Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  Frank frowned. Gone was the rather harmless drunk as a storm moved across his eyes. “I don’t have a daughter.” He punched back some beer.

  “The birth record says otherwise,” Jack countered.

  Frank downed the rest of the beer and set the bottle on the table with some force.

  “We need to find Michelle Evans.” Jack didn’t give any impression the man’s strong reaction even fazed him. “Do you know where she might be?”

  “Do I—” Frank smirked then laughed. “Why would I? I haven’t seen her in the better part of thirty years.”

  Kelly could see that he was trying to hide the regrets and pain that had dug trenches in his soul behind amusement. Maybe if she pointed out the good he’d accomplished, it would help matters. “It’s understandable that you would have fallen out of touch with Michelle.” She paused to give him a warm smile. “We understand that you served with the Marines. Thank you for your service.” She’d offered the sentiment for strategy, but she also meant every word.

  Frank closed his mouth, as if he’d been prepared to say something smart, and dipped his head. Typical, she thought, as her grandfather had been the same way—viewing service as his patriotic duty.

  Frank’s face softened, and he seemed to sober. “It was the hardest thing I had to do…leaving Michelle.”

  “I can imagine it would have been.” Kelly waited a few seconds. “You said you haven’t reconnected with Michelle, but what about with your wife, Estella?” Kelly asked gingerly, not really wanting to tear scabs from old wounds. But it had to be done.

  “Wow. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Not that I’ve ever forgotten her.”

  “I can feel that you loved her.” Kelly was speaking from her heart. Who knew what drove some people away from their loved ones? If only life was black and white and not so complicated.

  “I did. Very much.” His eyes filled with tears, and he patted the arm of the chair. “I heard she died eight months ago.”

  Kelly wanted to ask how he’d heard that but didn’t want to shut him down. Besides, it would be understandable if he’d kept some sort of tabs on the woman he’d loved—but if that was the case, had he also kept them on Michelle? And if he had, why be so adamant he hadn’t seen her in about thirty years?

  The room fell silent for a few minutes, Kelly and Jack letting Frank sit in reflection.

  Frank sniffled and eyed Jack. “Why is the FBI looking for Michelle?”

  “She’s a person of interest,” he provided the textbook response.

  “Don’t give me some blanket response. Why is she of interest? And don’t tell me you can’t say.”

  “Your daughter became a Marine, like you,” Jack said, throwing a curveball and causing Frank to narrow his eyes.

  “I might have heard that,” he said.

  So he did keep tabs on Michelle. “She was trained as a sniper, and from what we understand, she was a very good one.”

  If Frank was making any connection between the recent sniping in Arlington and their presence, it wasn’t showing on the man’s face or in his body language. His forehead was bunched up like he was confused and had a headache.

  “What are you trying to tell me? I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “You might have heard about a recent shooting that took place in Arlington,” Jack said.

  “Sure, I— Oh. You don’t think that…?” Frank’s eyes widened.

  “Michelle Evans is of interest to the FBI.” Jack squared his shoulders as if erecting a wall of defense for the Bureau.

  Frank’s gaze flicked to Jack. “You do think that she— Whoa. I’m not going to sit here and tell you she wouldn’t do something like, uh, kill people. I didn’t know her past the age of six. But I’d like to think that she wouldn’t. Did she serve time in an active war zone?” He looked to Kelly for the answer, and she nodded. “Well, that can change a person.” He pinched his eyes shut.

  “It does.” Jack’s hand traced over his shirt pocket that housed his cigarettes, and then he let his arm fall to his side.

  “You served?”

  “I did.” Jack’s admission carried on a measured exhale.

  Frank remained quiet, watching Jack, as if hoping for an elaboration. But Jack was a man of few words, and he liked to portray himself as impenetrable. Kelly was aware it was the sensitive souls who burrowed inward to protect themselves from the outside world. The sensitive souls. She felt more understanding for Jack and his stance on controlling one’s emotions. It wasn’t because he didn’t feel them; it was because he felt them strongly. Maybe it was time to touch a bit more on Frank’s.

  “Mr. Evans, it’s admirable that you served your country, as I said before,” she began, “but I don’t think you left your family completely behind. You’ve kept tabs on them through the years, by the sound of it.”

  “Still hardly makes me husband or father of the year.”

  “Many in military service leave their families to carry out their patriotic duty, but they keep in contact with their loved ones.” Kelly wasn’t making any accusations but building to a delicate question. “Why did you fall out of touch with your family?” If Frank could answer that, they might be able to figure out more about Michelle’s mindset.

  Frank clenched his jaw. “It’s time for you to leave.” He jumped up from the couch and thrust a pointed finger toward the door.

  “Please, we haven’t even had a chance to ask—”

  “I don’t care.”

  She was going to say they hadn’t asked about the Mavises and the Sunset Diner. Guess we’ll have to do that on a future visit. She took a few steps toward the door. “Thank you for your time—”

  “Enough platitudes. Out!” he barked.

  Kelly was shaking when she hit the hall with Jack. “All I did was ask why he left his family.”

  “I’d say you touched a raw nerve.” Jack pulled out his pack of cigarettes as they walked down the hall and outside.

  She stopped clear of the overhang and faced Jack. “Raw nerve for sure. He’s living with a lot of regrets, but I also think he’s hiding something. He says he heard about Estella’s death and Michelle joining the Marines. I think he kept an eye on them. For how long, who knows? He loved Estella—even admitted as much. It’s just the way he…” Her thoughts went to Frank’s strong reaction to her asking why he’d cut off his family.

  “Agent,” Jack prompted.

  She stood a little taller at hearing her title. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. It’s almost like he felt forced to leave or maybe even…was pushed away? He can’t even decide from one minute to the next if Michelle is his daughter or not.”

  “Could just be that he doesn’t feel worthy of her.”

  She gulped back memories she wanted to hold on to of an idyllic childhood—the one she’d only known through the pages of fairy tales. “When Mom left us—Grandpa, me, my brother—after she was released from prison, Grandpa told us she didn’t feel worthy of us anymore. I don’t know if he believed that or if it’s something he said to help us all feel better. But it didn’t help. To think that Mom felt unworthy made me feel responsible. Had I said or done something that made her feel that way? Was it something I didn’t do or say?” This was her first time admitting this out loud, and tears were close to falling. “But I’ve come to believe Mom made the choice to leave—one I had nothing to do with.” Am I lying to myself? She sighed. “If Frank Evans made the choice to leave his family on his own, shouldn’t he be able to move forward and accept his decision?”

  “If only life worked that way.” Jack slipped a cigarette out of the pack. “Some choices can haunt you forever and have long repercussions.”

  Did that mean Mom may be out there regretting hers? Kelly shook the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it for any length of time. Hope could be cruel.

  Jack lit
his cigarette and took a puff. “Regrets are born when the consequences of our decisions aren’t what we’d planned for, kiddo.”

  Kiddo? The nickname warmed her, and she tried to ignore the surge of emotion whelming into her chest.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She took a few calming breaths and tried to call on logic, but it had left her stranded on an island of insecurity and doubt. She looked up at the moon and wondered where on God’s green earth her mother was, and wherever that might be, was she looking up at the sky right now and asking the same thing about her daughter?

  -

  Forty-Five

  Bridgeport, California

  Saturday, October 26th, 8:35 AM, Pacific Standard Time

  The sunshine that had been streaming in around the curtains in Paige’s hotel room had her waking up in a good mood—until it sank in that she was back in California, and Brandon’s apology from yesterday bubbled up from her subconscious. It was endearing that he felt for what he’d put her through—and irritating, as the consideration he’d shown her only made her like him more. But the healthy thing to do was tamp down any personal feelings and focus on the case. And that was getting easier with every sip of coffee she took from a jumbo to-go cup she’d gotten from a local restaurant. It also helped that in Bridgeport she could almost forget she was in California. Royal palms didn’t line the road, and the town was small with a population of six hundred.

  It was eight thirty by the time she and Brandon were getting out of the SUV, which they’d rented at Mammoth Yosemite Airport, in the lot at Michelle’s apartment building. The sun was already beating down, and sweat was gathering at the back of Paige’s neck. She hated the feeling.

  Brandon had gulped back the rest of his coffee before exiting the rental vehicle, like he didn’t want to leave a drop, and she knew the feeling. But that’s what happened when you hopped on a red-eye and still had to drive an hour from the airport to your destination. Paige wondered if he’d had a hard time nodding off like she had.

  She spotted a deputy’s car from the Mono County Sheriff’s Office immediately and headed over. He put his window down and greeted them with a hearty “Good day.”

  “We’re FBI Agents Paige Dawson and Brandon Fisher.”

  “Deputy Mitchell.” He squinted and looked at Brandon.

  “Any sign of Michelle since you’ve been watching the place?” Paige asked.

  “Nope. Nothing.” Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose and looked more exhausted than she felt. Stakeouts were boring as hell.

  “You the FBI?” A rotund man in his fifties was making his way toward them from across the gravel lot.

  “We are,” Paige said.

  “Well, I’m glad I was right about that. Could have been embarrassing otherwise. You know that saying about when you assume…”

  Paige glanced at Brandon and raised her eyebrows. You make an ass out of you and me.

  He held out his hand. “Anyway, I’m Dan Player, the manager here. I saw you from my window.” Dan pointed up to a second-story balcony. “I was just having a coffee and waiting for you. Hey, would you like one?”

  “No, we’ve just finished one—” Paige tossed out a brief smile “—but thank you. I’m Special Agent Dawson, and this is Special Agent Fisher.”

  “Let’s go see the place, shall we?” He turned and waved a hand over his shoulder for them to follow.

  “We shall,” she whispered to Brandon, and before walking off, she whispered her thanks to Mitchell.

  “I told your analyst… Nadia, isn’t it?” Dan paused, working the key in the apartment door, and looked over a shoulder.

  “That’s right,” Paige said.

  “I told her, which you probably know, but I haven’t seen Michelle in months. Strange, too, as she paid up for a full year. Only a month left on the lease now.”

  So, Michelle had moved in at about the same time she was discharged from the Marines.

  Dan finished with the lock, twisted the handle, and opened the door for them.

  Paige took in the space. It was one main room with the kitchen to the back and two doors off to the right—a bathroom and a bedroom. The place felt empty with only a couch, an end table, a small study desk, and a chair. There were no bookshelves, no TV, no computer, and no personal effects in the main area, though Michelle may have had those things in the bedroom. First impression made it hard to believe that Michelle had ever spent any real time here. It was a rather dark apartment with only one window in the living area behind the desk.

  “What can you tell us about Michelle?” Brandon asked.

  “Huh. Guess it depends on what you’d want to know.” Dan angled his head and fidgeted with the key that was still in his hand.

  “Anything and everything,” Paige replied. “What is she like?”

  “She’s quiet and sticks mainly to herself.”

  Isolation wouldn’t help a person who needed to sort out emotional issues. “You never saw any friends come over?” Paige asked.

  “I saw a man come by a couple of times.”

  “When was this?” Paige asked.

  “Probably about two to three months after she moved in. Like I said, though, it was just a couple of times. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t here more, but if he was, I didn’t see him.”

  Paige nodded thoughtfully. That would be around the time of Estella’s death. If they could find out who that man was, it might get them closer to finding Michelle. “Can you tell us anything about him? What he looked like? His name?”

  “Nah, sorry. I didn’t meet him, only saw him.”

  “What did he look like?” Brandon repeated the other half of her inquiry.

  “Um, nice-looking guy, above-average, but he was in his fifties. Thought he was a little old for her, but who am I to judge? To each their own.”

  Paige felt tingles down her arms. All the victims were in their fifties. Had this man done something that triggered the killing? “Did you happen to catch what kind of vehicle he drove?”

  “No.” Dan stopped fiddling with the key and looked briefly down at his hands. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Paige’s eyes. “Is Michelle all right?”

  “As far as we know.” Paige felt comfortable in saying that; Michelle was far from all right. She’d killed four men and one woman—that they knew of.

  He let out a deep breath. “Oh, that’s a relief to hear. But wait— Why is the FBI interested in her, then?”

  “All I can tell you is Michelle Evans is a person of interest to the FBI.”

  “Ohhh. You’re trying to find her, so you think she’s done something.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Player,” Paige said.

  “Very well. I guess things are what they are.” Dan handed the key to Paige. “You hold on to this for as long as you need. I’m in apartment 101 if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dan left and closed the door behind him.

  “A man in his fifties?” Brandon raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

  “I thought the same, but until we figure out who…” Paige let her words trail off. “Let’s spread out and see what we can find.”

  “I’ll take the bedroom.” Brandon set off in that direction, and she went to the study desk.

  She proceeded to glove up and open the top drawer. Pens, highlighters, markers, sticky notes. Nothing personal.

  The next drawer offered much of the same, but Paige found a folded map. She opened it on the desk. It was a map of the United States, but a red marker outlined a path along I-40/I-81/I-66 and starred the cities of Albuquerque, Little Rock, Knoxville, Arlington, and Baltimore.

  “Brandon, get out here.”

  He rushed over to her.

  “Look what I’ve found.” She gestured wildly to the map. “Michelle planned out her route. She knew where Wise, Miller,
Sherman, and Reid were.”

  “Seems like solid proof of that.” Brandon dragged his finger along the red line.

  “I’d say.” Paige fixed her gaze on Baltimore, Maryland, and pressed her fingertip next to the asterisk there. “Michelle’s father lives in Baltimore.” She slowly turned to look at Brandon. “Is she going to target him next?”

  Brandon had his phone out and to his ear quickly, filling in Jack and Kelly. He hung up a moment later. “Good news is Jack and Kelly are already back in Baltimore. They were going to pay Frank Evans another visit today. Guess he was drunk when they showed up to talk last night.”

  “Hopefully, they can figure out why Michelle might want to target her father.”

  “Assuming she does, but I know how it looks with the map.”

  “Ah, yeah. Considering men were shot in all the other cities, which leads to another question. How did Michelle know where to find the men?”

  “It’s called the internet.”

  “Very funny, smart-ass.”

  Brandon shrugged. “Hey, just saying.”

  “Not everyone’s online these days. Remember, Nadia said Michelle wasn’t active on social media.”

  “Doesn’t mean she can’t use a search engine.”

  “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

  Paige tugged on the drawer, intent on pulling it out and spilling the rest of the contents on the desk to examine them there, but she met with resistance. “Something’s…” She slid her hand along the inside of the drawer, trying to figure out what was interfering with the drawer opening—and felt something stuck to the top and bunching in the track. She hunched down, her head almost upside down trying to see what was there, and made out the corner of a piece of paper that had been taped there. She gently worked it free and held it in the light coming through the window.

  It was a photo of five young men, in their late teens, early twenties. Four of the faces, though decades younger, were unmistakable. There were standing in front of a teal-painted building.

  Brandon leaned in, his shoulder pressing against hers. “Is that—”