Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Frequented? How often?”

  “Monday through Friday after work. He was a plumber for a mom-and-pop company. A note on witness statements said he had a standing reservation for five thirty on the patio, weather permitting. Same table.”

  “Making it easy for the sniper to plan their attack. What about the others?”

  “Well, we know from what Jack and Kelly found out that Reid showed up at Wilson Place on a regular schedule. Miller from Arkansas was a public-school teacher—”

  “Don’t tell me he was taken out at the school.” Paige’s heart sank at the thought of all the school shootings that were plaguing the country. But maybe that’s what happened when kids were raised on first-person shooter video games and subjected to violent TV shows and movies. It also didn’t help that the internet made committing a crime easy if you knew how to navigate it.

  “Thankfully not.” Brandon moved his cup around but didn’t take a drink. “Miller was shot outside of a bookstore where he’d go every Saturday to grade papers and have a coffee. He was hit on the way out.”

  “And the one from a month ago?” Paige prompted.

  “Sherman from Tennessee was the unpredictable one, and the interesting one, if you ask me.”

  Paige cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

  “He was unemployed at the time of his death, and he was taken out on a restaurant patio. Staff said they’d never seen him there before, but Sherman had told them he was waiting on someone.”

  “Now, that’s interesting. If we’re after a hired gun, it would be easy for the wives—assuming they ordered the hits—to let the shooter know their husbands’ routines.” She still couldn’t get past the lack of a money trail, but she’d play hypotheticals. “Did Sherman tell anyone who he was waiting for?”

  Brandon shook his head. “Nope. All we know for sure is it wasn’t Sherman’s wife. She confirmed as much.”

  Paige sat up straighter, remembering what she’d said about her husband’s death being a cheaper alternative to divorce. “Can’t say that’s a surprise.”

  “Yeah, cold as ice to say her husband’s death saved her money on a divorce.”

  A theory was starting to shift into focus. “And she was the one who received damning photos of her husband with another woman…”

  “Yes.” A few seconds passed, and he asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “That you should have led with Sherman. There’s no way that our sniper would know he would have been at the restaurant at that time, on that patio, unless—”

  “The sniper arranged to meet him there.”

  “Uh-huh. And what could get a man with a wandering eye to someplace new?”

  “Our sniper’s a woman,” they said in unison.

  “Whoa.” Brandon flopped back in his chair.

  Adrenaline was fusing through her system, but she worked to rein it in. “Do we know if Sherman was waiting on a man or a woman?”

  “Sadly, no, not from the records, anyhow. I’m sure that question would have been asked of the restaurant staff.”

  Paige shook her head. “It’s easy enough to accept that Sherman wouldn’t even have said.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But if our sniper did arrange a meetup, what’s to say the shooter wasn’t someone they knew and trusted? Sherman might not have had any clue he was in trouble,” Brandon suggested.

  “Knew and trusted could apply to a man, as well.” Her stomach sank. “It could have been a business meeting? Maybe a job interview?”

  “Okay, fine, we still don’t have gender nailed down,” Brandon said, “but if it is a woman, did she have a personal connection with all the men?”

  “Your guess would be as good as mine, but one thing in our favor is our sniper seems to have sped up their timeline. And killers in a hurry make mistakes.”

  “Sure, but do you really want a sniper making any?”

  Paige gulped at Brandon’s grim volley. “We’ve got to find this person—and quick.”

  “Well, no shit.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and he laughed, then took his first sip of coffee. He licked his lips and nodded.

  Apparently, the brew passed the test…

  “There are more victims here than just the men,” she concluded; the theory starting to crystalize. “Maybe we’ve been too focused on the murder victims. At least one widow was slapped in the face with her husband’s adultery via photographs. It didn’t mean the others weren’t, just that it wasn’t part of the record. The sniper could be trying to hurt the widows. First by killing their husbands, then by exposing their infidelity. In a way, the wives are also victims.”

  “You think the men were murdered to get revenge on the women?”

  “Just thinking out loud.”

  Brandon drank more coffee, and he looked weary.

  She pointed to the papers in front of Brandon. “Did Nadia include information on the wives?”

  “Nothing beyond their names and that they were cleared of their husbands’ murders.”

  Paige lifted a pen off the table and scribbled on the corner of a report: have Nadia probe wives’ backgrounds.

  “What are you looking for?” Brandon asked.

  “A connection, a motive. Something that ties the women together somehow.”

  “Well, there is something else you should know,” Brandon said, baiting the hook.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “In all three cases, no forensic evidence was left in the sniper’s nests, but they held two things in common. A circular hole was cut out of the windows, and they were all located in hotels, on the same floor.”

  She’d seen the crime scene photos, but— “You said the same floor?”

  “Yes, the eighth.”

  “Huh. I wonder if that holds any significance.”

  “I’d guess it does.”

  “Me too. Curious how the forensic guys are making out with their trajectory calculations. Let’s head down there and find out.” On the way, she texted Nadia about the widows.

  -

  Twenty

  Kelly had called Herrera on the way to Wilson Place to have him bring the keys taken from Reid’s body. They were curious to know if one of them would fit the lock to Bert Pryce’s condo.

  “Good day, sir.” The desk clerk at the building smiled at the sight of Bert, but gave a brief look of derision to Jack and Kelly. His gaze drifted through the front windows to the sidewalk where CSIs were fervently working on figuring out where the shot might have been fired from.

  Bert met the clerk’s greeting with an attack. “You let anyone into my condo without my knowledge?”

  “I…” The clerk straightened his tie. “I…not that I—”

  “It’s a yes or no,” Bert barked.

  “He told me that you told him it was all right. And he had a key.” The last word came out in a high octave.

  Kelly’s heart sped up. They had their confirmation that a man had been in Bert’s condo, but not that it had been Darrell Reid specifically. “He, who?” she asked.

  The clerk’s eyes went to her. “Mr. Darrell Reid.”

  Arlene squeezed her purse, a deep-purple number the size of a paperback novel that hung from a long strap slung over a shoulder, and averted eye contact.

  “You never cleared it with me or my daughter.” Bert gestured to Arlene.

  The clerk’s gaze darted back to Bert. “I…I’m sorry, Mr. Pryce.”

  “I don’t need your apologies. I need your ass out the door. You can bet I’m going to be talking to management about this.” A thick vein popped in Bert’s forehead as he stared down the clerk.

  “Would Mr. Reid come by himself?” Kelly ventured.

  The clerk’s gaze cut to her. “I’m not at liberty to—”

  “You’re going to
answer her question right now,” Bert scolded.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Pryce.” His eyes fluttered to Arlene, and he pulled on the collar of his shirt. “He sometimes had company.”

  “Female company?” Jack pressed.

  “Yes,” the clerk confirmed.

  Arlene gasped and turned to Kelly for emotional support. Kelly put her hand on the woman’s shoulder, but there was something about Arlene’s reaction that seemed staged—either her demeanor or the subtle way in which she shifted under Kelly’s touch.

  “When was he here last?” Jack asked.

  “Last night, this morning…obviously.” The clerk swallowed roughly after his tart response.

  “Was he with a woman last night?” Arlene inquired in a low voice.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She didn’t respond but walked over to the elevator bank. The rest of the group followed her. Nothing was said on the way to the tenth floor where Bert’s condo was located.

  When the doors opened, Arlene lamented, “I can’t believe that Darrell came here. I don’t understand.”

  “He was a selfish man,” Bert slapped out.

  “Dad, please don’t say that, especially now that he’s—” Arlene’s words stopped there, her face knotted with what Kelly would peg as disappointment. Arlene was probably tired of defending her husband.

  “I apologize if what I said hurt you, darling, but he had his secrets. Obviously.” Bert gestured toward the door marked 1035 and took out his key ring.

  Jack snapped on gloves and held out a hand for the keys. “It would be best if you waited in the hall.”

  “Wha— Why let us come down here?”

  Jack held up the key ring. “Which one?”

  Bert pointed to a silver one with a rounded top.

  “Why did you let us come?” Arlene repeated her father’s question.

  “You both wanted to come down here with us, and that’s fine, if you stay in the hall. I can’t have you coming in and possibly contaminating evidence.”

  They had wanted to see their reactions if it was proven that Darrell Reid had been bedding other women—and they had that.

  “What sort of evidence? He was killed outside,” Arlene said.

  “We still don’t know why your husband came here, Mrs. Reid,” Jack said. “Or anything about the company he kept.”

  “Oh, please. That bastard was sleeping around on my girl, and he had quite the balls to do it in my place. If he wasn’t dead, I might kill him myself!”

  “Father!” Arlene cried out.

  “I’m not apologizing anymore. I refuse.” The older man clamped his jaw tight.

  Tears beaded in Arlene’s eyes, but none fell. “Do you think his lover took him out?”

  Jack slipped the key into the lock. “We need to consider every—”

  The elevators dinged, and everyone looked down the hall to see Captain Herrera unloading with two uniformed officers. Herrera led the way, holding up a key ring.

  “What’s this? What’s going on?” Arlene split her gaze between Jack, Kelly, her father, and Herrera. “What’s he got there?”

  Herrera came to a stop in front of Arlene and looked at Jack for an introduction.

  “Captain Herrera, meet Mrs. Arlene Reid,” Jack said. “And that’s Bert Pryce, her father—”

  “And the man who owns this condo.” Bert pointed to the key ring Herrera held. “You didn’t answer my daughter’s question.”

  “This? It’s the key ring that was taken from your husband’s pocket, Mrs. Reid.” Herrera spoke without preamble, in a fashion that fit a seasoned cop.

  Arlene nodded, but remained quiet.

  “We think it’s possible that he made a copy of your key,” Kelly explained.

  Arlene’s gaze snapped to Kelly. “Why would he—” Her words faded to silence under Kelly’s eye. No doubt the woman was getting Kelly’s silent communication: no one was that blind and stupid to be facing the evidence and still deny its existence.

  Jack took the key ring from Herrera and compared the keys to the one he’d put in the lock. He settled on one and gave it a try. It turned easily.

  Jack looked at Arlene, then Bert, then Herrera, finally Kelly.

  “Mrs. Reid,” Kelly began, “I think you know why your husband would have made a copy of the condo key.”

  The woman let go of her purse, and it dangled freely from her shoulder. “I have no—”

  “I think you do.” Kelly softened her approach, stepped closer to the woman. “It’s not easy to think about someone you love cheating on you, but—”

  “No, he wasn’t a cheater.” There was a spark in her eyes that belied her claim, and Kelly was curious why she was so adamant about protecting her dead husband’s reputation. Or was it more because it would hurt hers, and she’d have to live with the whispers of people.

  “Men who cheat are good at hiding it from their wives, their loved ones.” Kelly spoke like she knew from personal experience, but the truth was she didn’t let herself get entangled romantically. Her primary focus had always been on other things—torn between her career and her caring for her ailing grandfather, who had raised her as his own daughter, until he passed away. Then it had become what she could scrape together for a career. “Many wives don’t know about their husband’s infidelities,” she added, trying to soothe Arlene into a confession of suspicion at least.

  Arlene gritted her teeth and fixed her gaze across the hall, past Kelly and seemingly on nothing in particular.

  Bert put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Darling, why don’t you just admit to it? Darrell was a snake.”

  She shrugged off her father’s hand and turned to him. “I’m leaving. I’m not just going to stand around here while you”—she fit in a quick glance at Kelly—“tell me that Darrell was cheating on me.” She stormed off toward the elevator bank with Bert on her heels.

  Herrera turned to one of his officers. “Make sure they get home all right.”

  The officer nodded and went down the hall to catch up with Bert and Arlene.

  “Well, shall we?” Herrera gestured toward the condo door.

  Jack took the first step inside. Kelly followed, then Herrera and the remaining officer walked in. They flipped a wall switch, and ceiling fixtures flooded the room with light.

  The layout was open concept and bright. Huge windows would let the sun in during the day when the heavy drapes were pulled back. The space was large, but bulky furniture made it feel smaller. It was definitely furnished with the touch of man’s influence. No frilly throw pillows, no knickknacks or personal touches, for that matter. No photographs or anything homey about the place. It was rather cool and reminded Kelly of her childhood home. A place she’d only lived until the age of six when her mother had shot her father. Love hadn’t grown in the tiny bungalow but rather dark secrets, ones that eventually broke dirt and gave way to poisonous plants that choked out any resemblance to compassion.

  Kelly cleared her throat, willing the sensations of her past to creep into remission again.

  The condo had been lived in recently. There were dirty dishes in the sink, a few empty wine bottles on the counter, and a couple of wineglasses. She opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink, and there was garbage in the receptacle.

  Herrera came back toward them after having journeyed down the hall. “If Mr. Pryce says he hasn’t been here, then someone else has been sleeping in the bed.”

  Kelly walked along the kitchen counter, closer to the wineglasses. “Ja—Agent Harper.” She mentally cursed herself for almost slipping into a more informal address.

  Jack looked over at her from the living room.

  “There’s a wineglass here that has a lipstick print,” she said. A soft coral pink.

  “Darrell entertained here. Not his wife, I gather,” Herrera said.
<
br />   “No,” Kelly said. “You missed the part before we came up. The clerk said Reid had been here with women, including one last night.”

  Herrera put his hands on his hips. “She could tie into Reid’s murder.”

  “We’re keeping an open mind,” Jack said.

  “About a serial killer?” Herrera shot back. “You look surprised I know about the other murders.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed.

  “You didn’t bother to tell me about them.”

  Kelly stepped back.

  “We’re still investigating whether they are connected to this case.”

  “Uh-huh, but it’s looking pretty damning, I suspect, seeing as you left two of your agents back at the station to dig into them more.”

  The tension between Jack and Herrera was tangible.

  “We’re taking it seriously,” Jack eventually admitted.

  Herrera shook his head and looked around the condo. Kelly took it as a prompt to move and walked around the place. She found more evidence that a woman had been there recently. In the bedroom, there was the faint hint of woman’s perfume and the subtle smell of sex. The answer to what Darrell did to entertain his female guests was apparently answered. In a way, Kelly found it disappointing that the cliché was proved again. But were the murders about exacting revenge on cheating husbands, or was there more to Reid’s and the other men’s murders?

  “We’ll need to get CSIs in here,” Jack said. “See if they can gather prints and DNA. Maybe we’ll be able to ID the mystery woman.”

  “I’ll get them up here,” Herrera said, surprisingly cooperative given Jack’s poor performance at being a team player.

  There was a knock on the condo door, and a man called out, “Captain Herrera.”