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Page grabbed two coffees from the bakery in the same plaza as the Arlington PD. One for her, one for Brandon. It didn’t matter that it was going on nine o’clock at night. She was starting to drag, and she needed to get out and clear her head—and put space between her and Brandon. And to think she’d only been penned up in the conference room for over an hour; it felt so much longer than that. Brandon was obviously sorting something out, given his shortness and awkwardness. She’d guess he was visiting their past, and it made her more than a little uncomfortable. She didn’t want to talk about it, and she got the inkling he might want to. Hence, the need to leave for a bit.
Kelly had called to confirm she and Jack were headed over to Pryce’s condo to take a look around to see if there was any evidence that Reid had been there and, if so, his purpose there. It would seem the answer to that question was obvious, but Paige learned a long time ago that reality didn’t always turn out to be what was assumed.
She entered the conference room, holding out a cardboard cup toward Brandon, sort of like a shield.
“Thanks.” Brandon took the coffee from her. “How is it?”
“How is…”
He bobbed his head toward the coffee in her hands.
“Oh…pretty good.” She took a sip as if on cue. “I got a call from Kelly.” Paige filled Brandon in.
“I’m interested to know what they find.”
“Me too. How’s the research going?”
“A lot slower than if Zach was here to read it.”
“True that.” Zach was a speed reader. She slid into the chair she had been in before she left. “Find out anything while I was gone?”
“Well,” Brandon started, a seriousness reflecting in his eyes, “all the victims—the ones that Nadia found—and Reid are the same age range. Fifty-five to fifty-six.”
“Huh. Is the sniper picking a type based on someone else?” She’d seen it before, where a killer targeted people who simply reminded them of the actual person they were angry with.
“Obviously, we don’t know yet, but I got looking more into the victims’ lives. Their occupations and where they were killed. As Nadia mentioned, two of the three were in a regular routine of going where they were shot. Three of four, including Reid.” Brandon lifted a photograph from the spread of papers in front of him. “This is Robert Wise. He was the victim from six months ago in New Mexico. He frequented the pub he was shot in front of. Ironically called the Lucky Pub.”
“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.