Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  “We need to talk to the front-desk clerk,” she said to Herrera and nudged her head toward Wilson Place. “He still in there?”

  “Yep, I’ll come with you.”

  Herrera probably wanted away from the miserable ME just as much as she did—not that she could blame him.

  “He always like that?” she asked once they were inside.

  “Simon? Oh, yeah, and to think you caught him on one of his good days.”

  “I’d hate to see one of his bad ones,” she mumbled and bumped Brandon’s arm when she caught him grinning like a fool.

  Wilson Place’s lobby smelled like money with its plush carpeting, stiff-looking furniture, and marble waterfall counter. A man in his fifties was standing behind the latter, ignoring the chair that sat off to the side. At the end of the lobby was an elevator with a uniformed officer stationed next to it.

  The man at the desk took in Paige and Brandon, his gaze briefly dipping to the FBI acronym on their vests before seeking out Herrera for an explanation.

  “Roy Hall, these are FBI agents, Dawson and Fisher.”

  Roy’s eyes returned to Brandon’s vest, and he paled.

  “Mr. Hall,” Paige started, “we have some questions we’re quite certain you could help us with.”

  Roy’s body stiffened, and he put his hands on the counter for support. “I’ll do my best.”

  “The man who was shot…” Paige paused, watching for Roy’s reaction, but he was as impassive as stone. “Did you know him?”

  “Uh-hum, yeah.”

  Paige didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

  Roy went on. “He was a prosecuting attorney, right? His name was Darrell Reid?”

  “That’s right.” Paige had the feeling Roy was more familiar with Reid than he was letting on.

  Roy was looking in her direction, but more or less through her. “I’ve seen him around,” he volunteered.

  “Here? In this building, before today?” she tiptoed but applied some pressure.

  “I’m not really at liberty to say.” Roy’s gaze drifted to Brandon again.

  “I’m guessing you’ve worked here a long time,” Brandon said, and Paige could appreciate he was trying to establish a comradery with Roy.

  “Yeah.” Roy stood a little taller. “I’ve been here twenty years.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “My guess is you haven’t been an agent near as long.”

  “Just over three years.” Brandon smiled, and Roy returned the expression.

  “Aw, you’re just getting started.”

  “That I am, but I can appreciate that you would do anything to protect a job you love.” Brandon’s gaze flicked to her just briefly. “But I think sometimes we need to make judgment calls in life. Do what might not necessarily be right—” he added finger quotes “—but that actually is.”

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Agent Fisher.”

  “I think you do.” After a few seconds, Brandon asked, “You ever see Reid here before?”

  Roy’s shoulders sagged as if all his breath had left him, and he slinked across the counter to the chair, where he lowered himself. “I may have.” Roy kept his gaze on the floor.

  “Did he come here regularly?” Paige asked in a gentle tone.

  He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m not going to say.”

  Apparently, Brandon’s attempts to loosen Roy’s tongue hadn’t worked. Paige stepped toward Roy with care, so as not to intimidate or startle him. “We understand that Mr. Reid came here last night and left this morning. Do you know what business he had here?”

  “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew, but apparently, someone has a big mouth.” Roy’s gaze shot past them to outside.

  “We understand that you have a sign-in book for visitors,” Paige said. “Is there any way we could see that?”

  “Sure, with a warrant. Doing so without one would get me fired.” He glanced at Brandon, seeking understanding.

  “We understand,” Brandon assured him.

  “Not counting last night and this morning, when was Mr. Reid last here?” Paige wasn’t about to give up trying to get more out of Roy, but he clenched his jaw. Maybe another approach would work. “Did he always come to visit the same person or people?”

  Still, Roy said nothing.

  “We’d appreciate it if you would answer our questions,” Paige said.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” she countered.

  Herrera tugged down on his suit jacket. “Mr. Hall, a man was just killed outside of this building. The more information we get, and the sooner we get it, the better chance that we’ll catch his killer. Do you understand that?”

  As each word left the captain’s mouth, Roy’s body language become more and more closed off—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes resolved. “Do you understand that I’m not going to get fired over this?” Roy slapped back. “I am sorry that man was killed. I truly am, but it’s not my fault, and I’m not going to lose my job over this.”

  “You respect your job, the people in this building. You have the chance to help someone.” Brandon was back to playing diplomat, Mr. Relatable.

  “Too late for him, from what I understand.” Tears glistened in his eyes.

  “You don’t have to tell us anything,” Paige started.

  “Well, thank you very much.”

  “We’ll contact Property Holdings Group.”

  “You do that. Now, is that all?”

  Paige had thought maybe she could call the clerk’s bluff, but it turned out he really didn’t want to be involved.

  “Can I go back to work now?”

  Paige wasn’t sure what Roy had in mind, given that the building was on shutdown. Anyone who arrived here would be turned away, including the clerk showing up for the next shift. But the thought of busying himself probably calmed Roy’s nerves. “You can go back to work,” she said, feeling for him.

  -

  Seven

  I left Wilson Place with Paige and Herrera and glanced back through the glass doors at Hall. He had returned to his post, standing there expectant for the next person to walk through the door—as if it were any ordinary day. Sometimes clinging to the normal and familiar was how people coped with tragedy.

  “Poor guy’s so shaken up.” Herrera jacked a thumb over a shoulder to indicate Roy Hall. “Do you think he’s holding something useful back from us? Maybe he’s behind the shooting in some way? Connected with the sniper?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not getting that from him.”

  “Me neither,” Paige said and looked at me, “but we still should pull his background.”

  “I can do that for you,” Herrera offered.

  “We can get our analyst back at Quantico to take care of it.” The words came out in a rush. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” was what Herrera said, but I think I caught a spark of offense flash across his eyes.

  Herrera went on. “I’ll get on the warrant for the sign-in book?” He posed it like a question, but neither Paige nor I touched it. He added, “I have a good relationship with Judge Whittaker, a local. He’ll give authorization over the phone, and I’ll follow up with a signed version later, but that will get the book in our hands fairly quickly.”

  Paige was nodding. “While you’re at it, if you could get a subpoena for the tenant list from Property Holdings Group for Wilson Place, that would be useful as well.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Brandon and I will be staying on the ground a bit longer. Jack’s wanting us to do some door knocking, see if we can dig up anything pertinent to the case. Who should we see about that?”

  “You saw the officer standing next to the elevators in there? Name’s Officer Byrd…Stewart. H
e’s young but a great cop, and I put him in charge of the inside. He’s to make sure people go back to their apartments if they come down, and he’s overseeing the progress of the canvassing officers.”

  “Thank you,” Paige said.

  Herrera dipped his head. “Once I get the warrant and collect the book, I’ll be going back to the station to get the conference room set up. Hopefully by then, we’ll have a better idea what we’re looking at. And if luck’s in our favor, some solid leads.” With that, Herrera walked off toward the command center.

  “Before we start knocking on doors, I say we get Nadia started on the background for Roy Hall,” Paige said.

  “She probably already has the info on McBride and the former doorman by now.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Nadia on speaker.

  She answered on the third ring. “Ah…hey, hi.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “It’s me and Paige. Is everything all right there?”

  “I…don’t know. I’m following a hunch, and it’s not a good one.”

  I glanced at Paige. “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to say just yet. I want to do some more digging first, but I feel horrible for lying to Jack.”

  “You lied to Jack?” Brave woman.

  “Not one hundred percent, but he asked if I found any other shootings similar to today, and I told him no.”

  “So, you have?” Paige exclaimed.

  “Safe to say I’m working on a hunch. But you know how Jack is. He wants facts, not theories. What can I do for you, Brandon?”

  “We need another background,” I said and requested one on Roy Hall. “Also, if you could update me on—”

  “I was about to send you the reports on McBride and the information for Gerald Stevens—that’s his last name, by the way. Neither man looks suspicious on paper. But I got a little distracted.”

  I squinted, not recognizing this Nadia. “Something to do with that hunch of yours?”

  “Probably more fact than hunch,” she mumbled, then clicked off.

  “Okay,” Paige dragged out.

  “Someone’s not herself,” I said needlessly.

  “I’d say.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait it out to hear about this ‘hunch’ of hers.”

  “Guess so.” Paige smiled subtly.

  “Want to go talk to Stevens now? He doesn’t have to worry about confidentiality issues anymore. He might be more open to talking.” I was hopeful my argument would get me out of knocking on doors.

  “Nope. Jack told us to stay on the ground and do some canvassing—and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  “Yippie,” I griped.

  Paige angled her head. “You make it sound so horrible.”

  “Well, it’s not my favorite assignment.”

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like.”

  “Someone’s sounding quite mature.”

  She moved toward the door, but I didn’t.

  “The most important thing is finding the sniper, right?”

  She stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

  “Well, to do that, it would be helpful to find out more about Reid,” I said quickly, while I had her attention. “The former doorman might be able to—”

  She faced me but didn’t say anything.

  I had her hooked and felt a twinge of triumph. “Nothing about this so far strikes me as an act of terrorism. One man was taken out, and I believe that man was targeted by a skilled sniper.”

  “So you say…And I tend to agree. It just would have taken one small miscalculation and we’d be looking at more fatalities. I already have my theories.”

  “Well…” I prompted, hoping she’d be more willing to share than Nadia had been.

  She took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. “Just like you hypothesized in our briefing. Our sniper is highly trained and someone with a military or law enforcement background.”

  “Yep, or self-taught is also possible,” I said, downplaying my own idea. “Could even be someone who didn’t quite make the grade to become a cop or who wasn’t approved for military service.”

  “A person like that would be mad at the world. That wouldn’t explain one casualty.”

  “One victim in this shooting.” The skin on the back of my neck tightened. “Nadia has a hunch, so I’d say she’s uncovered something. Maybe other shootings? Other victims?”

  “Sure, but we’ll have to wait on Nadia.” Paige worried her bottom lip. “Sniping off a person is just such a drastic measure to take. There has to be a specific reason this is the method our killer prefers—again assuming this wasn’t a one-off. If we can answer why our sniper chose this method of operation, it might get us closer to understanding motive.”

  Both of our phones pinged. I looked at mine and saw that it was a message from Nadia with the backgrounds for McBride, Stevens, and Hall. I scanned through them quickly and came to the same conclusion Nadia had: nothing seemed suspicious about the doormen. A quick look at Hall’s gave me the same impression.

  “If either doorman was involved with orchestrating the shooting,” I said, “we’ll need Nadia to dig much deeper than this. Financials, associations.”

  “I’m not seeing enough to justify doing that just yet.” Paige pocketed her phone. “Let’s get on with doing what Jack wants us to.” She sounded about as thrilled as I was about the prospect, but she pointed a finger toward the building—the message being move it.

  I got the door for her.

  Hall’s shoulders squared up to his ears. “What—”

  Paige stayed him with a raised hand. “We need to speak with the tenants.”

  “There’s already cops spread all throughout the building.”

  “And now there will be two Feds.” I smiled pleasantly at him.

  “Hold up. The tenants of this building expect a certain amount of privacy.”

  “I can respect that,” Paige said, “but I bet they didn’t expect a shooting outside their front door. I’m sure some of them would be happy to speak with us. Even if it’s for reassurance there’s nothing to fear.”

  “Is that true?”

  “We believe so,” Paige said, pulling off the misdirection like a pro. Hall’s softening posture told me he took her words to mean we’d be comforting people, but Paige never actually said as much. There’d be no way either of us would be making any promises or guarantees of safety—not when we weren’t even sure what we were looking at.

  Paige and I went over to Officer Byrd. He was standing with his shoulders squared, chin lifted high, and hands clasped.

  “Captain Herrera said you could help us out,” Paige said. “He left you in charge of the canvassing officers.”

  “That he did, ma’am.”

  Paige stiffened at the address. “Can you tell us the attack plan?”

  Byrd’s mouth twitched at her words. “Sure. There’s six officers other than myself. They’re assigned in pairs, a floor per team, starting at the top—the fifteenth floor.”

  “So, that puts them currently…where?” I asked.

  “Well, each team is to check in with me when they finish a floor before heading to the next. Only one team’s checked in so far.”

  I tried to do the math in my head, but that subject had never been my strong suit. “That makes the next available floor to work…”

  “The eleventh. I’ll let the officers know you’ll be there.”

  “Thanks.” Paige reached for the Up arrow, but Byrd beat her to it. “Thanks,” she said again.

  “No problem, ma’am.” Byrd smiled at her, and a pang of jealousy fired in my chest. He might have been addressing her as ma’am—and she was probably twenty years older than him—but the officer was attracted to her. And that was enough to have me disliking him, even if a little bit.

>   -

  Eight

  The sniper didn’t need to close her eyes to see death. It was there in front of her eyes most of the time. The memories never far away. She should be on the open road with Arlington in the rearview mirror, but she had never been good at leaving things behind. Whether wanted or not, the past was haunting, always present, and ready to consume. She felt like a zombie—eyes wide and blank, roving about on autopilot. It was the same way after every kill, though she stupidly expected a different outcome. The anticipated high was never quite achieved. There was no fulfillment of desire, no culmination, no feeling of reward—just a mission set and mission accomplished. Taking life was like attaining a long-desired goal, only to realize reality stripped it of its charm.

  She was settled in a corner table at a coffee shop about eight blocks from Wilson Place. There was a TV mounted on a facing wall where the events from that morning were being broadcasted as “Just in.”

  She stirred her coffee, watched as the liquid swirled like a mini whirlpool, the cream creating little bubbles. Just like agitated water, around and around, furiously pounding, and currents meeting and reacting. She removed the spoon from the coffee but dropped the piece of cutlery on the table, causing a clatter.

  Three groups of people looked over with sharp expressions on their faces. She stared back at them blankly, and they returned to their idle conversations.

  Their reactions to a dropped spoon were about the same as the people at the site of the shooting—brief and fleeting. Sure, a crowd liked to hype up disaster, but eventually, folks returned to their own lives, moved on, with little regard for what had taken place. That is unless they were personally touched by the tragedy—and sometimes even so, humans were much like wild animals, feeding off the carcass of misfortune, sucking it bone dry for their own advantages, whatever those may be. This had been quite evident when she had stood at the edge of the police tape with a gathered crowd and had asked one officer what had taken place. In response, like a zombie, his eyes blank, the officer had said, “For your safety, I ask that you stay back.”