Page 57 of Morally Corrupt

"Sleeping at a hotel."

"Good. This is… you'll see."

I end the call and head back to the lake house. That is precisely the issue. I don't want to see it. Somehow, I know that what I will find at the lake house will forever change my relationship with my wife.

It doesn't take me long to get there, and I see a few other cars, probably the cleaning crew, in the driveway. Marcel comes to greet me.

I quickly tell him my version of events and ask, "How bad?" He gives me a small grimace.

"I think we may have found our sniper," he says, and I abruptly turn to him with a questioning look in my eyes.

"Marcel…" I start, but he stops me.

"Don't say anything until you see this."

We enter the house, and I see everything exactly as we'd left it.

"I told them not to touch anything until you got here." I nod.

We go up the stairs until we reach the first two bodies. I crouch down to look at their injuries, and I'm shocked by what I see.

"This… how?"

"It's a clean kill shot. Both of them actually. Do you know what the odds are to get that aim, not once but twice?"

"Not great, I'm guessing."

"Extremely rare." He waves over a young man standing by on the sidelines.

"Jacob, you do this all the time. What does this shot tell you?" Marcel asks for his opinion. A feeling of dread takes shape in my stomach.

"That's a pro shot. And I mean pro, pro shot." Marcel thanks him, and I give them leave to deal with these two corpses.

Jacob and another guy come over with what looks like a body bag. They lay it open on the floor and, almost carelessly, they dump one of the bodies inside it. They do the same with the other one. It strikes me as almost inhuman the way they treat the bodies, but then I remember that it's their job. By now, they've probably become too desensitized to it… to death.

"Now, on to the third guy. You already told me that she shot him twice." Marcel snaps me to attention, motioning for the second story of the house.

We get to the top of the stairs, and I see exactly what those shots had been. One shot to his wrist to remove his weapon, and then another kill shot to the head. His hand has a glaring hole in it, suggesting just how clean the shot had been. I slowly peruse the other gunshot wound, and I'm amazed at the alignment of the bullet. Squinting, I look at the distance between the wound and each eye. It's almost mathematical in precision.

"Again, what are the odds that someone got three perfect kill shots in these conditions? None, unless…" He lets it hang, and I fill the gap.

"Unless it's a professional."

"This doesn't look good, Theo. Not only that, but we have her at the scene of Martinez's shooting too."

"What are you trying to say? That my wife is some sort of trained killer?" I ask, sounding a little more defensive than intended.

"All I'm saying is that the evidence is piling up… and it's up to you whether you believe it a fluke that she got those shots, or not."

"Damn…" I mutter.

"And I've been thinking…" Marcel frowns, bringing his hand to his forehead.

"What?"

"Remember the schoolgirl? I want to watch the footage again." I look at him suspiciously for a second before I realize what he's hinting at.

I barely nod, a little taken aback by the potential conjecture. Marcel tells the rest of the crew to finish the job, and we head to his car.