-
Baltimore, Maryland
Friday, October 25th, 7:30 PM Local Time
Kelly looked out the windshield at the colored lights whizzing by as Jack sped down the interstate toward Baltimore, her mind miles away and years in the past. Her six-year-old self had watched her mother shoot her father as if from a distance, through someone else’s eyes. Even all this time later, the image never crystalized beyond a flat, cardboard-like representation of the event. Shrinks told her she needed to allow herself to the feel the moment and immerse herself in it, but she’d never been successful. That didn’t mean the horror she’d witnessed hadn’t affected her. Really, how could it not when six was such a tender age, a time when impressions were made and memories formed. Kelly couldn’t help but empathize with Michelle. She’d experienced trauma of her own; her father had left her as a young girl. Feelings of abandonment were left to churn in his absence and to curdle like spilt milk over time.
“She didn’t show any emotion. Cool, calm, devoid of emotion…” Kelly ruminated out loud what Paige and Brandon had told them about the Michelle Evans they’d seen on the pub’s surveillance video.
Jack took an exit for Baltimore and didn’t say anything.
Kelly started thinking about Paige’s call that updated them on her and Brandon’s visit to Josefina Alverez. “If our sniper is the one who left the note for Wise’s mistress—which it would seem she had—she viewed Wise as a dangerous man. But she didn’t show any signs of being afraid of him. It’s not lining up.”
“She views herself in a position of control and power—and she is the one holding the gun.” He glanced over at her, a smirk playing on his lips, and Kelly smiled.
“Suppose you’re right about that.” She hoped that Frank Evans, Michelle’s father, would be able to shed some light on her past, but he also hadn’t seen his daughter since she was six—that they knew of. It was even more of a stretch to think he’d have any clues to offer as to her current whereabouts. But he might be able to tell them more about the Mavises and the Sunset Diner than they already knew, which was very little.
It was about thirty minutes of city driving, after getting off the highway, to reach Frank Evans’s address. Jack pulled into the lot of a rundown apartment building. The sight of the crumbling brick and broken asphalt hurt Kelly’s heart.
“This is where a Marine vet with an honorable discharge ends up? Something’s wrong with the system. Some ‘thanks for your service.’”
“The men and women who sign up to serve this country don’t do it for the money.” Jack got out of the SUV, and she felt like a child who’d had her hand slapped. Her cheeks flushed warm, and she unbuckled her seatbelt and joined him outside.
“Sorry, Jack, that’s not what I was saying.” She walked around the front of the vehicle.
“No harm done.”
“I was just saying that vets should be compensated for their trouble.” Her defensive words spilled out, and she instantly felt like a fool. How could compensation even begin to smooth over what active service men and women had seen and done?
“I’m not going to argue with you.” Jack led the way into the apartment building.
There was an overhang above the front door, and Kelly looked up to study it, almost fearing it would fall on top of them. She shuffled into the main lobby as quickly as possible.
Jack pressed the button for Frank Evans’s apartment, and they waited.
“I realize that many of them go in without a trade and come out with one, but I still feel there could be more our country could do for them.” For some reason, Kelly couldn’t let the matter go. Maybe it was because the man she loved the most in this world had served his country and should have received far more acknowledgment for his efforts.
Jack rang Frank’s apartment a second time.
“Who’s it?” A man’s slurred voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Frank Evans?” Jack asked.
“Who’s is it?”
Who’s is it? The guy sounded shit-faced drunk.
“It’s the FBI. We need to talk to you.”
There was thundering silence for a span of time, and just when Kelly wondered if he’d passed out or was making a run for it for some reason, there was the buzzing of the door unlocking. They made their way to Frank’s apartment, but the door was closed, and there was no response to Jack’s first knock. He knocked again.
There was a thump against on the back of the door, and Kelly imagined Frank was looking at them through the peephole. “Go away.”
Oh, this is going to be fun.
“Mr. Evans, open the door,” Jack said in a no-nonsense manner.
The door cracked open the amount the chain would allow, and Frank squeezed his face through the opening.
Jack put his badge a few inches from his nose.
“Geez.” Frank crossed his eyes and pulled back. The door was shut, the chain slid, and the door opened wide. He stood there cradling a beer bottle in his right hand. “I don’t know why the Feds wanna talk to—” He burped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Kelly wanted to fan the air. If smell had color, they’d all have been shrouded in a green haze.
“Can we come in?” Jack didn’t wait for an answer and started inside the place.
“Surrreee, come on in.” Frank bobbed his eyebrows at Kelly, and she gave him a cordial smile, taking shallows breaths but still getting inundated by the odor of whiskey. Beer, whiskey…what else has he been drinking?
A Cat 4 hurricane would have left less of a mess than what was before them. The living area of the apartment were all visible from the entry and littered with trash. Take-out boxes tossed here and there. Every sitting surface but where Frank must have had his butt parked was covered. The tabletops were packed with empty bottles, with barely enough room to set down a fresh drink. Maybe that’s why Frank traveled with one.
As she continued to scan the room, she found a rocks glass—the whiskey and source of the reeky belch—nestled between remote controls and a pizza box. The apartment smelled like a man’s gym locker—nauseating body odor.
“Takes a seat where you’d like.” Frank gestured around and rocked on his feet.
“Steady there,” she said.
“Nah, I’m fine.” Frank batted a hand in the air but made his way to a pocket of space on the couch.
How did a former Marine end up in this hovel, with such a horrible addiction? Her mind raised the question, though the answer could be textbook: it was to drown out the memories of what couldn’t be unseen. Her grandfather had taken to drink for a brief time, but thankfully, he had her, and he was willing to help himself. That was the key. You can only help those who want to help themselves.
Jack laced his hands in front of himself. “We’re hoping you can answer some questions we have about your daughter Michelle.”
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?