her heart rate sped up. “Every time I suggest something, you knock me down. It’s met with ‘there’s not enough to go on’ or ‘it’s too early to jump to a conclusion.’ But sometimes you just need to talk out loud, see what sticks.” Jack’s scowl deepened as she spoke, but she was already in too far. “I say this respectfully, but I’m used to speaking my mind, my thoughts, suspicions, even my feelings—I know emotions are taboo to you. But it seems the rest of your team can say what they’re thinking, and you don’t jump down their throats.” Her shoulders were heaving as she watched Jack and waited for a response. He was no longer scowling. He was just watching her, his eyes scanning hers. She wished he would say something, anything. Scratch that, not anything, not that he wanted her to pack her bags and head back to the Miami PD. Maybe she could rescue herself, backpedal. “Jack, my grandfather greatly respected you. I do, too.” Her admission came as a shock to her, considering. There was a subtle flicker in his eyes—one she couldn’t read. “I didn’t mean to upset—”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” She gulped. Tears burned her eyes, thinking of losing this job. Maybe she’d spoken too bluntly, but it was freeing to get out how she was feeling. At the same time, had she been too open, too aggressive?

  “Now, tell me why you don’t think it was a hired gun, Agent Marsh.”

  “The evidence in front of us, including no proof that money exchanged hands.”

  “We just might not have found that trail yet. It doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.”

  “The fact the murders are so spread out.”

  “The hit man is paid well and has the means to travel.”

  She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “The missing maid. And, yeah, she could just be missing, but if she isn’t…” Kelly would leave alive unsaid. “She doesn’t fit the previous victimology, which could mean the sniper’s emotions are involved, and that could create a whole other mess.” Not that she had to tell him.

  “The maid could have just run off, all of this a coincidence.”

  She knew Jack was playing devil’s advocate, but it was trying her patience. “But the maid could be dead.” There, it was out! “And if she is, hired guns don’t typically kill people for free,” she added confidently.

  Jack smirked.

  Anger curdled in her stomach. “Am I missing something?”

  “I was wondering how long it would take.” He pulled out a cigarette.

  “How long would what take?”

  “For you to stand your ground.” He lit up his cigarette and exhaled out the window. “A good agent knows when they have something, Marsh. They don’t let anyone, not even their superior, talk them out of it.”

 
My boss is a psychopath!

  “All this—the way you’ve been indifferent with me, even rude—was a lesson?”

  “It was.” He took another drag.

  Kelly wasn’t sure if Jack’s confession made her more angry or relieved.

  “Now that we have that out of the way, is there anything else you want to tell me?” He was grinning, lopsided, with the right side of his mouth higher than the left.

  “No, I think that’s all for now.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but if he weren’t her boss, she would have punched him in the face.

  -

  Thirty-Two

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  Friday, October 25th, 11:15 AM Mountain Standard Time

  You really think you’re looking at a serial killer who served this country?”

  Paige could feel the cynicism in every word of Sergeant Bell’s question. She and Brandon had gone back into the conference room and shared an overview of their working theory that the shooter was most likely former military.

  “In answer to your question,” Brandon started, “we do. The person we’re looking for used to be one of the good guys.”

  Probably still considers themselves to be, Paige thought.

  “What happens to some people,” Bell groaned.

  “Can’t disagree with you there,” Paige admitted. “We’d like to take a look at the place were Wise was shot and the hotel room where the sniper built their nest.”

  “What’s stopping you? It doesn’t seem you need my permission.”

  Paige chose to ignore the underlying hostility toward their presence by making a peace offering. “We don’t need it; you’re right, but it might be beneficial for you to come along.”

  “How so?”

  “You know the management at the hotel, for one, and it might make access to the room easier.”

  Bell crossed his arms.

  Paige was also thinking that revisiting the scene might jog something loose from Bell’s memory, but the sergeant would probably take such a comment as an accusation that his notetaking was shoddy. “You could be a big help,” she added. Flattery worked on pretty much everyone.

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate, Agent, but…” Bell let his words dangle and met her gaze.

  “But you will?” Paige smiled pleasantly at him.

  He dipped his head. “I will.”

  They left the room and headed to the Enchantment Hotel, where the sniper had set up for the shot that killed Robert Wise. Paige drove herself and Brandon in the SUV. Bell was going to meet them there.

  Brandon looked over at her from the passenger seat. “Do you think visiting the hotel will help us find Wise’s mistress? Jack’s wanting us to find her.”

  “As I’m well aware.”

  “Then why not try the pub where he was shot first? They might recognize her.”

  “We’ll get there.”

  “Well, you’re the senior agent, so I should trust you know what you’re doing.”

  “What the hell is going on with you?” she snapped. Maybe raising her voice at him would clear the air—even if it didn’t fit the mold of “professional.”

  His expression was hardened. “You ever feel guilty about us?”

  “Why would I—”

  “Because I was married, Paige. I was married,” he repeated lower.

  So…what? He’s having a pang of conscience all these years later? “I know that.”

  “Then, did you ever feel guilty?”

  “You might not want to know the answer to that.”

  “I asked.”

  She took a deep breath, peered into his eyes, and told a white lie. “Never.”

  He pinched his eyes shut, and she looked back to the road.

  A few seconds later, he said, “I did.”

  His admission might as well have been a spear jabbed into her heart. She didn’t think it was possible to regret a good thing, so he mustn’t have considered their being together a good thing. At what point had she lost perspective and romanticized their relationship into something it never was? “Maybe it’s time you forgave yourself.”

  “I thought I had,” was all he said. Four words that spliced her open.

  She blinked back the hurt—mad at herself that she even felt anything—and focused on driving. Not long later, she was parking outside the Enchantment Hotel. Bell was ahead of them and waiting.

  Bell held the door for them, but then took off toward the front counter. “I’ll go talk to the manager.” He was greeted with a smile that turned into a frown when he flashed his badge. The clerk put a phone to his ear.

  A few moments later, Bell was headed back to Paige and Brandon.

  “The manager’s on his way to speak with—” Bell stopped talking, his gaze going behind Paige, and she followed it and saw a man in a suit walking toward them.

  “Sergeant Bell,” the man said, his eyes traveling over Paige and Brandon.

  “These are FBI Agents Paige Dawson and Brandon Fisher.”

  “I’m Gabriel Rodriquez, the manager of the Enchantment Hotel.” He looked Paige over, barely glanced at Brandon. To Bell, he said, “How can I help you today?”

  “They would like to see room 892.”

  “Ah, the infamous room 892. It’s usually always rented out, but today you’re in luck.” Gabriel gestured for them to follow him to the elevator bank. He pushed the Up button, and when they all loaded on, he selected the eighth floor.

  The eighth floor… What was it about their sniper and that number? A question they’d considered before, but no less important to answer. The thing with human beings was we were all creatures of habit, programmable. So what had made the number eight personal to the sniper?

  Gabriel took them to room 892 and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and said, “Ladies first.” He offered Paige a pleasant smile, which she returned.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “Don’t mention it, and if you need me—for anything at all—I’ll be in the hall.”

  “Appreciate it.” She peered deeply into his eyes, knowing exactly what his offer of anything included, and wished she could take him up on it.

  Keep it in your pants, Dawson! she scolded herself as she walked to the window on the other side of the room and looked out. Bell came up on her left, Brandon on her right.

  Bell pointed a few blocks over. “See that green sign with the gold lettering? That’s the Lucky Pub.”

  Though not so lucky for Wise…

  Paige nodded and turned to the sergeant. “Can you run us through how the room looked when you came in the day of the shooting?”

  Bell rubbed the top of his head, over the little hair he had left. “It looked pretty untouched—except for the hole in the window.”

  “Had the bed been slept in?” Paige asked.

  Bell shook his head. “No, but that makes sense, given the circumstances. Less chance of leaving any trace.”

  Speaking of trace… “The room was paid for by a stolen credit card. Can you fill us in a bit more on that?”

  “Again, that information should be in the file, but the overview? The card belonged to a couple, last name Mavis, from California. They’re in their seventies with grown children. And before you ask, we investigated them thoroughly, but didn’t get anywhere closer to the sniper.”

  California. Wise’s widow had mentioned they’d moved up from Walker, California. Was that anywhere near the Mavises, and even if so, was it relevant to the investigation?

  “Where do the Mavises live exactly?” If the city name was in the file, she didn’t recall seeing it.

  “I can’t remember exactly where off the top, but if you have something in mind, know this: the physical card was never shown.”

  “The check-in app?” Brandon said.

  “That’s r
ight. The app makes it so no contact is necessary between guests and hotel staff.”

  Paige found it an absurd system when she’d first heard about it, and in the case of a stolen credit card, it was a liability to the hotel. “Seems to me the hotel is taking on a lot of risk. They’d be on the line for a fraudulent charge claim from the credit card company.”

  “Sure—and they probably account for potential losses.” Spoken without any emotion.

  Not his monkeys, not his circus, Paige supposed. “Okay, so who had access to the Mavises’ credit card information? Their kids?”

  “Not according to the children or the couple. But, apparently, Mrs. Mavis liked to shop online periodically. She could have just given her information to the wrong place.”

  The thought of cyber theft wasn’t working for Paige. The use of the Mavises’ card was more personal—more connected. Otherwise, why not the use of more stolen cards? “When did the Mavises realize their card had been stolen?”

  “Only after local cops went to their door.”

  “And that was…”

  “The day after the shooting.”

  Bell didn’t need to explain that the budget for Albuquerque wouldn’t accommodate him and his officers to travel to California, nor would they have jurisdiction, anyhow. But given that aspects of the case crossed state lines, Bell should have involved the FBI sooner. “When you found out the credit card came from California, why didn’t you call in the FBI?”

  “As I mentioned, we believed it was a matter of the information being stolen, not the physical card. Besides, the murder happened here. That, and there was nothing to connect the victim to the Mavises. The case presented itself as a one-off shooting. One victim, one target. The threat was over.”

  Sadly, it wasn’t. Paige sighed.

  Bell’s face hardened. “If I’d have my crystal ball then—”

  “We can’t see the future,” Paige said firmly. “You did your best with what you had. All anyone can expect.” She let her comment sit for a few seconds before continuing, her thoughts not wandering far from the stolen credit card. The Wises came up from California—there had to be some sort of connection between that and the credit card information coming from the state. Otherwise, it just seemed too coincidental, and Paige had learned a long time ago not to believe in coincidences. “Did you subpoena the transaction history on the Mavises’ credit card?”