Bell crossed his arms and snuffed out air. “I’ve been at this job for a while now, Agent.”
“That’s a yes?” There was nothing in the file Nadia had forwarded that mentioned anything about the transaction history on the card.
“Of course I did.”
“And where did that lead?”
“I was tasked with finding the sniper, not investigating credit card fraud.”
“But that credit card was a connection to your sniper,” she stamped out. “Surely it was a lead worth pursuing.”
“Sure. But you hit a wall, you turn back.”
Usually, you work your way along the wall until you find an opening. “Did you even try to figure out at what point the card was stolen?”
“Previous charges—before this hotel room—were validated by the Mavises as belonging to them. You also must open your mind to the possibility that the information was stolen over the phone, conned out of them. Sadly, it happens to the elderly all the time. Some person calls, claiming to be with the IRS, tells them they’re going to be arrested if they don’t pay their past-due taxes right away. The elderly believe them. They come from a time when they could trust people. They provide their credit card information and boom.”
Such a sad reflection—but accurate portrayal—on the current state of the world: you couldn’t trust anyone. “What you’re saying, though, is the job of digging into the stolen card was passed to another department.”
“You got it. My chief wanted the sniper found, not for me and my officers to become bogged down pursuing an angle that wasn’t giving us anything to go on.”
Not that the redirection of resources had done much good. Bell and his officers hadn’t gotten any closer to finding the sniper. “Well, thank you for joining us here, Sergeant Bell.” She offered a pleasant smile. “Agent Fisher and I are going to go over to the Lucky Pub—”
“And see if you get lucky,” Bell cut in. “Listen, I’m not too thrilled you’re here, I’ll be honest. It means I missed something. But good luck.”
He left the room, and Paige turned to Brandon, not that there was anything to say. If Bell had given more attention to the Mavises’ credit card and following that trail, maybe there wouldn’t have been three other victims.
-
Thirty-Three
Arlington, Virginia
Friday, October 25th, 1:45 PM Eastern Standard Time
Kelly couldn’t say she was a fan of Jack’s teaching tactics—they were a tad psychotic—but they were effective. She’d never forget the lesson to always speak her mind and stand up for herself—not that it did her mother any good. People liked to preach “speak your mind,” but unless you were saying what pleased them, they didn’t really want to hear it.
Jack knocked on Jane Powell’s door, the banging cutting through Kelly’s thoughts.
A tall brunette answered the door, and she was unmistakably the one captured in the photographs with Reid. Her lips were painted in a shade of pink coral similar to what had been on the wineglass in Pryce’s condo. She wore chunky jewelry around her neck and bangles on her wrists, likely her own designs; a skirt that came mid-thigh; and a blouse with its top three buttons undone.
Kelly pulled her badge. “Jane Powell?” Jack had told her in the car to take the lead on this one.
“I am, and you are?” The woman pursed her lips and let her gaze trail over Kelly to Jack.
“Special Agent Marsh, and this is Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Harper. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”
“About the shooting?” Jane asked, soft-spoken.
“That’s right. Do you have someplace we could sit?”
Jane backed up and held the door for them. “This way.” She turned and sauntered down a hallway. They were shown to a sitting room that was sparsely furnished, but the pieces chosen made a bold statement of elegance and money. Of course, one could afford extravagant purchases when their company was worth three million dollars.
Each of them dropped into a chair, the seating arranged in a rough circle to encourage conversation.
Kelly leaned slightly forward. “Ms. Powell—”
“Please, call me Jane.” She crossed her legs and didn’t move to tug down on her skirt that had ridden up and exposed more leg than Kelly or Jack needed to see.
But Kelly studied the woman’s eyes. She’d had chest pains, no doubt brought on from the shooting, but Jane wasn’t giving any signs that she knew it had been Darrell who’d been killed. Does she know? And her energy was calm, as if the FBI visited her every day, as if nothing could faze her.
Kelly shifted her position and clasped her hands. “We understand you were at Wilson Place yesterday morning around the time of the shooting?”
“Yes. And taken to the hospital.” Still no trace of emotion.
“This might not be easy to hear,” Kelly started, “but Darrell Reid was killed in the shooting.”
Jane didn’t blink. “I’m aware of that.”
Maybe Jane was living in denial. “We have reason to believe you and Darrell were close.” The compromising photos were branded on her brain cells.
“Is that a crime?”
“Not at all, but you don’t seem too shaken by his death.”
“It’s not that I’m an unfeeling robot, but our acquaintance was nothing more than sex.”
“But that’s been going on for a while?” Kelly recalled that the server at Spencer’s Sports Bar had seen them come in together for the last six months. Surely even the most casual of “acquaintances” would be missed after that amount of time.
“Yeah, I guess we have.”
Kelly wasn’t sure why—or how—Jane was being so blasé about Darrell’s death. “He helped you get off from solicitation charges a couple years ago.” She was hoping to elicit some emotion.
“I ‘got off’ because I wasn’t guilty. Ya know Darrell was the only one who believed in me, but I still didn’t fall for him at the time. He was in his fifties. I’m thirty-five.”
“Something obviously changed your opinion of him.”
“We bumped into each other—then we started falling into each other. The fact he was married was perfect; I’m not looking for anything long-term. Deep and meaningful relationships are overrated.”
“Is that why you don’t seem too shaken up by the news of his murder?” Kelly asked.
Jane narrowed her eyes. “People die, and I know that sounds callous, but I try not to get too attached, ya know, to anyone, anything.”
Yet she was shaken enough to have chest pains. Kelly was starting to think the chest pains had more to do with her own brush with death than grief that she’d lost a lover. As for not getting attached, Kelly could relate. It didn’t bring anything good. It hadn’t for her, anyway. No matter how much love she held in her heart for her mother and brother, it hadn’t brought them back into her life.
“I can understand where you’re coming from,” Kelly said, and noticed that Jack looked over at her. “Do you know if Mr. Reid was seeing other women besides yourself?”
“I don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me. We weren’t exclusive.”
Kelly nodded, thinking of the calls Reid’s aide had received from mystery women. “When did you last see Mr. Reid?”
“We hooked up Wednesday night, and I left his father-in-law’s condo Thursday morning, close to six.”
“The time Mr. Reid was shot.” Kelly delivered rather bluntly. Jane gave no reaction. “You must have come out not far ahead of him,” she added.
Jane’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I was pretty lucky.”
“Did you and Mr. Reid go out Wednesday night or stay in?” Kelly was anxious to hear Jane’s answer.
“We went to Spencer’s Sports Bar for a few drinks then to his father-in-law’s condo.”
“
That picture I showed you a moment ago was taken at Spencer’s.” Kelly realized now that she hadn’t pointed that out to Jack.
Jane licked her lips and sat up. “By whom?”
“That, we don’t know, and we were hoping you might be able to tell us.”
“I don’t see how I’d know.” She started fidgeting with her necklace again, then her eyes widened. “There was this one chick that kept staring at Darrell on Wednesday when we were there. I could have decked her for being so obvious. But what really ticked me off was the way Darrell was eyeballing her. And I was sitting right there with him.”
They’d pegged their sniper as brazen, as someone who arranged a meet with Sherman and took him out. They knew from the picture that their sniper had been at Spencer’s at the same time as Reid and Powell, but Kelly would have thought she’d keep a low profile. “She was staring at him?”
“Oh, yeah, hard to miss.”
“And he was looking back at her?” Did Reid know his killer?
“He was, but he told me it didn’t mean what I thought it did.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Men can be such liars. Goes back to my motto not to get attached.”
“Did he say why he was looking at her?” Jack interjected.
Jane turned to him. “He tried to tell me she reminded him of someone he knew.” Her gaze back on Kelly. “Can you believe that?”
“Someone from his past?” Kelly reasoned.
“What he tried to tell me. Men.”
“Did he tell you her name?”
“No,” Jane dragged out.
“What did she look like?”
“Plain. Pretty, but plain. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry.”
“Age?” Kelly asked.
“About my age.”
“So, in her thirties?” Kelly flipped back just to verify.
“That’s right.”
“Hair color? Eye color?” Jack inquired.
“Blond, but it wasn’t her natural color. She had dark roots. I didn’t get a look at her eyes. The bar’s dimly lit, and she was a few tables away from us. I don’t remember her eyes, except for they were on Darrell most of the night.”
Kelly’s heart was pounding. The debate over the gender of their shooter was put to rest as far as she was concerned. “And what was she wearing?”
“A really nice gray, crepe sweater with a plunging neckline and fitted blue jeans.”
“Did she approach Darrell?” Kelly inquired. “Interact with him?”
“I would have liked to have seen her try that. I probably would have hit her then.”
Kelly noted the irony that jealousy culled out feelings for Darrell, but his death hadn’t. “How was her hair styled? How long?” If they were armed with a solid description, she and Jack could revisit Spencer’s Sports Bar and talk to the manager again, see if he had anything to offer.
“She had her hair scooped back into a clip, but left some curly strands loose, and they spilled down the side of her cheeks.”
“What about her build?” Kelly asked.
“She was trim. Say about your height.”
Five-nine. “Was she alone?”
“Yeah, and she must have left before Darrell and me. I didn’t see her on the way out, anyway, but she must not have left long before because her untouched glass of wine was still on the table.”
“All right.” Jack got to his feet. “You think of anything else, call me.” He handed Jane his card.
“Thank you for your help, Ms. Powell,” Kelly offered. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Wait.” Jane stepped up next to Kelly and put a hand on her elbow. “Did she kill Darrell?”
“It’s far too soon to know,” Kelly found herself saying and realized she’d been indoctrinated by Jack.
Jane saw the two of them out, and in the hall, Jack’s phone rang. He didn’t take the call on speaker and hung up less than a minute later. “That was Nadia. She can’t find any connection between Powell and our victims.”
Can’t say I’m surprised, Kelly thought. She was about to respond when Jack’s phone rang again. Whatever message his caller was delivering wasn’t good. Jack hung up as they loaded onto the elevator.
He looked over at her and said, “That was Herrera. They found the maid.”
-
Thirty-Four
The Lucky Pub, Albuquerque, New Mexico
Friday, October 25th, Noon Mountain Standard Time
I found it quite ingenious to name a bar the Lucky Pub. It held out such promise to its patrons, but it had failed Wise six months ago. Before that, it was possible that Wise had met up with women there on numerous occasions. We knew from the file that Wise had frequented the pub, but that fact hadn’t gotten Bell anywhere closer to finding the shooter. Bell might have wished us good luck, but I don’t think he believed we’d have any. If for that reason alone, I’d love to prove him wrong.
It was around noon when we entered the Lucky Pub, and there was a lunch crowd.
“We’ll get a table, grab something to eat, and then tend to business,” Paige suggested.
I nodded, agreeing with her strategy. A full stomach aided focus, and we needed as much of that as possible. The added benefit to being a customer first was we’d set ourselves on the server’s and management’s good side. It would be harder to turn us away if we’d just paid for a meal.
A hostess saw us to a booth in a far corner, and I took the spot that had my back to the kitchen door and me facing the dining room. Most of the tables near us were occupied, but the people’s conversations couldn’t be heard due to the music coming over the speakers. This table would be a good place to talk about the case without fear of being overheard.
“Here you go. Your waitress will be here soon.” The hostess handed us laminated menus with drinks and appetizers on one side and entrees on the back—all of which read as comfort fare. Maybe an empty stomach would be better than scarfing down a piece of cottage pie or a serving of macaroni and cheese. It was bad enough that I ate pizza at midnight last night and hadn’t hit a gym since leaving home yesterday morning.
A smiling waitress came to our table. Her name tag read PENELOPE. “Can I get either of you started with a drink?” She slapped down coasters in front of us.
“I’ll have a water,” I said.
“Bottle or tap?”
“Tap’s fine.”
Penelope nodded and looked at Paige.
“I’ll have an iced tea.”
“Sweetened or unsweetened?”
“Unsweetened, please.”
“I’ll be right back with that and to take your meal orders.”
Paige read the menu and toyed with the edge of the brown newsprint that was spread over a plastic tablecloth.
The place was a dive with an outdated and unclean feeling. Surfaces were coated in a thin layer of grime that was tacky to the touch. I looked up, and the grates in the ceiling vent had fur.
Yuck. What had ever attracted Wise to this place?
I flipped my menu, and there was something sticky on the backside. Sticky backside…yummy thought.
I snatched a napkin from the holder on the table and tried to wipe off whatever it was, but the paper stuck to the menu.
Paige’s head was still in hers, studying it with such scrutiny she could have been cramming for a test.
Glancing back at mine, I saw Cobb salad, figured it was probably one of the healthiest choices here, and dropped the menu.
Penelope returned with our drinks, poured into glasses that had been etched by many trips through a dishwasher. “Ready to order?” She held a pen poised over a notepad and looked at me.
“I’ll have the Cobb salad.”
“Dressing?”
“Balsamic?” It came out sounding like a question, but I didn’t eat Cobb salad much and wasn’t
sure what to pair with it. Balsamic was my favorite dressing, and I didn’t think I could go wrong with it.
“Consider it done. And you?” Penelope addressed Paige, but my partner kept her eyes on the menu while biting her bottom lip.
“Paige,” I prompted.
“Um, a-yeah, I’ll have the same but with traditional Cobb dressing.”
“Coming up.” Penelope collected the menus and left.
Paige took a sugar packet out of a small bowl that was on the table and tore it open. She dumped the sugar into her iced tea.
“I thought you wanted it unsweetened?” I smiled and raised my brows.
“I do, but I like it with just one sugar pack.” Paige looked around us, then met my eyes. “This is quite a dive.”
“Was just thinking the same thing.”
Silence settled between us with the comfort of a scratchy wool blanket.
Paige’s phone rang, and she answered quickly. “Just a minute,” she told her caller. To me, she said, “It’s Nadia. I’ll have to step outside to hear her.” She set off for the front doors.
I watched after her, hating that I still harbored feelings for her, about our past. Shouldn’t the fact our affair was long over make it easier to release and move forward? It was just this case messing with my head, had to be.
I drained back most of my water, and Penelope came around and topped it up. She left to tend to her other tables, and my gaze settled on a couple in their forties. They were leaned across their table, talking to each other as if they harbored a secret. They held hands under the table, and the way the woman kept laughing and tossing her hair back told me they were lovers. He was wearing a wedding band, and she wasn’t.
I turned away, the guilt working to set down roots. Ridiculous. I had nothing to feel guilty about. Besides, as far as I knew, Deb had never found out about Paige and me—but did that make what I had done okay? Maybe if I came clean with my ex and apologized, I’d feel better in some way, but what did I really hope to accomplish? Telling her would only hurt her unnecessarily. No, these feelings were something I had to deal with on my own. I looked down at my water and wished for something much stronger.
Past Deeds Page 19
