“Nadia,” Paige started, “you said calls were made to Frank two days after the murders. Did any come after Reid’s?”
“No,” Nadia confirmed.
“Maybe she’s planning to update her father in person that the job was taken care of,” I reasoned. “But then what? Father and daughter reunited run off into the sunset, a twist on Bonnie and Clyde?”
“Except for other pieces in this investigation don’t fully fit,” Kelly cut in. “The breadcrumbs she keeps leaving behind.”
I got the distinct impression she was using the word just to bug me now.
“Why show her face at all? Why the note to Wise’s mistress— Oh, we haven’t heard back from Jane Powell, Jack, as to whether she got any note about Reid being a dangerous man.”
“I’ll call her again after we’re finished here,” he said.
Kelly went on. “And why the photos to the widows, warnings to the mistresses—assuming that was a pattern, too—and why give her mother’s name to the waitress at the Lucky Pub? Why leave the map and photo at her apartment?”
I hated to admit it, but it did feel like Michelle was leaving us a trail to follow. “She’s trying to find belonging,” I said. “And approval from Frank—who may not be her father. Possibly killing to impress him. He is the only father figure she’s ever known. And then he shows up in her life, in one of her darkest moments, just after she lost her mother. Biological father or not, she’d cling to him.”
“Michelle may see killing the men as a way to move forward, to get back with her father, to heal,” Paige picked up. “The little clues she’s leaving may indicate she wants to do what’s right, but she’s also driven by revenge at some level or she wouldn’t keep pulling the trigger.”
“I disagree.” This came from Kelly, and the rest of us fell silent.
“About what?” Jack eventually prompted her.
“I think revenge is Frank Evans’s motive. It might have fueled Michelle to start, but I think she was more driven by getting her father’s approval. Think about it. She joined the Marines to probably find him. Maybe even that was an act of seeking his approval, following in his footsteps. For Michelle, I think it was more about a mission, or at least that’s how she reasoned and justified her actions in her mind. She was at war—only this time, it was on the four men who raped her mother—and the commander-in-chief was Frank.”
I gave consideration to everything that Kelly had just said, and it could explain everything. “Frank Evans used his daughter to get revenge,” I reiterated.
“Frank doesn’t even view Michelle as his daughter half the time,” Kelly pointed out. “As far as he’s concerned, she could be one of the rapist’s. Remember he even told us he couldn’t stand to look at her face, Jack? Part of why he’d left?”
“Ouch,” Nadia interjected. I’d almost forgotten she was still on the line. “Guys, there’s a couple other things I need to tell you. First, I heard back from the lip-reading expert, and he was able to read Michelle’s lips in the Lucky Pub video. She told Wise, ‘You know what you did.’”
“Sounds like an enclosed threat,” I said.
“I’d say so,” Paige shot back. “We both saw that video and his strong reaction.”
“The second thing,” Nadia began. “I also looked into the computer system at the Colonial and worked with their tech. It would seem the system was hacked so room 850 would remain empty.”
“So Michelle has tech skills,” I concluded.
“I’m not sure about her, but Frank Evans does. I followed my gut and contacted Frank’s old commanding officer in the Marines, and he told me that Frank could have come out and found a job in computers or engineering.”
“We’ve got Frank in custody,” Kelly rushed out with urgency. “There has to be something we can do with that.”
With her plea, an idea struck me. “Jack?”
“I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Always the wise ass.
“The evidence points to father and daughter working together,” I began. “What if we have Frank arrange a meet with Michelle? He’s got to have a way of reaching her. And he’s obviously all about protecting his own hide.”
“Hmm.”
I was tempted to say his name again to jolt an actual response consisting of real words, but I resisted the urge.
“That could work,” Jack finally said. “But we have to make sure precautions are taken.” He was talking slower than normal, evidently deep in thought. He must have been seriously considering what I’d proposed. “I don’t think he presents any physical threat to Michelle,” he then muttered under his breath.
“Well, we’ll all be there. We could even name the place.” This was our best chance of getting our hands on Michelle. “If Frank hesitates to hand her in, we dangle a deal in front of him. Just a feeling here, but I am pretty sure he’ll jump on it.” It made me sick to think how far this former Marine had fallen from grace. He’d let the horrific acts of other people break him. But sadly, he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.
“I say we do this,” Jack declared. “Paige and Brandon, get on the first plane back here. Kelly and I are going to question Frank as soon as his lawyer gets here. Depending on how things go, we might proceed with setting up a meet. We’ve got to flush Michelle out somehow, and that might be the easiest way to do it.”
With that, Jack hung up, and all of us were severed from the conference call.
I sat there, relishing in the fact that Jack could be running with my idea. It always felt good when the big dog respected you.
-
Fifty-Two
Baltimore, Maryland Police Station
Saturday, October 26th, 4:00 PM Eastern Standard Time
Kelly couldn’t let go of the fact Frank had denied Michelle as his daughter half of the time. He showed emotion regarding her when he felt it helped his case. He didn’t love Michelle, that much felt apparent. He probably came to hate her as much as the men who’d raped Estella, viewing her as tainted. The best way to get Frank’s cooperation in bringing in Michelle was by making it seem as if he was the good guy—the hero—aiding the FBI in bringing in a killer. But first, they had to show him they had him cornered and create desperation.
She and Jack were at the Baltimore police station, and Frank was in an interview room. While they were all here, local field agents were searching Frank’s apartment for anything that smacked of a murderous conspiracy.
Jack led the way into the interview room. Frank was seated at a table next to his lawyer, a man by the name of Joe Crawford, who carried all his weight in his gut.
Jack and Kelly sat across from them.
“Our conversation will be recorded, Mr. Evans,” Jack said. “Do you have any objections to that?”
Frank waved a hand of dismissal.
“All right, then. For the record, Mr. Evans, when did you last see your daughter?”
A pulse tapped in Frank’s cheek. “I last saw Michelle at her apartment.”
“And that was after your wife’s funeral?”
Frank looked at his lawyer, who nodded.
Frank answered, “Yes.”
“And where was the funeral?” Jack leaned back in his chair.
“Bridgeport, California.”
“You grew up there, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Frank pulled on the collar of his T-shirt as if it were suffocating him.
“Before the funeral, how long had you been away?”
“The better part of thirty years.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack opened a file folder and slowly tapped his index finger. “When you showed up, was your daughter there?”
“Yes. You know all this.”
“It’s just for the record. When you left all those years ago, Michelle Evans was just six years old, is that correct?”
&nbs
p; “You know that,” Frank hissed, and the lawyer put a hand on Frank’s forearm to calm him.
“Did your daughter recognize you?”
“No.”
Hearing this admission again, Kelly got tingles up her spine. He’d really manipulated the entire situation. He probably told Michelle about the rape—not the mother—and got her to empathize with him and to understand why he’d abandoned her and her mother.
Jack went on. “Did you introduce yourself to your daughter?”
Frank consulted his lawyer, who spoke up. “Relevance, Agent?”
Jack leveled a glare on the man. “The relevance is that we believe your client conspired with Michelle Evans in the murder of five people—unless he can prove otherwise.”
“I believe it’s on the prosecution to prove guilt, Agent,” the lawyer said.
“I’m innocent,” Frank claimed. “Michelle killed five people?”
Frank certainly went from being defensive to cooperative in a flash when he thought it served his purpose.
“Someone did,” Jack said stiffly.
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
“You and your daughter stay in contact after the funeral?” Jack carried on casually.
Frank stared at Jack, briefly let his gaze drift to Kelly. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“We noticed that you received a phone call from Bridgeport a couple weeks after Estella’s funeral. Was that Michelle?”
“No idea. Probably a telemarketer.”
“From a pay phone?”
Frank grimaced.
“The call also lasted fifteen minutes. Care to try again?” Jack asked.
“Fine, it was Michelle.” Frank shifted in his chair. “All this was her idea, okay? I didn’t say anything because…because, well, she’s my daughter.”
Oh, she’s his daughter again…whenever it benefits him.
“She said she wanted to kill the men who did this to her mom,” Frank said. “And she wanted us to be a family again. That’s why when you said you thought she was going to kill me, I couldn’t believe it.”
Time to turn this interview around. “Only thing is you weren’t looking for a family anymore, were you?” Kelly jumped in.
Frank met her gaze.
“You just wanted revenge on the men who raped your wife,” Kelly said.
He slouched, crossed his arms like a petulant child.
“You got your daughter to carry it out with the promise it would bring you together, give you both a purpose.”
Frank rolled his eyes dramatically.
Jack retook the stage. “We have proof that you aided your daughter in murdering those men.”
“I highly doubt that,” Frank scoffed.
The lawyer bristled. “What have you got, Agent?”
Jack pulled out the receipt from the car rental made in Albuquerque, New Mexico. “That’s a receipt for a Honda Accord rented out using your client’s credit card.”
“Impossible. I’ve never—”
Joe held up a hand to silence his client.
“The rental company confirms that you were called—and your phone records prove it—about the charge. You authorized it.”
The twitch was back in Frank’s cheek.
“Before that, you booked a flight for Michelle Evans to Albuquerque. Your credit card confirms this.”
Frank said nothing.
“Your phone records also show that you received a call two days after every murder,” Kelly pitched in.
Frank turned to his lawyer. “Joe, do something about this.”
“There’s nothing I can do at this point, Mr. Evans,” the lawyer said calmly.
“Unbelievable.”
“You’re looking at a lot of years in prison,” Kelly said. “Five murders—”
“Five murders. You keep saying five.” He looked from Kelly to Jack.
He pulled a crime scene photo of Marsha Doyle from the file and tossed it across the table. It came to rest in front of Frank.
“I have no idea who that woman is,” Frank snarled.
“She was a maid at the Colonial Hotel where Michelle set up her sniper nest to take out Darrell Reid,” Kelly said.
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
Kelly would love to cuff him upside the head, but she held back her temper. “You sent your daughter on a mission. She’s a trained Marine, and she’d do whatever was necessary to carry it out. You used her training against her, her vulnerability, and manipulated her emotions.”
“I want a deal,” he snapped.
And we have him where we want him.
Jack leaned across the table. “You’re not denying the allegations against you?”
Frank slammed a flattened hand on the table. “Those shits raped the only woman I’ve ever loved. One of them made her pregnant with…with that…” His lips were furled, and his nostrils flaring.
With that? Ouch. Kelly hurt for Michelle. Frank didn’t care about her; he only saw her as a weapon to fulfill his purpose.
“Tell us where Michelle is,” Jack demanded.
“I have no idea. She was supposed to call me after taking out Darrell. I haven’t heard from her.”
Joe dropped his head into his hands and sighed.
Jack calmly put his arms on the table and leaned forward. “You’re confessing to conspiracy to murder four men and one woman?”
Frank didn’t say anything but was huffing.
“Do you have a way of reaching her?” Kelly asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “She calls from pay phones.”
Joe turned to Frank. “I suggest that you keep quiet.”
“There has to be some way you can reach her. If not, you’re going down all by yourself for five murders.” Jack pointed at Marsha’s photo.
“But I never pulled the trigger,” he seethed.
“Conspiracy to commit murder carries the same penalty whether you carry out the act yourself or not,” Kelly stressed.
“Which you’d have to prove.”
“You as good as admitted it, but as we speak, there are techs working over your apartment, your computer,” Jack said. “If there’s something there, they’ll find it. You admitted a day didn’t go by that you never thought of Estella. I’d bet the same was true about the men who raped your wife, ‘the only woman you ever loved.’”
There was a pregnant pause.
“What do you want from me?” Frank raked his fingers through his hair and gripped his skull like a man gone mad.
Jack sat back, crossed his arms. “We want you to flush out your daughter.”
Kelly angled her head. “What’s it gonna be? Life in prison—no deals—going down for five murders, or are you going to help us bring Michelle to justice?”
Frank looked at his lawyer.
“He’ll cooperate,” Joe said.
“We’re going to need you to call her,” Jack stated.
Frank clenched his jaw again. “Won’t need to—and it’s probably best that I don’t so she doesn’t catch on. She might be off her rocker, but she’s smart. We planned to meet tomorrow night at ten thirty.”
“Where?”
“The Regency. It’s a bar here in Baltimore where people respect your privacy, if you know what I mean.”
Translation: It’s a place frequented by criminals.
“You’re going to keep your appointment, Mr. Evans, and we’re going to be there in your ear.” With that, Jack got up and left the room. Kelly followed.
“We’ve got to keep a close eye on this. I don’t want anything going sideways. We’ll need agents in place to play the roles of bartenders, waitresses, customers. We don’t need to scare her off. The four of us—you and I, and Paige and Brandon, will pose as customers. I want us close if we need to
make a move.”
Kelly could tell by her boss’s face he’d seen enough of these operations go sideways, and he didn’t want one on his watch. She also picked up on the fact that, while mention of a deal was dangled, none were made—and that pleased her. She hated affording leniencies to criminals, especially killers.
-
Fifty-Three
Baltimore, Maryland
Sunday, October 27th, 10:30 AM Eastern Standard Time
By the time Paige and I landed in Baltimore and booked into a hotel, I could have slept for a week, not that I had the luxury. We’d gotten about three hours of slumber, though, which was better than some nights on an active case. But it was the jet lag from all the different time zones we’d hit in the last couple days that was making it worse. It was almost half past eight when Paige and I entered the conference room at the Baltimore PD, where we’d be meeting up with Jack and Kelly.
I beelined straight for a take-out cup of coffee that was on the table and pulled back the tab. Steam oozed out, carrying with it a robust aroma. I took a sip and savored every second of it before I had to swallow. I’d just finished a coffee, but I’d take it intravenous today.
“You like that?” a man’s voice said, startling me a bit, and I turned around. He held out his hand. “I’m Officer McCauley.”
“Brandon Fisher,” I said, taking his hand. “And this is Paige Dawson.”
He shook her hand and said, “The coffee’s from Sophie’s Beans. They make the best coffee in the city, if you ask me.” He tagged on a smile. He was far too cheery for first thing in the morning—even if it wasn’t technically first thing, though it was for me, since I’d just crawled out of bed, the sheets not even warm.
“Thanks for bringing it in.” Paige grabbed a coffee for herself.
“No problem.”
Jack and Kelly were already seated and drinking their own java.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Officer McCauley closed the door, and Paige and I joined Jack and Kelly at the table.
“Nadia’s forwarded some findings from the Marsha Doyle murder,” Jack started. “She was shot at point-blank range with a .22-caliber bullet. As requested of Captain Herrera with the Arlington PD, the forensics are being handled through the FBI’s lab in Quantico. The ballistics were rushed and showed they were fired from a Glock G19 handgun.”
Past Deeds Page 29
