Page 47 of Commit

Atlas stares down at the photo with a frown. “Her name is Jessica Spears. She’s twenty-nine and currently lives and works in Florida as a florist.”

“Kenzo says she’s not one of ours and never has been. He’s run her name through every business you have, and so far, no hits. He’s checking her against what he has on his side. Problem is, the Hoffmans were never tight on employee records. They liked to keep most people off the books. He’s looking through ledgers now, but it’s going to take some time.”

“Well it’s not like she’s going anywhere,” he sighs as I sit down in one of the vacant chairs.

There is something there, poking at the back of my brain. “Spears.” I run my tongue along my teeth in thought. What is it about that name that gives me pause?

“What?”

“The name Spears. I’ve heard it before.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, me too. As in Britney.”

I chuckle. “You a Britney fan, Atlas?”

He ignores me as I pick up the file and turn the page, looking over information on the victim.

“It says here she was married.”

“Police will likely look at the ex-first.”

I nod, its standard protocol.

“She’s been in her house for a year.” I put the file back on the desk which Atlas picks up. I pull my cell phone out and fire off a text to Kenzo.

Do we know where she lived before she moved to Vegas?

“I’m just asking Kenzo if he knows where she lived before Vegas.”

“Maybe she lived here for a while, and your paths crossed somewhere.”

I shrug, “It’s possible.”

My cell chimes. I open Kenzo’s message and read it out loud.

“She’s from Ottawa, Canada.”

I pause as something clicks. I look up obituaries in that area, going back a year.

“What is it?”

“Maybe nothing. Hold on.”

He’s quiet while I scroll through all the posts until, finally, my eyes land on a familiar name.

“Her husband. His name Jason Spears?”

He looks at me questioningly. “Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“I don’t think the cops will get anything from him. He’s dead.” I hand him my phone with the guys photo.

“It’s not an uncommon name. How do you know this is the husband?”

“Because I met him once.”

“What? When?”

“A year ago. When I killed him.”

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