Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) (7 page)

They drove a little over two and a half
hours from the strip club after receiving the call, night falling slowly the
entire way, increasing Mackenzie’s depressed mood, and when they arrived at the
scene, night had fallen. They finally turned off the main highway onto a strip
of unpaved blacktop, and then onto a dirt road that led to a large open field.
As they neared their destination, she started to feel an impending sense of
doom.

Her headlights glowed just ahead of her
as she carefully drove down a bumpy dirt track, and slowly, she started to see
the numerous police cars already on the scene. A few of them were pointed to the
center of the field, their headlights revealing a grisly, yet familiar sight.

As much as she tried not to, she
flinched at the sight.

“My God,” Porter said.

Mackenzie parked, but never took her
eyes from the scene as she stepped out of the car and walked slowly forward.
The grass in the field was high, coming to her knees in places, and she could
see the slightly worn trail that the officers had been using. There were too
many officers here; she already worried that the scene was contaminated.

She looked up and took a sharp breath.
It was another woman, stripped to her underwear, bound to a pole that looked to
be roughly eight feet tall. This time, seeing the woman strung up in such a
way, Mackenzie was unable to repress a memory of her sister. Steph had been a
stripper, too. Mackenzie wasn’t exactly sure what Steph was up to these days,
but it was too easy to imagine her ending up like this.

As Mackenzie approached the victim, she
glanced around the crime scene and counted seven officers in all. Two officers
were off to the side, speaking with two teenagers. Up ahead, standing a few
feet away from the pole and the victim, Nelson was speaking with someone on his
phone. When he saw them, he waved them over and quickly ended his call.

“Anything of substance from the strip
club?” Nelson asked.

“No sir,” Mackenzie said. “I’m convinced
Avery is clean. He’s offered the names and numbers of all of his employees if
we need them, but I don’t think we’ll need his help.”

“We need
someone’s
help,” Nelson
said, looking to the pole and looking as if he might get sick.

Mackenzie approached the body and saw
right away that this one was in worse shape than the body of Hailey Lizbrook.
For starters, there was a large lump and bruise on the left side of the woman’s
face. There was also dried blood in and around her ear. The lashes on her back
looked to have been made with the same weapon, only this time they had been
applied with more force and in greater succession.

“Who discovered the body?” Porter asked.

“Those two kids over there,” Nelson
said, pointing toward where one of the officers was still speaking to the two
teens. “They admitted they came out here to make out and smoke some weed. They
say they’ve done it for a month or so. But tonight, they found this.”

“Same body type as Hailey Lizbrook,” Mackenzie
said, thinking out loud. “I think we can probably assume the same profession,
or similar, too.”

“I need answers on this, you two,”
Nelson said. “And I need them
now
.”

“We’re trying,” Porter said. “White is
on fire with this thing and—”

“I need results,” Nelson said, close to
fury. “White, I’ll even take some of your out-of-the-box thinking on this one.”

“Can I borrow a flashlight?” she asked.

Nelson reached into his coat pocket and
took out a small Maglite which he happily tossed to her. She caught it, flicked
it on, and started looking around the scene. She tuned out Nelson’s nervous
banter and let him release his steam with Porter.

With the dead-on precision that took
over her in moments like this, the world melted away as she started scouring
the scene for any clues. There were several that stood out right away. For
instance, she knew that Nelson and the other officers had used the same beaten
path to get to the body to prevent contaminating the scene; outside of their worn-down
footpath from their cars to the body, there were several other indentations in
the tall grass, likely placed there by the killer.

She strayed a bit outside of the
footpath and slowly arced the flashlight beam around the field surrounding the
post. She took some mental notes, looked back over to the two teens, and then
headed back to the pole. She looked the body over for any further clues and
became certain that this body, like that of Hailey Lizbrook, would show no
signs of sexual abuse.

           
She wondered if setting up the pole was more than just a
theatrical device. Something about it seemed resolute, almost like a necessity
for the killer. For a brief moment she could see him, his hands falling on the
pole and going to work.

           
He drags it with pride, maybe even hoisting it up
along his back. There’s labor to the task, a prerequisite to the killings.
Struggling with the pole, bringing it to the site, digging the hole and
installing it—there’s a sweat-of-the-brow satisfaction in it. He is readying
the site for the murder. He takes just as much satisfaction from this work as
he does the murder.

“What are your thoughts, White?” Nelson
asked as he watched her circle the body.

Mackenzie blinked, being
torn from the image of the killer in her mind. Realizing just how deep she’d
gone there for a moment, she felt a slight chill pass through her.

“A few easy ones right off the bat are
that you can see the trail where he dragged the pole from the dirt track to
here,” she said. “That concludes that the pole was not here originally. He
brought it with him. And that denotes that he drives either a pickup truck or a
van of some kind.”

“That’s what I figured,” Nelson said.
“Anything else?”

“Well, it’s hard to be sure at night,”
she said, “but I’m pretty sure the killer had the victim wrapped in something
when he brought her out here.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t see any blood at all on the
grass but some of the wounds on her back—especially those around her
buttocks—are still fairly wet.”

As Nelson digested this, Mackenzie went
to her haunches at the back of the pole and pressed the grass down with one
hand. With the other, she shone the flashlight beam along the bottom of the
pole.

Her heart raced as saw the numbers:
N511/J202.

He uses a knife or a chisel,
and he takes a lot of time and effort to make sure the carvings are legible.
These carvings are important to him and, more than that, he wants them to be
seen. Whether consciously or subconsciously, he
wants
someone to figure out why he’s doing this. He needs someone to understand his
motives.

“Chief?” she said.

“Yeah, White?”

“I’ve got those numbers again.”

“Shit,” Nelson said, coming to where she
was kneeling. He looked down and let out a heavy sigh. “Any idea what they
mean?”

“None at all, sir.”

“Okay,” Nelson said. His hands were on
his hips and he was looking up to the dark sky like a man defeated. “So we have
a few more answers here, but nothing that’s going to tie things up for us
anytime soon. A man driving a truck or van that has access to wooden poles
and—”

“Wait,” Mackenzie said. “You just said
something.”

She went back to the rear of the pole.
She leaned down to look at the place where the woman’s wrists were bound with
rope.

“What is it?” Porter asked, coming over
to have a look.

“You any good with knots?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“I am,” Nelson said, also coming over to
have a look. “What have you got?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the same knot
that was used for Hailey Lizbrook.”

“So what if it is?” Porter said.

“It’s a bit unusual,” Mackenzie replied.
“Can you tie a knot like that? I can’t.”

Porter looked at it again, seeming
stumped.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a sailor’s knot,”
Nelson said.

“I thought so,” Mackenzie said. “And
while it might be a long shot, I’d consider that our killer might be familiar
with boats. Maybe he lives near the water or
has
lived near the water at
some point.”

“Drives a truck or a van, maybe lives
near water, and has some sort of mommy issues,” Nelson said. “Not much to go
on, but it’s better than where we were yesterday.”

“And given the ritualistic manner of
these killings,” Mackenzie said, “and the short time frame between the two, we
can only assume he’s going to do it again.”

She turned and looked at him, summoning
all the seriousness she could.

“With all due respect, sir, I think it’s
time we call in the FBI.”

He frowned.

“White, their processes alone would slow
us down. We’d have two more bodies before they even sent anyone out here.”

“I think it’s worth a try,” she said.
“We’re getting in over our heads.”

She hated to admit it but the look on Nelson’s
face showed her that he agreed. He nodded solemnly and looked back to the body
on the pole. “I’ll make the call,” he finally said.

From behind them, they heard a very
punctuated curse from one of the other officers. They all turned to see what
was going on and saw the bouncing glow of headlights coming down the dirt road.

“Who the hell is that?” Nelson asked.
“No one else should know about this and—”

“A news van,” said the officer who had
let out a curse.

“How?” Nelson said. “Dammit, who the
hell keeps getting information to these assholes?”

The scene became a flurry of activity as
Nelson did everything he could to prep for the arrival of a news crew. He was
fuming and looked like his head might explode at any moment. Mackenzie took the
opportunity to take as many photos as she could: of the depressed sections of
the field, of the knot at the victim’s wrists, of the numbers at the bottom of
the post.

“White, Porter, get out of here and get
back to the station,” Nelson said.

“But sir,” Mackenzie said, “we still
need to—”

“Just do as I say,” he said. “You two
are the leads on this case and if the media gets a whiff of that, they’ll
constantly be on your asses and slow you down. Now get out of here.”

It was a sensible train of thought and Mackenzie
did as she was asked. But as she headed back to the car with Porter, another
thought occurred to her. She turned back to Nelson and said: “Sir, I think we
should have the wood tested, on this pole and the last one. Get a sample and
have it analyzed. Maybe the kind of wood being used for these posts could lead
us to something.”

“Damn good thinking, White,” he said.
“Now haul ass.”

Mackenzie did just that as she saw two
more pairs of headlights trailing in behind the first set. The first set
belonged to a news van with WSQT written on the side. It had just parked on the
far side of the police cars. A reporter and a cameraman came bustling out and Mackenzie
instantly thought of them as vultures circling a fresh kill.

As she got into the car, taking the
driver’s seat again, another member of the news crew got out of the van and
started snapping pictures. Mackenzie was mortified to see that the camera was
pointed in her direction. She lowered her head, got into the car, and started
the engine. As she did, she saw that three officers were already storming
toward the news van, Nelson in the center. Still, the reporter did her best to
bully her way forward.

They took off, but Mackenzie knew it was
already too late.

Come tomorrow, her picture would be on
the front page of all the papers.

As it turned out, Nelson had been wrong
about the FBI. Mackenzie got the call at 6:35 in the morning requesting that
she drive to the airport to pick up an agent that had flown in. She’d had to
hurry, as the flight arrived at 8:05, and was embarrassed that she’d have to
make a first impression without even having time to fix her hair.

Her hair, though, was the least of her
concerns as she sat in the uncomfortable airport chair, waiting at the gate.
She was pounding down a cup of coffee, hoping to push her mind beyond caring
that her body had only managed five hours of sleep the night before. It was her
third cup of the morning and she knew she’d get the jitters if she didn’t slow
down. But she couldn’t afford to be tired and sloppy.

She reviewed everything in her head as
she waited for the agent to get off the plane, recircling the gruesome scene
from the night before. She couldn’t help but feel as if she had missed
something. Hopefully, the FBI agent would be able to help get them on a clearer
path.

Nelson had e-mailed her the agent’s
dossier, which she had read quickly while eating a breakfast of a banana and a
bowl of oatmeal. Because of this, Mackenzie spotted the agent right away as he
stepped off the jet bridge and into the airport. Jared Ellington, thirty-one
years old, a Georgetown graduate with a background that included a stint in
profiling in counterterrorism cases. His black hair was slicked back as it had
been in his picture and the telltale suit he wore painted him as someone on
official duty.

Mackenzie walked across the gate to meet
him. She hated the fact that she kept going back to her stupid hair. She felt
frazzled and out of sorts, having been rushed earlier in the morning. More than
that, she had never really cared much about first impressions and had never
been the sort of person to worry too much about her appearance. So why now?

Maybe it was because he was from the
FBI, an agency she revered. Or maybe it was because, despite herself, she was
struck by his looks. She hated herself for that, not only because of Zack, but
because of the urgent and gruesome nature of their work.

“Agent Ellington,” she said, extending
her hand, forcing her tone to be as professional as possible. “I’m Mackenzie
White, one of the detectives on the case.”

“Good to meet you,” Ellington said.
“Your chief tells me you’re the lead detective on the case. Is that right?”

She did her best to hide her shock but
nodded.

“That’s correct,” she said. “I know you
just got off the plane, but we need to hurry and get you to the station.”

“Of course,” he said. “Lead the way.”

She led him through the airport and back
out to the parking lot. They were silent during the walk and Mackenzie took the
time to size him up. He seemed a little relaxed, not stiff and rigid like the
few Bureau guys she’d encountered. He also seemed very serious and intense. He
had a much more professional air than any of the men she worked with.

As they drove onto the interstate,
fighting through morning airport traffic, Ellington started scrolling through a
series of e-mails and documents on his phone.

“Tell me, Detective White,” he said,
“what sort of person do you think we’re looking for? I’ve looked through the
notes that Chief Nelson sent me and I have to say that you seem pretty sharp.”

“Thanks,” she said. Then, quick to
dismiss the compliment, she added: “As for the type of person, I’m thinking it
stems from abuse. When you consider that the victims were not sexually abused,
yet stripped to their underwear, it indicates that these are murders based on
some need for revenge on some woman that wronged him earlier in life. So I
think it might be a man that is embarrassed by sex or, at the very least, finds
it gross.”

“I see you have not ruled out religious
contexts,” Ellington said.

“No, not yet. The very nature of how he
displays them has obvious crucifixion overtones. Plus the fact that the women
he’s killing are all representations of male lust makes it hard to rule out.”

He nodded, still scrolling through his
phone. She cast glances in his direction as she made her way through traffic
and was struck by how handsome he was. It wasn’t obvious at first, but there
was something very plain yet rugged about Ellington. He’d never be a leading
man but would make an attractive addition to the hero’s team.

“I know this seems rude,” he said, “but
I’m trying to make sure I’m well-versed in this. As I’m sure you know, I was
called in on this case less than six hours ago. It’s been a whirlwind.”

“No, not rude at all,” Mackenzie said.
She found it refreshing to be in a car with a man and not have the conversation
be filled with sideways insults and sexism. “Do you mind if I ask what your
initial thoughts on the killer are?”

“My big question is why he displays the
bodies at all,” Ellington said. “It makes me think the murders aren’t just out
of some personal vendetta. He wants people to see what he’s done. He wants to
make a spectacle out of these women, which denotes that he’s proud of what he’s
doing. I’d go so far as to guess that he feels he’s doing the world a favor.”

Mackenzie felt a stirring of excitement
as they neared the precinct. Ellington was the polar opposite of Porter and
seemed to have the same sort of approach to profiling as she did. She couldn’t
remember the last time she had been able to freely share her thoughts with a
co-worker without fear of being ridiculed or spoken down to. Already, she could
tell that Ellington was easy to talk to and valued the opinions of others. And,
quite frankly, it didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at.

“I feel like you’re on the right track,”
Ellington said. “Between the two of us, I think we can nail this guy. Looking
at the information about the knots, the fact that he drives a van or truck, and
apparently uses the same weapon each time, there’s a lot to go on. I look
forward to working with you on this, Detective White.”

“Likewise,” she said, catching another
glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye as he continued to dutifully read
through e-mails on his phone.

Her excitement continued to bloom; she
felt a sense of motivation she had not felt toward her work in a very long
time. She felt inspired, reinvigorated—and that things were about to change in
her life.

*

A little over an hour later, Mackenzie
was quickly brought back to reality as she watched Agent Jared Ellington stand
in front of a conference room filled with local police that clearly felt like
they didn’t need his help. A few sitting around the table were taking notes,
but there was a tension in the air that showed on everyone’s face. She noticed
that Nelson sat near the head of the conference table, looking nervous and
uncomfortable. It had ultimately been his call to contact the FBI and it was
clear that he wasn’t sure if it had been the right choice.

Meanwhile, Ellington did his best to
keep control of the room as he went through a short spiel where he went over
the same material that he and Mackenzie had discussed on the way from the
airport—that they were looking for a killer that likely had some aversion to
sex and was also proud of the murders. He also went through a review of all of
the clues they had to go on and what they might mean. It wasn’t until he got to
the topic of having the wood from the posts analyzed that he got any sort of
response from the officers scattered round the table.

“In regards to the wood samples,” Nelson
said, “we should have results from that within a few hours.”

“What good would that do, anyway?”
Porter asked.

Nelson looked over to Mackenzie and
nodded, giving her permission to field that question. “Well, based on the
results, we could look into local logging companies or mills to see if anyone
has recently purchased that certain type of post.”

“Seems like a long shot,” an older cop
in the back of the room said.

“It does,” Ellington said, quickly taking
back control of the room. “But a long shot is better than no shot at all. And
please, make no mistake about it; I am not here to assume total control over
this case. I’m just here as a moving part of the solution, a point-man to make
sure you have full access to any resources the Bureau can provide. That
includes research, manpower, and anything else to help bring this killer in.
I’m here only temporarily—probably no more than thirty-six or forty-eight
hours—and then I’m gone. This is your show, guys. I’m just the hired help.”

“So where do we start?” another cop
asked.

“I’ll be working with Chief Nelson
following this briefing to divide you up as appropriate,” Ellington said.
“We’ll have a few of you head out to speak with Hailey Lizbrook’s co-workers. And
as I understand it, we’ll have fully autopsy results and information on the
deceased discovered last night. As soon as we have a positive ID, some of you
will need to visit her family and friends to mine for information. We’ll also
need someone to check with local mills when we get the results of the wood test
back.”

Again, Mackenzie noticed the stiff
posture of most of the police around the table. She found it hard to believe
they were so proud (or perhaps, she thought, too lazy) to take direct orders from
someone that they did not know well, regardless of his place in the food chain.
Was small-town mentality that hard to break away from? She’d often wondered
this in the midst of the demeaning way most of the men in this room had treated
her since she arrived.

“That’s all I have for now,” Ellington
said. “Any questions?”

Of course, there were none. Nelson,
however, got to his feet and joined Ellington at the front of the room.

“Agent Ellington will be working with
Detective White, so if you need him, you can find him in her office. I know
this is a little unorthodox, but let’s take it for what it is and take full
advantage of the Bureau’s generosity.”

There were mumbles and grumbles of
acknowledgment as officers got up from the table and headed out on their way.
As they filed out, Mackenzie noticed that a few of them were looking at her
with more reproach and angst than usual. She looked away as she got up and
joined Nelson and Ellington at the front of the room.

“Is there something I should know?” Mackenzie
asked Nelson.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m getting nastier looks than usual,”
she said.

“Nasty looks?” Ellington asked. “Why do
you usually get nasty looks?”

“Because I’m a determined younger woman
who speaks her mind,” Mackenzie said. “Men around here don’t care for that.
There are a few that think I should be home, in the kitchen.”

Nelson looked highly embarrassed, and a
little pissed, too. She thought he might actually say something to defend
himself and his officers, but he didn’t get a chance. Porter joined them and
slapped the day’s local newspaper down on the table.

“I think
this
is the reason for
the dirty looks,” he said.

They all looked down to the paper. Mackenzie’s
heart grew cold as Nelson let out a curse behind her.

The front page headline read “SCARECROW
KILLER STILL AT LARGE.” Under that, the subtitle read: “Beleaguered police
force seems to have no answers as another victim is discovered.”

The picture beneath it showed Mackenzie
getting into the car she and Porter had driven out to the field yesterday. The
photographer had captured the entire left side of her face. The hell of it was
that she looked rather pretty in the picture. Whether she wanted to admit it or
not, this picture placed directly beneath the headline essentially painted her
as the face of the investigation.

“That’s not fair,” she said, hating the
way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

“The guys think you’re getting off on
it,” Porter said. “They think you’re bent on breaking this case for the
publicity.”

“Is that how
you
feel?” Nelson
asked him.

Porter took a step back and sighed.
“Personally, no. White has proven herself to me over these last few days. She
wants this guy captured, no matter what.”

“Then why don’t you stand up for her?”
Nelson said. “Run some interference while we wait for the latest victim to be
ID’d and for the results on that wood sample.”

Looking like a child that had just been
scolded for lying, Porter put his head down and said, “Yes, sir.” He made his
exit without looking back.

Nelson looked back down to the paper and
then at Mackenzie. “I say you make the most of it. If the media wants to put a
pretty face to this investigation, let them run with it. It’ll make you look
that much better when you bring this bastard in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Agent Ellington, what do you need from
me?” Nelson asked.

“Just your best detective.”

Nelson grinned and hitched a thumb
toward Mackenzie. “You’re looking at her.”

“Then I think we’re good.”

Nelson headed out of the conference
room, leaving Ellington and Mackenzie alone. Mackenzie started to gather up her
laptop and notes while Ellington looked around the room. It was clear that he
felt out of place and wasn’t sure how to handle it. She was a little out of
place herself. She was glad everyone else was gone. She enjoyed being alone with
him; it made her feel as if she had a confidant in all of this, someone who saw
her as an equal.