Millie steps out of the bathroom, clutching the photo of her and her sister to her chest. Her eyes are wet, her breathing unsteady.
"Where did you find that?" Steven asked.
"It was on the bathroom cabinet." She glances at the picture, then back at him. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Wait… Are you telling me you didn't put it there?"
Steven shakes his head. "Last time I saw it, it was sitting on the bookshelf in the den."
"You're sure it wasn't you?"
"I'm positive, hon."
Millie frowns, thinking. "I must've brought it up here and forgotten."
"You've been misplacing a lot of things lately."
"I've just got a lot on my mind, that is all." She explains, brushing away her tears.
"Mr. and Mrs. Clark?" An officer's voice called from the bottom of the stairs.
Millie looked at Steven, fear in her eyes. Her face goes pale. "I don't think I can go through this again."
Taking her hand, Steven squeezes. "I'll be right by your side."
"I know it looks bad, Steven… but I swear I'm not guilty."
He cupped her cheek, wiping away the last tear. "I know."
Millie hears the slow, haunting echo of military taps in her mind as she begins to descend the stairs. This could be the end for me, she thinks, remembering her last run-in with the police. She takes a deep breath when she reaches the bottom of the steps. She glances over at Steven, who squeezes her hand, then at the officer, and says, "I was told you have a few questions for me."
"One of your coworkers, Jill Morrison, was found dead in her car this evening," Rachel says. Pulling out her notebook, she continues. "We understand you had words with her earlier today."
"She was trying to tell me how to do my job. I got a little upset. She apologized and left. Ask her friend Lisa Burk—she saw the whole thing."
The officer jotted the name in his notebook. "According to your timecard, you clocked out shortly after her. A minute and a half later, to be exact."
"I didn't see her." She thinks a minute, then adds, "I don't remember seeing her at all after our argument—we work on opposite wings."
"You didn't follow her to the car?"
"No. I clocked out, got into my car, and left."
"What time did you get home?"
"Around seven-thirty."
"Why so late?"
"I was going to pick up a few things at the store, but it was packed, so I left."
"I see." His eyes shifted to her hands. "You wouldn't mind taking a gunshot residue test, would you?"
"I think she needs to call her lawyer," Steven cut in, stepping between them.
"The only reason she'd need a lawyer is if she has something to hide," the officer challenged.
"It's fine, Steven. I'll take their stupid test." She glared at the detective. "Maybe then you'll leave me alone."
"We'll also need to check your clothes."
Without hesitation, Millie pulled her top over her head and tossed it at Rachel, the sergeant. She did the same with her pants.
"Do you need my bra and panties, too?" she asked, fingers unhooking her bra strap.
"That won't be necessary." Rachel looked at the scrubs. "This is what you wore to the hospital today?"
"Yes."
Rachel bagged the clothes and handed them to Kirk. "Now, we'll test your hands."
Millie held them out. "Knock yourself out."
Kirk passed Rachel a kit, and she went to work. "I'm sure we'll be in touch," Rachel said, turning to leave.
"I can't believe you stripped like that," Steven laughs as he's closing the door.
"They got what they wanted, and I got them out of the house."
Her eyes drifted to his luggage by the door. "You're leaving again?"
"I have to, hon. But if you need me, call. I'll be on the first flight back."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise. When's your flight?"
"Midnight."
"That gives us a few hours to say goodbye." She tugs at his shirt, pulling him toward the stairs.
"Are you sure, after everything that happened tonight?"
"What kind of wife would I be if I didn't give you a proper send-off?"
***
Rachel pins a photo of their latest victim to the whiteboard. Picking up a marker, she writes the basics beside it:
Jill Morrison—35—single mom of two
Ex-husband Jake Morrison is in Kansas with his new wife and infant son.
Employed at the hospital for 15 years.
Rachel circled the years of employment, then did the same for the first two victims. "Hospital employment time seems to be our only connection," she murmured. Her gaze lingered on Millie's picture. "That… and her."
"I've got the GSR test results," Kirk said, walking in. Twenty years with the department—ten in forensics—Kirk had moved to detective work for a change of pace. "They didn't find any residue on her hands or her clothes. And the hospital cameras confirm she wore those scrubs all day."
"What about her timeline?"
"She left the hospital lot at 7:10, five minutes after clocking out."
"Five minutes would be enough time to do a quick bye and then pull away."
"The camera doesn't show Millie's car anywhere near where Jill was parked."
Rachel opens her mouth to speak. Raising his hand, Kirk adds, "She couldn't have circled back because Walmart cameras show her pulling in at 7:15, the approximate time it'd take her to get there."
Rachel nodded slowly. "That clears her for Jill's murder… but not the other two." She tapped the photos. "What about her brother, William?"
"He was in military school in Pryor, Oklahoma, from sixteen to eighteen. Graduated with honors. Now teaches on base."
"Go talk to him. See what you can find."
"Yes, Sergeant."
Rachel's phone rings. "Wait a minute, Kirk. Bower," she says into the phone. " She listened, then looked up and sighed. "We'll be right there."