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Kelly was riding shotgun again as Jack drove them to the Reids’ house. It was located in an area of Arlington known as Woodmont. Jack was smoking away, a cigarette perched between two fingers that dangled out the open window.
Nadia’s voice was coming over the speakers. She’d already told them that Darrell’s wife was Arlene, and she was eight years her husband’s junior at forty-seven. She’d never worked outside the home.
“Arlene Reid was born Arlene Pryce to a wealthy British family in Wales,” Nadia elaborated. “Arlene’s parents followed her to the States when she came here for schooling, and none of them returned home. She met and fell in love with Darrell, and she married him soon after she graduated law school.”
“Yet she never practiced law?” Kelly asked, thinking that was such a waste of money and education.
“Not that I see.”
The whims of the rich, she supposed. They had to spend their time somehow, and much better it be in the pursuit of knowledge than frivolous endeavors.
“Any luck on finding similar shootings in any of the US that fit today’s?” Jack asked.
Luck? As if he wanted other shootings to be discovered. Tragic—but it would give them something else to analyze and compare, and clues may surface. She concluded Jack must suspect Reid’s shooting hadn’t been an isolated incident.
“None yet.”
“Well, keep looking.”
“Will do, Jack.”
With that, Jack ended the call and pitched the SUV back into an awkward silence that begged to be filled, but Kelly was at a loss for what to say.
He turned down a street of large homes, mature trees, and beautifully manicured lawns. It was autumn, but in such a neighborhood, the grass dared not turn brown just yet.
If it hadn’t been for Arlene’s family’s money, Reid probably wouldn’t be able to afford living here.
Jack pulled into the driveway of a redbrick, two-story home, though it had three levels of living space; they could see the basement windows just above ground level. Two sets of staircases joined at a landing and led to double front doors that were hugged by sidelights and a transom window and set back under two columns and an overhang. The word regal came to mind.
Jack got out of the vehicle, and she hurried to catch up to him. He poked the doorbell, and a rendition of some classical song chimed throughout the home and spilled through to the front step. Kelly wouldn’t have expected anything less from a place like this.
The door was opened by a pleasant-looking brunette who looked years younger than forty-seven. She was wearing a light-pink, silk blouse paired with pressed pants and teardrop earrings. Her eyelids were painted in shades of purple, and her lips were glossy pink. Her perfume smelled heavenly—and expensive—and was probably sold by the ounce.
“Mrs. Arlene Reid?” Jack asked while holding up his credentials. Kelly hurried to follow his lead and had hers displayed by the time Arlene’s eyes went to her.
“Yes.” Her one word held both caution and curiosity.
“I’m FBI Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Jack Harper, and this is Agent Marsh. Can we come in for a moment?” Based on Jack’s body language, the way his leg rested, how his foot was positioned, his question wasn’t so much a question as a request.
“Sure.” Arlene stepped back and let them inside. She closed the door behind them and watched them, expectant.
“Do you have somewhere we could sit down?” Jack asked.
Arlene seemed to pry her eyes from Jack before turning and taking them to a sitting room that was to the right of the entry. Sunlight drenched a space that was stuffed with furniture along with antique trinkets and collectibles. She sat in a beige chair, and Jack and Kelly sat in matching ones across from her.
“We’re here about your husband,” Jack started. “He was killed this morning in a shoot—”
Arlene’s mouth fell open, and tears immediately pooled in her eyes.
“We’re sorry for your loss, Mrs. Reid,” Kelly offered, trying to soften the blow, though realizing the futility.
Arlene met Kelly’s eyes and sniffled. “What am I supposed to tell Riley? Thank God he’s at school right now.”
Riley was the Reids’ teenage son.
Arlene blew out a deep breath. “How?… Where?… Why?”
Jack gestured for Kelly to answer. She’d been given a little rope; now she just had to be careful not to hang herself.
Kelly cleared her throat and pressed her hands down on her slacks. “Your husband was shot in Clarendon.”
“The sniper…” Arlene looked across the room as if she was seeing something, but there was nothing there to see.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said, “but I’m not sure—”
Arlene met her gaze. “I saw it on the news…the shooting.”
The media never missed a beat.
“They said that a man was killed and—” She stopped, her chin quivering. “Others were injured.”
“We’re trying to figure a few things out. Do you know why your husband would have been in that area this morning?” Kelly asked.
Arlene slowly shook her head. “No idea, but I didn’t keep tabs on his calendar. He was a respected prosecutor. Good at his job.” Her brown eyes turned to burnt charcoal. “Was it what got him killed?”
“It’s too soon to say,” Jack jumped in. “We’re trying to figure out exactly what happened ourselves.”
“My husband was shot.” Venom licked her words. “What else is there to figure out?”
“In order to find who did this, it helps us to know what might have made him a target,” Jack responded coolly, not giving any indication that her outburst had affected him.
“Ohmigod.” Arlene slapped a hand over her mouth, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “He was targeted? Why? Why would anyone do this?”
Arlene’s emotions were all over the place, and Kelly struggled to remain objective and discern whether it was due to grief or an act that the wife was performing. “We intend to find out,” Kelly said. “That’s why it would help us to know a little bit more about your husband, starting with why he might have been in that neighborhood. Given the circumstances, it would seem that the shooter was aware he’d be there when he was.”
Jack looked over at Kelly, his mouth in a straight line. She must have been talking in absolutes more than Jack cared for. “Again, this is just one angle we’re working on,” Kelly said, trying to backpedal.
“One angle?” Arlene cocked her head.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s also possible that your husband was an unintended victim of the shooting.” This pained Kelly to say because she could easily conjure up the picture of that perfectly placed hole in Reid’s chest.
“I don’t understand.” Arlene snatched a tissue from a nearby box, dabbed her nose, then scrunched it in her hand, her fingers tugging on the corners.
“All Agent Marsh means is that it’s too early to conclude exactly what took place.”
“There’s that word exactly again.” Arlene’s eyes scolded Jack.
“What more can you tell us about your husband? Do you know of anyone who didn’t like him?” Jack asked, shifting the spotlight from why her husband was in Clarendon.
“I’m sure my husband had his enemies.” Arlene straightened her back, jutted out her chin just slightly. “No one gets to his position without them.”
“Anyone specific come to mind?” Kelly said gently, aware she was braving it by speaking in definitives—both with Mrs. Reid and Jack.
Arlene made a long, raspy sigh. “My husband was responsible for putting away a lot of very bad men. It could be any of them. I wouldn’t even know where to start with names. You’d best be going down to the commonwealth’s attorney’s office for those answers.”
“We will be, but just curious if Darrell happened to mention any recent cases he was working on?” It was possible that a conviction had led to revenge, but Kelly couldn’t close her mind to the possibility it could have been an active case.
“Darrell kept his work to himself. He kept a lot to himself.” Arlene’s gaze fell to her lap. For a few seconds, the confident debutante slipped away. Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her head high. “I respect…respected…that about him.”
Even if Darrell had skeletons in the closet to find, they weren’t getting to them with Mrs. Arlene Reid guarding the door.
Silence stretched out for a couple of minutes before Arlene spoke.
“You said he was shot in Clarendon, and I caught as much on the news, but missed where exactly.” Arlene watched Jack, seeking an answer.
“In front of Wilson Place.” Jack paused, blatantly observing Arlene. Her brow wrinkled, and she sniffled. “Does that ring any bells for you?”
“No.” Arlene was quick to answer. “Why would it?”
“Your husband was coming out of the building when he was shot,” Jack disclosed.
“Oh.” She rubbed at her neck, where the skin had become blotchy.
“Do you know something you’re not wanting to tell us?” Kelly did her best to present the inquiry as coming from an equal, a friend, not law enforcement digging for a lead.
Arlene met her gaze and shook her head.
Kelly could tell right away she was lying. Mrs. Reid was holding back—but what was it and did it have anything to do with her husband’s murder?