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The Colonial Hotel, Arlington, Virginia
Friday, October 25th, 4:45 PM Local Time
Kelly and Jack took a few detours on the way to the Colonial Hotel. Paige had called to tell them how she and Brandon had made out with the video from the Lucky Pub and armed them with a photo of “Estella.” She and Jack stopped by Powell’s, and the mistress positively identified “Estella” as the woman from Spencer’s the night before Reid’s murder.
After meeting with Powell, they dropped in at Spencer’s to see if they could get anywhere with identifying the mystery woman, but they met a wall. She’d paid cash, which was not surprising to Kelly. Something else that didn’t come as a surprise was when Brandon told them “Estella” had been devoid of all emotion on the video, even when confronted by Wise at her table. Kelly could feel it in her gut: “Estella” was their sniper. The hard part still remained: finding out her real identity and tracking her down.
As Kelly stepped into room 850 of the Colonial, she noticed immediately that the sniper’s hole had been covered with a piece of cardboard taped in place.
Jack was next to her, staring out the window, but he kept turning and looking over the room. “Paige said in all the previous cases, the sniper set up their nest on the eighth floor.”
Just like here, Kelly thought, but she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself and chose to let his comment pass without a reply.
“Does the killer’s motive have something to do with the military?” he asked, then stared blankly at her.
“Jack?” She was certain she didn’t have to say it, but the victims were never enlisted—which he’d know.
He waved a hand. “I’m just talking out loud.”
She nodded, though he didn’t strike her as the talking-it-out type, just as he hadn’t seemed like a person who paced. “Serving in the military definitely changes you,” she said, and he turned to face her. She’d seen shifts in her grandfather’s behavior though he did his best to hide it. “It’s gotta be rough witnessing things…” She empathized with those who had seen an active war zone. They’d have seen people killed, maybe even before their own eyes. They could have even been the ones doing the killing. War would seem merciless and unjustifiable, even to those most dedicated to patriotic duty. Surely there’d be moments of reflection when the basic and bitter truth sank in: people were killing people because their governments told them to.
Something coursed across Jack’s face—pain, hurt, grief, all three?—and he looked out the window again. “It can get to you if you let it.”
Kelly watched his profile. Maybe his military past was responsible for his detached approach to life, his dislike for feelings, emotions. Her grandfather had given her a snapshot of Jack’s past—an ex-wife and a son he was rather distant from. Life could have been more kind. “Thank you, Jack.”
“For what?” He kept his gaze out the window.
“For your service, for all that you sacrificed.”
“When you’re in the military, you follow orders, you carry out your missions without question, without emotion.”
She replayed Jack’s comment in her head. It was similar to a thought she’d had a moment ago about people killing because their governments told them to.
Her eyes widened, and she touched Jack’s arm. “Do you think our killer might be acting on orders?”
He peered into her eyes and didn’t say a word for what felt like forever. “It’s possible, but it’s just as possible she’s ordering herself. I agree that she’s acting with order and logic. And every nest is set up on the eighth floor,” he repeated again.
“You really think there’s something in that?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a number actually meant something to a killer.”
As was the case with the investigation that Jack and his team had helped her with in Miami. That killer had an attachment to the number three. “Okay, so why the number eight? We’re thinking she was a Marine. Maybe a battalion or regiment number?” she tossed out the first thing that came to her.
Jack met her eyes. “Could very well be.” He proceeded to pull out his phone, and Kelly could see he was looking at the list of names Nadia had sent over. “She didn’t include their assignments.” He called Nadia on speaker, holding his phone between them. Nadia answered on the second ring. “Nadia, did any of the women from your list serve with a regiment or battalion with the number eight?”
“Hang tight…” Keys clicked, and after a few minutes, she said, “There is one.”
Kelly’s heart fluttered. “Which one?”
“Lance Corporal Michelle Evans, currently thirty-five,” Nadia said slowly. “She served with the third battalion, in the eighth regiment. She was dispatched eleven months ago.” There was the sound of more clicking keys.
“Rather vague. Dig into that, but in the meantime, send us everything you have on her so far,” Jack directed.
“Wait,” Kelly called out, “Does this Evans lady have any Estella in her background?” Jack was watching her, seeking an explanation. “To provide that name to the server at the Lucky Pub, it tells me it means something to her.” It might not, but Kelly would rather see clues where they didn’t exist than miss any that did.
“Oh—” Nadia seemed to drift away from them as if something else had garnered her attention.
“Nadia?”
“We’ve got our sniper. You know I was getting the surveillance video from the Colonial Hotel. Well, I’ve looked at it and enhanced a closeup of someone going into room 850. I’d say she’s a positive match for the woman on the Lucky Pub video. But now I have Michelle Evans’ photo in front of me. Oh, yeah, we have her.”
“Find out everything you can on her immediately,” Jack said. “We’ll have a conference call with the entire team in one hour from now.”
“I’m on it, Jack.” Nadia beat Jack to hanging up—and it left Kelly hanging. Who was Estella, and how did she tie in with this Michelle Evans?