-
Bridgeport, California
Saturday, October 26th, 8:35 AM, Local Time
The sunshine that had been streaming in around the curtains in Paige’s hotel room had her waking up in a good mood—until it sank in that she was back in California, and Brandon’s apology from yesterday bubbled up from her subconscious. It was endearing that he felt for what he’d put her through—and irritating, as the consideration he’d shown her only made her like him more. But the healthy thing to do was tamp down any personal feelings and focus on the case. And that was getting easier with every sip of coffee she took from a jumbo to-go cup she’d gotten from a local restaurant. It also helped that in Bridgeport she could almost forget she was in California. Royal palms didn’t line the road, and the town was small with a population of six hundred.
It was eight thirty by the time she and Brandon were getting out of the SUV, which they’d rented at Mammoth Yosemite Airport, in the lot at Michelle’s apartment building. The sun was already beating down, and sweat was gathering at the back of Paige’s neck. She hated the feeling.
Brandon had gulped back the rest of his coffee before exiting the rental vehicle, like he didn’t want to leave a drop, and she knew the feeling. But that’s what happened when you hopped on a red-eye and still had to drive an hour from the airport to your destination. Paige wondered if he’d had a hard time nodding off like she had.
She spotted a deputy’s car from the Mono County Sheriff’s Office immediately and headed over. He put his window down and greeted them with a hearty “Good day.”
“We’re FBI Agents Paige Dawson and Brandon Fisher.”
“Deputy Mitchell.” He squinted and looked at Brandon.
“Any sign of Michelle since you’ve been watching the place?” Paige asked.
“Nope. Nothing.” Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose and looked more exhausted than she felt. Stakeouts were boring as hell.
“You the FBI?” A rotund man in his fifties was making his way toward them from across the gravel lot.
“We are,” Paige said.
“Well, I’m glad I was right about that. Could have been embarrassing otherwise. You know that saying about when you assume…”
Paige glanced at Brandon and raised her eyebrows. You make an ass out of you and me.
He held out his hand. “Anyway, I’m Dan Player, the manager here. I saw you from my window.” Dan pointed up to a second-story balcony. “I was just having a coffee and waiting for you. Hey, would you like one?”
“No, we’ve just finished one—” Paige tossed out a brief smile “—but thank you. I’m Special Agent Dawson, and this is Special Agent Fisher.”
“Let’s go see the place, shall we?” He turned and waved a hand over his shoulder for them to follow.
“We shall,” she whispered to Brandon, and before walking off, she whispered her thanks to Mitchell.
“I told your analyst… Nadia, isn’t it?” Dan paused, working the key in the apartment door, and looked over a shoulder.
“That’s right,” Paige said.
“I told her, which you probably know, but I haven’t seen Michelle in months. Strange, too, as she paid up for a full year. Only a month left on the lease now.”
So, Michelle had moved in at about the same time she was discharged from the Marines.
Dan finished with the lock, twisted the handle, and opened the door for them.
Paige took in the space. It was one main room with the kitchen to the back and two doors off to the right—a bathroom and a bedroom. The place felt empty with only a couch, an end table, a small study desk, and a chair. There were no bookshelves, no TV, no computer, and no personal effects in the main area, though Michelle may have had those things in the bedroom. First impression made it hard to believe that Michelle had ever spent any real time here. It was a rather dark apartment with only one window in the living area behind the desk.
“What can you tell us about Michelle?” Brandon asked.
“Huh. Guess it depends on what you’d want to know.” Dan angled his head and fidgeted with the key that was still in his hand.
“Anything and everything,” Paige replied. “What is she like?”
“She’s quiet and sticks mainly to herself.”
Isolation wouldn’t help a person who needed to sort out emotional issues. “You never saw any friends come over?” Paige asked.
“I saw a man come by a couple of times.”
“When was this?” Paige asked.
“Probably about two to three months after she moved in. Like I said, though, it was just a couple of times. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t here more, but if he was, I didn’t see him.”
Paige nodded thoughtfully. That would be around the time of Estella’s death. If they could find out who that man was, it might get them closer to finding Michelle. “Can you tell us anything about him? What he looked like? His name?”
“Nah, sorry. I didn’t meet him, only saw him.”
“What did he look like?” Brandon repeated the other half of her inquiry.
“Um, nice-looking guy, above-average, but he was in his fifties. Thought he was a little old for her, but who am I to judge? To each their own.”
Paige felt tingles down her arms. All the victims were in their fifties. Had this man done something that triggered the killing? “Did you happen to catch what kind of vehicle he drove?”
“No.” Dan stopped fiddling with the key and looked briefly down at his hands. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Paige’s eyes. “Is Michelle all right?”
“As far as we know.” Paige felt comfortable in saying that; Michelle was far from all right. She’d killed four men and one woman—that they knew of.
He let out a deep breath. “Oh, that’s a relief to hear. But wait— Why is the FBI interested in her, then?”
“All I can tell you is Michelle Evans is a person of interest to the FBI.”
“Ohhh. You’re trying to find her, so you think she’s done something.”
“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Player,” Paige said.
“Very well. I guess things are what they are.” Dan handed the key to Paige. “You hold on to this for as long as you need. I’m in apartment 101 if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
Dan left and closed the door behind him.
“A man in his fifties?” Brandon raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”
“I thought the same, but until we figure out who…” Paige let her words trail off. “Let’s spread out and see what we can find.”
“I’ll take the bedroom.” Brandon set off in that direction, and she went to the study desk.
She proceeded to glove up and open the top drawer. Pens, highlighters, markers, sticky notes. Nothing personal.
The next drawer offered much of the same, but Paige found a folded map. She opened it on the desk. It was a map of the United States, but a red marker outlined a path along I-40/I-81/I-66 and starred the cities of Albuquerque, Little Rock, Knoxville, Arlington, and Baltimore.
“Brandon, get out here.”
He rushed over to her.
“Look what I’ve found.” She gestured wildly to the map. “Michelle planned out her route. She knew where Wise, Miller, Sherman, and Reid were.”
“Seems like solid proof of that.” Brandon dragged his finger along the red line.
“I’d say.” Paige fixed her gaze on Baltimore, Maryland, and pressed her fingertip next to the asterisk there. “Michelle’s father lives in Baltimore.” She slowly turned to look at Brandon. “Is she going to target him next?”
Brandon had his phone out and to his ear quickly, filling in Jack and Kelly. He hung up a moment later. “Good news is Jack and Kelly are already back in Baltimore. They were going to pay Frank Evans another visit today. Guess he was drunk when they showed up to talk last night.”
“Hopefully, they can figure out why Michelle might want to target her father.”
“Assuming she does, but I know how it looks with the map.”
“Ah, yeah. Considering men were shot in all the other cities, which leads to another question. How did Michelle know where to find the men?”
“It’s called the internet.”
“Very funny, smart-ass.”
Brandon shrugged. “Hey, just saying.”
“Not everyone’s online these days. Remember, Nadia said Michelle wasn’t active on social media.”
“Doesn’t mean she can’t use a search engine.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that.”
Paige tugged on the drawer, intent on pulling it out and spilling the rest of the contents on the desk to examine them there, but she met with resistance. “Something’s…” She slid her hand along the inside of the drawer, trying to figure out what was interfering with the drawer opening—and felt something stuck to the top and bunching in the track. She hunched down, her head almost upside down trying to see what was there, and made out the corner of a piece of paper that had been taped there. She gently worked it free and held it in the light coming through the window.
It was a photo of five young men, in their late teens, early twenties. Four of the faces, though decades younger, were unmistakable. There were standing in front of a teal-painted building.
Brandon leaned in, his shoulder pressing against hers. “Is that—”
“Yep, all four of our victims. I’ll be damned. All of them knew each other.”
“Who’s this guy?” Brandon pointed a finger toward the fifth man.
“I don’t…” Paige took a closer look. There was something familiar about the bridge of his nose and the distance between his eyes. “Bring up Frank Evans’s license photo.”
Brandon did so and held his phone’s screen toward her.
“Number five is Frank Evans,” she said with certainty. “Michelle’s father not only knew the men she killed, but by the looks of this photo, Frank was good friends with them.”
“The possibility was mentioned that Michelle might have been assaulted by the victims. What if it had been Frank who’d brought them into Michelle’s life?”
“Sure, but what the hell happened?” Paige wasn’t sure she really wanted the answer.