“This happen often?” Jack asked.
“Probably once a month or so.”
Kelly studied the aide, and based on his slightly more relaxed body language, he was telling the truth as far as he knew it.
Had Arlene Reid known about her husband’s affairs? The way she’d talked about Darrell, it would seem she idolized him, but maybe that had been an act. Kelly had learned a long time ago that the images people project rarely reflect reality. But if Mr. Reid had numerous lovers, it really opened up the suspect pool. Did one of those women decide to take him out? Or was Mr. Reid’s murder not related to matters of the heart, but rather professionally motivated—or something else entirely different, such as the case against Pratchett?
“Were you aware of anyone who disliked Mr. Reid and made their hatred evident?” Kelly asked.
“I’m not sure where to start with answering that question, Agent. He made a lot of enemies with his job.”
“Maybe he received hate mail or threats?” Jack suggested.
“Nothing in writing, but he had his share of people who were unhappy with the outcome of their cases.”
“The convicted are never happy—innocent or guilty,” Margaret chimed in.
“As we mentioned to Attorney Holmes before your arrival,” Jack started, “we’d like to get some information on the cases Mr. Reid was working recently, including ones that closed. Any you recall that stirred a lot of animosity toward Mr. Reid could prove especially useful.”
Brad looked at Margaret, who nodded. “Sure, I can compile that for you.” He put his hands to the arms of the chair as if about to propel himself up and out of the room. He seemed eager to leave, probably to deal with the news of his boss’s death in private. “Oh, am I excused, ma’am?”
Margaret gestured for him to leave. With the aide gone, she said, “He’s really a good kid, but he doesn’t always consider the big picture. And that’s what we need in our employees around here.”
Jack and Kelly saw themselves out. While they were leaving with a fresh perspective on their victim, which expanded a field of possible motives, Kelly still couldn’t help but feel for Brad McCarthy. He’d just done his job as best as he knew how. He’d been loyal to his boss—to a fault, it would seem. She glanced over at Jack, and she certainly didn’t want to end up in the same spot. She had to remember the job came first, approval second.
-
Ten
Being confined with Brandon in an SUV was one thing; an elevator car was another. All Paige could smell the entire way up to the eleventh floor was Brandon’s aftershave. It was the same one he’d used when they’d been together, and it was causing the past to resurface with sensory force—and she hated it. She happily stepped off the elevator the second the doors opened.
“Did you want to pair up or split?” Brandon asked.
She looked over at him, his question catching her off guard, and she realized it was all business. “Let’s stick together.” Splitting up might result in faster coverage, but if they worked together, they could pick up on things the other missed when questioning a tenant.
“Sure. We’ve always made a great couple—I mean, team,” he said. “We make a great team.”
“Right. You be sure to correct that. I don’t think Becky would like it.” She attempted a smile but failed, and when they met each other’s eyes, she saw he was feeling just as uncomfortable. “Okay, you ready to get started?” She gestured to the end of the hall, which faced the back of the building and not the front where Reid had been shot. The people in those apartments were less likely to have seen anything with regard to the shooting, but they could have something to say about Reid and whether he had been here before or why he had been leaving this morning.
The eleventh floor, like the lobby, was well maintained. The plush carpet was a neutral pattern, and the air smelled pleasantly of lavender-scented cleaner. The walls were wainscoted with a creamy-white bottom and warm gray on top. Decorative fixtures were mounted to the walls and provided enough light to eliminate shadows, but not so much she wanted to squint.
They set out and worked their way through most of the floor. They found one person at home—an older lady by the name of Ruby MacIntosh. She’d enticed them inside by saying she could tell them something about Reid. She just hadn’t clarified it would be her stand on Reid’s professional life.
“He’s far too lenient on these criminals. He should push for harsher sentences.” Ruby slurped tea from a floral china teacup.
Paige and Brandon were seated on a floral couch with doilies on the arms covered in plastic sleeves. The place was starting to feel like the Mafia—once you were in, you didn’t get out.
“Did you know Mr. Reid?” Paige did her best to be kind to the woman, but she had to consider that the clock was ticking while they were wasting time in here.
“No. I’ve never met him. But you can tell a lot from a man just from seeing him on camera,” Ruby punched out and added an energetic head bob for emphasis.
“Did you ever see him in this building?” Paige was pulling from somewhere deep inside herself for patience.
“No, can’t say as I have.”
Paige glanced at Brandon and stood. “Well, thank you for the tea, Mrs. MacIntosh, but Agent Fisher and I need to get on and speak with your neighbors.”
Ruby frowned.
“Yes, I suppose you don’t have time to just shoot the shit with an old lady.” She slurped back the rest of her tea and placed the teacup down rather heavily on the table next to her chair.
Paige beelined for the door, a tad hesitant to put her back to the old woman, but was highly motivated to escape.
“Perhaps another time,” Brandon said cordially.
Out in the hall, Paige nudged his elbow. “Why did you say that?”
“I was just trying to be nice.”
“Try less. She’s the type to hold you to your word.”
“Good luck pinning me down.” Brandon was laughing, but Paige wasn’t.
Not being able to “pin” Brandon down had been a source of regret and pain for years. Not that she thought about it constantly, by any means, but their time together had a way of filtering back into her thoughts.
They hit the next—and last—door on this floor, apartment 1135. It was at the end of the hall and faced the front of the building where Reid had been shot.
A twentysomething woman answered after the first knock. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and her silver eyes were locked on Brandon. She seemed to hang off the door as she smiled and said, “Yes?”
“Do you know him?” Paige put a copy of Reid’s license photo in her face, blocking her view of Brandon.
“Sure, but who are you?”
Paige exchanged the photo for her badge. “FBI Agents Dawson and Fisher.” She nudged her head toward Brandon.
The woman squinted. “Why is the FBI interested in Mr. Reid? I agree it’s a crime he isn’t sitting in Margaret Holmes’s chair. She’s far too lenient on sentencing recommendations, if you ask me.”
The exact opposite of how Ruby McIntosh felt about Reid.
“You seem to know a lot about the attorney’s office,” Brandon said. “Hobby?”
There was a subtle curve to her lips, but it carried flirtatious overtures. “Let’s just say it’s out of professional interest.”
“You’re a lawyer?” Brandon smiled.
She shrugged off his question with a grin. “You could say that. I’ve got a law degree and passed the bar.”
“But you don’t practice,” Paige concluded.
Her face soured. “No, I don’t, and I don’t have any real interest. The schooling and passing the bar, I did for Daddy. But I must admit, it provides me with a unique perspective on things.” She paused as if expecting Paige or Brandon to say something. When they didn’t, she added, “You don’t
know who I am, do you?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Paige gestured to Brandon. “You?”
“No.”
The woman pouted. “I’m Cindy Beat. And, wow, you really don’t know me. Okay—” she planted a hand on a hip “—I’ll try not to be offended.”
“There’s no need to be offended,” Brandon said, and Paige fought off rolling her eyes. “Neither of us live in Arlington.”
“But you do live on planet Earth?” Cindy shot back, and Paige was tempted to give her a dose of a reality check. Cindy continued. “I host Keeping a Pulse on Law & Politics. It’s a podcast—one of the most listened-to podcasts in the entire US. Not just in its genre, but overall.”
“Our jobs don’t leave us much social time,” Paige said.
“That’s too bad.” Cindy eyed Brandon like a hungry tigress.
“Could we come in and talk?” Paige cut in. “You can tell us more about your podcast.” It wasn’t really at the top of Paige’s list for topics of conversation, but talking about the show might relax Cindy and get her opening up about Reid.
“I’d love to.” Cindy opened her door wider, and Paige and Brandon went inside.
Unlike Ruby MacIntosh’s apartment, there were no doilies in sight. The space adhered to the minimalist look, and what existed of furnishings were modern and high-end. Gleaming hardwood floors were accented by faux-fur area rugs.
Cindy guided them to a living room that was framed by two walls of windows, including a glass patio door that led to an outdoor living space. From what Paige could see, it had been decorated with a minimalist brush like the apartment.
“Your place is beautiful,” Paige complimented.
“It should be for what I pay for it.” She gestured for Paige to sit in a chair made of oak and laminate with metal legs and a thin cushion.
Paige complied and found it as uncomfortable as it looked. She wiggled, trying to find an agreeable position.
Cindy sat in a round accent chair with deep, navy cushions and a back pillow, and Brandon dropped himself into its twin.
“As I was saying, KPL&P is— That’s just what I call the podcast for short.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Paige said, even if the acronym was a mouthful.
“On the podcast, I speak my mind on everything law and politics. Don’t even get me started on Trump.”
“No worries there,” Paige said quickly. “I’m guessing you spoke a lot about Mr. Reid.”
“When he was newsworthy, yes.”
“You ever meet him or interview him?” Brandon asked.
“Absolutely. I don’t just like to give my opinion—though my listeners tune in for that—but like an investigative journalist, I really dig into my subjects. It makes for much more interesting and reliable content.”
“What was your take on Mr. Reid,” Paige started, “besides he should have been in the commonwealth attorney’s chair?”
“You mean personally?” With the question, Cindy’s voice cracked ever so slightly.
“Sure.”
“He seemed like a nice man, but very driven. Ambitious. He had a bit of a suffocating quality to him, but he was also…” Cindy worried her bottom lip and kept eye contact with Paige. “Woman to woman? He was magnetic, charismatic, but also somewhat chauvinistic. Somehow he knew how to work the three together and—”
“He was hard to resist,” Paige finished. She’d known her fair share of men who could be summed up the same way. “Did you and Mr. Reid ever—”
“Hook up? No, but that’s only because I don’t do married guys.”
Paige suddenly felt sick and full of remorse. She wished she’d adhered to that code of ethics. Then she wouldn’t have gotten together with Brandon in the first place, and there wouldn’t be any awkwardness in her life now. But in her defense, she hadn’t known right away, and by the time she had, she hadn’t cared—as awful as that sounded. Even now, with Brandon currently in a relationship, it was a fine tether that held her to a higher course of morality.
“That’s a good philosophy to live by,” Brandon offered, his voice a little strained.
Cindy puffed out a deep breath. “I think so. Sleeping with married guys only complicates life—and life’s complicated enough. Why compound things?”
Yeah, why compound things? Paige cleared her throat. “Did Mr. Reid ever make a move on you?”
“Oh, yeah, on several occasions.”
“Did you interview him more than once?” Brandon asked.
“Absolutely. Like I said, whenever he was newsworthy, which was often. But we’d also run into each other at different events. He definitely knows what he wants.” Cindy crossed her legs, and a serious expression blanketed her face. “You never did answer my question. Why is the FBI interested in Mr. Reid?”
“You are probably aware that something transpired outside this building this morning,” Paige said, doing her best to remain still, though her butt was going numb on the hard chair.
Cindy nodded. “I know there’s been a lot of police activity. From what I gather, someone got shot. I’ve called my contacts and haven’t gotten far, which is very unusual for me. Oh”—her mouth gaped open—“Mr. Reid was the one who was shot.”
“That’s right,” Paige confirmed.
Cindy sank into her chair, putting her elbow on the arm, a hand to her forehead. “I think a part of me knew that was why you were here…and asking about Reid. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“We’re trying to figure out what brought Reid to the building this morning. Would you know?” There was no advantage to feeding a rumor mill that it seemed the attorney had spent the night somewhere in the building, presumably with someone.
“Wow. I’m going to have to start recording our conversation.”
“We need to ask that you don’t,” Paige rushed out.
“Why wouldn’t I? This is news.”
“Yes, it’s news,” Paige said tersely, “but there are people behind the story. His family is in the process of being notified.” It was likely Jack and Kelly had already finished with the notification, but that was neither here nor there.
“I guarantee you, someone out there already has broken the story. It’s probably already trending online. God, I hate being behind, especially as I was right here.” Cindy pulled out her cell phone and ran her finger over the screen—then stopped. “‘Did Reid’s ambitions catch up to him?’” She held the screen toward Paige and Brandon, not that either of them could read it from where they were seated, and then stuck her nose in her phone for the next few seconds. “The article suggests a hit was taken out on him.” She continued to scroll. “Other articles note a shooting—leaving Reid nameless—and mention the possibility of terrorism.”
Paige’s life experience had taught her that people liked to sensationalize things any chance they got to make a name for themselves. More interesting to Paige was that a hit was being speculated.
“Do they say why they think Mr. Reid was targeted?” Brandon asked, beating Paige to the question.
“I would know the answer to that one, even without reading the entire piece.” Cindy lowered her phone. “Mr. Reid was currently working a case against a drunk driver who took out a family of three. It was the driver’s first offense, but Reid was pushing to get him a harsher sentence than mandated by law. Reid was hoping to rewrite the penalties for drinking and driving causing death.”
“What is the textbook sentence in Virginia?” Brandon asked.
“First of all, it’s considered DUI manslaughter when a person kills someone while driving under the influence in Virginia. Some states, it’s DUI homicide.”
Paige lifted her left butt cheek and stretched out her leg; tingles spread down to her toes. “Like Florida.”
“Could be.”
Is. Earlier this year, the case where they’d met K
elly involved hunting down a serial killer targeting drivers who had drove drunk and killed from behind the wheel, so she knew the law in Florida.
Cindy went on. “With it being the driver’s first offense, the prison sentence could be as little as a year with a cap at ten years, unless it can be proved the offender had a very high blood alcohol count. Then it could be as much as twenty years. Keep in mind, these numbers are based on one death. The driver in this case killed three people—a mother, a father, and a ten-year-old boy. There’s also a maximum fine of twenty-five hundred,” Cindy tagged on as an afterthought.
“Despicable,” Brandon muttered, and Paige glanced over at him.
As FBI agents, they were to keep their personal feelings out of it—especially in front of civilians. The fact that she and Brandon held differing views on the topic probably didn’t help her aggravation.
“Well, that’s how Mr. Reid felt, and he was determined to rewrite the law book. Reid wanted to push for a sentence of fifty years to life. He stressed that three lives had been lost, and his reasoning was: why should DUI manslaughter come with a lighter sentence than outright murder when the result was the same?”
Brandon was nodding, while Paige remained motionless. She needed to ignore the urge to open a debate. Driving under the influence could be prevented, yes, but drinking to the point of drunkenness was also a disease. Sure, it was regrettable when a person under the influence got behind the wheel and killed someone—more than regrettable—but she couldn’t sweep such accidents in with murder. She could understand why Reid’s stand on the matter could have made enemies. “Who was the driver?”
Cindy gave a brief, sly smile. “That’s where it gets really interesting. He’s the son of some bigwig who owns and runs several publishing companies and networks.”
Paige glanced at Brandon. A man like that would have the power—and the means—to make his enemies disappear.
Cindy tucked her phone back into a pocket. “Do you think someone killed him for that?” she asked casually, as if she weren’t inquiring about the fate of a man’s life.
Past Deeds Page 6
