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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.”

“Common,” I said.

“And easy to get off the street,” Kelly added.

Oh, it’s so good to be working side by side with Miss Show-off again, I thought sarcastically. Actually, she wasn’t that bad. Some people were just put on the planet to test our patience and maybe expand us as human beings…maybe.

“We have no way of knowing where the gun came from,” Jack said. “But more of note—and we just found out—is that the handgun was used in two murders a couple of days ago in a Baltimore motel.”

I almost swallowed my coffee the wrong way. “Do we know of any connection to our sniper?”

Jack shook his head. “But it appears that either Michelle or Frank was behind the deaths. Now, Forensics found a bullet casing in Marsha Doyle’s apartment that had rolled under a table next to the door. Prints on it came back a match to Frank.”

I sat back, surprised. “He loaded the gun used to shoot Doyle.”

“I think it’s possible he pulled the trigger,” Jack said grimly. “A tenant told one of Herrera’s canvassing officers that they saw a man outside the building a couple of times, usually in the evening, about the time Doyle would be returning from work.”

“Did they provide a description?” Paige asked.

“They did, and it lines up with Frank’s build and coloring. I’m having Herrera send officers back with a photo spread to see if they can positively ID Frank Evans.”

“Frank Evans killed Marsha Doyle,” I said. “Possibly the two in the motel.”

“So it would seem.”

I glanced at Kelly, back to Jack, thankful that the two of them were fine. They’d approached Frank as an innocent initially, as the next potential target. Little had they known going in.

Jack continued. “The weapon itself hasn’t been recovered. No sign of the Glock in Frank’s apartment. It’s possible Michelle has it in her possession, but it’s also just as possible that the weapon was discarded. Regardless, we all take precautions with Michelle tonight. We’d be fools to think she won’t be armed. There haven’t been other leads from a forensic standpoint, but Kelly and I got in touch with Jane Powell, Reid’s mistress. She said she never received a note about Reid.”

“Either that was something Michelle did with Wise’s mistress and no one else or the other notes were lost,” I said.

“Without tracking all the other mistresses, we have no way to know if it was a pattern typical for Michelle or not, but I’m not worried about that at this time. We just need to get her into custody.” Jack flipped to another report. “A search of Frank’s apartment did turn up something. Nothing definitive to support a conspiracy between him and Michelle, but browser history on his computer indicates he cyberstalked Wise, Miller, Sherman, and Reid over the years. He even had sites bookmarked.”

“One cocky son of a bitch,” I said and earned a glare from Jack for my language. “Sorry.” I gave it a few seconds and said, “Okay, so we probably have a witness to put him outside Doyle’s building, and his fingerprint was on the casing from the bullet used to kill her. We have him connected to one murder anyhow.”

“Yeah, the one he denied knowing anything about,” Kelly said. “The man’s sick himself, if you didn’t guess that already. The last thirty years of his life have been about Estella’s rape. That’s a long time to plot revenge.”

“Some things stick with you,” Paige said somberly, and I had the feeling her mind was back on California and further back to the rape of her friend.

“You think he was planning this for that long?” I asked, skeptical.

“There’s a lot of history on his computer to indicate that’s possible,” Jack said.

“Is there any other forensic evidence to hang Frank?” Paige asked.

Jack shook his head. “That’s all on that front, but we heard from the sheriff’s office in Bridgeport, California. Deputies collected an empty envelope that came from Ancestry Labs in Michelle’s car. They specialize in DNA testing. I have Nadia following up there to see if she can get any details.”

I’d try not to get my hopes up too high. “Speaking of Frank, he’s in holding?”

“Yes, and we need to come up with a plan of attack for tonight.” Jack filled us in on the meet tonight at the Regency. “I’ve already alerted the FBI director, and he’s authorized agents to come to assist from Quantico. They’re going to pose as customers and workers at the bar.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

If Jack was the type to roll his eyes, he would have right then; I could feel it.

“We’re going to get a script for Frank to stick to. Any deviation, and we move in, and the entire thing is put to an end.” Jack’s body stiffened. “Any deviation. Got it?” He looked over his team, and we all nodded.