by Blake Pierce
She’d been coming to the range during her free time to sharpen skills that she felt she was a bit behind on when it came to the others in her class. She was one of the oldest there and rumors had circled through the grapevine already—rumors about how she had been headhunted from a miserable little PD in Nebraska right after wrapping up the Scarecrow Killer case. She was somewhere in the middle of the class average as far as firearms skill and was determined to be among the best by the time her Academy training came to an end.
She had to prove herself. And that was fine with her.
*
After the shooting range, Mackenzie wasted no time in heading to her final class-based course, a session on psychology that was taught by Samuel McClarren. McClarren was a sixty-six-year-old former agent and best-selling author, having penned six New York Times bestsellers about the psychological makeup of some of the most vicious serial killers of the past one hundred years. Mackenzie had read everything the man had written and could listen to him lecture for hours on end. It was by far her favorite course and although the assistant director had felt she didn’t need the course based on her resume and work history, she had jumped at the chance to take it.
As usual, she was among the first in class, sitting near the front. She readied her notebook and pen while a few others trickled in and set up their MacBooks. As she waited, Samuel McClarren took to his podium. Behind Mackenzie, the class of forty-two students waited with anticipation; every single one of them seemed to hang on his every word when he spoke.
“We wrapped up the psychological constructs that we believe were driving Ed Gein yesterday, much to the delight of some of you with weaker stomachs,” McClarren said. “And today, it’s not going to get much better, as we dip into the often underrated yet incredibly twisted mind of John Wayne Gacy. Twenty-six recorded victims, killed by either strangulation or asphyxiation by use of a tourniquet. From the boards beneath his house to the Des Plaines River, he scattered his victims in various spots after they were killed. And, of course, there’s what most people think of when they hear his name—the clown makeup. At its root, the Gacy case is a clinic on psychological breaks.”
And so the class went, McClarren speaking while students feverishly took notes. As usual, the hour and fifteen minutes sped by and Mackenzie found herself wanting to hear more. On a few occasions, McClarren’s class had brought up memories of her hunt for the Scarecrow Killer, particularly when she had revisited the murder sites in an attempt to get inside the mind of a killer. She had always known she’d had a knack for this sort of thing but had tried to keep it quiet. It scared her from time to time and was a bit morbid, so she kept it close to her chest.
When the session was over, Mackenzie packed up her things and headed for the door. She was still processing the lecture as she passed through into the hallway and didn’t see the man standing by the edge of the doorway. In fact, she didn’t notice him until he called out her name.
“Mackenzie! Hey, wait up.”
She stopped at the sound of her name, turning around and spotting a familiar face in the small crowd.
Agent Ellington was following behind her. Seeing him was such a surprise that she literally stood motionless for a moment, trying to figure out why he was here. As she remained frozen, he gave her a timid smile and approached her quickly. Another man was with him, trailing behind.
“Agent Ellington,” Mackenzie said. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said. “Yourself?”
“Pretty good. What are you doing here? A refresher course?” she asked, trying to inject some humor.
“No, not so much,” Ellington said. He gave her another smile and it reminded her all over again why she had taken the chance and made a fool of herself with him three months ago. He gestured to the man beside him and said, “Mackenzie White, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Bryers.”
Bryers stepped forward and extended his hand. Mackenzie shook it as she took a moment to study the man. He looked to be in his early fifties. He had a mostly gray moustache and friendly blue eyes. She could tell right away that he was likely mild-mannered and one of the true southern gentlemen she had heard so much about since moving to Virginia.
“Pleased to meet you,” Bryers said as they shook.
With that introduction out of the way, Ellington was back to business as usual. “Are you busy right now?” he asked Mackenzie.
“Not at the moment,” she answered.
“Well, if you have a minute, Agent Bryers and I would like to speak with you about something.”
Mackenzie saw the flash of doubt in Bryers’s face as Ellington said this. Come to think of it, Bryers looked a little uncomfortable. Maybe that was why he seemed so timid.
“Sure,” she said.
“Come on,” Ellington said, waving her toward the small study area near the back of the building. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Mackenzie remembered the last time Ellington had showed such an interest in her; it had gotten her here, to nearly having her dream of being an FBI agent and living in the ebb and flow of it all. So to follow him now only made sense. She did so, casting a glance at Agent Bryers as they went and wondering why he looked so uneasy.
*
“So, you’re pretty close, aren’t you?” Ellington asked as the three of them sat down with their cups of coffee that Ellington had purchased from the tiny coffee bar.
“Eight weeks left,” she said.
“Counter-terrorism, fifteen simulation hours, and about twelve shooting range hours left, right?” Ellington asked.
“And you know this how?” Mackenzie asked, concerned.
Ellington shrugged and gave a smirk. “I’ve made it my hobby to sort of keep tabs on you since you arrived here. I recommended you, so my ass is sort of on the line. You’re impressing just about everyone that matters. Everything is really just a formality at this point. Unless you manage to crash and burn these last eight weeks, I’d say you’re as good as in.”
He took a deep breath and seemed to brace himself.
“Which brings us around to why I wanted to speak with you. Agent Bryers here is in a bit of a predicament and might need your help. But I’ll let him explain that to you.”
Bryers still looked unsure of the situation. It even showed as he set his coffee cup down and took a few seconds to start speaking.
“Well, as Agent Ellington says, you have been impressing the people that matter. In the last two days, I’ve had your name come up three times.”
“In what regard?” she asked, a bit nervous.
“I’m on a case right now that has my partner of thirteen years turning away from the Bureau,” Bryers explained. “He’s close to retirement age anyway, so it’s not much of a surprise. I love the guy like a brother, but he’s had enough. He’s seen enough during his twenty-eight years as an agent and did not want one more nightmare following him into retirement. So that, of course, leaves the gap open for a partner to step in and fill his shoes. It would not be a permanent partnership—just long enough to hopefully wrap up this current case.”
Mackenzie felt a flutter of excitement in her heart and knew that she had to keep it in check before her need to please and impress took over. “That’s why my name has come up?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Bryers said.
“But there have to be several experienced agents that could fill the role better than me.”
“There probably are more appropriate agents,” Ellington said matter-of-factly. “But so far as we can tell, this case mirrors the Scarecrow Killer case in more than a few ways. That, plus the fact that your name is getting around, has a lot of higher-ups thinking that you’d be a perfect fit.”
“But I’m not an agent yet,” Mackenzie pointed out. “I mean, with something like this, can you really afford to wait eight weeks?”
“We wouldn’t be waiting,” Ellington said. “And at the risk of sounding pompous, this isn’t an offer the Bureau would hand out to just an
yone. An opportunity like this—well, I’d bet anyone in that class you just stepped out of would kill to have it. It’s incredibly unorthodox and a few important people are sort of looking the other way.”
“It just seems…unethical,” Mackenzie said.
“It is,” Ellington said. “It’s technically illegal in a few ways. But we can’t look past the similarities between this case and what you wrapped up in Nebraska. It’s either slip you in under the radar right now or wait about three or four days and hope to line Agent Bryers up with a new partner. And time is of the essence.”
Of course she wanted the opportunity, but it felt too fast. It felt rushed.
“Do I have time to think it over?” she asked.
“No,” Ellington said. “In fact, after this meeting, I’m having the case files delivered to your apartment to go over. I’ll give you a few hours to look them over and then contact you at the end of the day for an answer. But, Mackenzie…I’d strongly suggest you take this.”
She knew she would, but didn’t want to seem too anxious or cocky. Plus, there was a degree of nervousness that was starting to set in. This was the big-time. And for an agent as seasoned as Bryers to want her help…well, that was simply amazing.
“Here’s the gist,” Bryers said, leaning in across the table and lowering his voice. “So far, we have two bodies that have shown up in the same landfill. Both have been young women—one was twenty-two, the other nineteen. They were found naked and with bruises all over them. The most recent showed signs of molestation but no trace of bodily fluids. The bodies appeared about two and a half months apart, but the fact that they showed up in the same dump with the same sort of bruising…”
“Not a coincidence,” Mackenzie said, thinking it over.
“No, probably not,” Bryers said. “So tell me…let’s say this was your case. It just got handed to you. What’s the first thing you’d do?”
It took her less than three seconds to come up with an answer. When she gave it, she felt herself slip into a sort of zone—a sense that she knew she was right. If there had been any doubt that she was going to accept this opportunity, it was erased as she gave her answer.
“I’d start at the landfill,” she said. “I’d want to see the area for myself, through my own eyes. I’d then want to speak with family members. Were either of the women married?”
“The twenty-two-year-old,” Ellington said. “She’d been married for sixteen months.”
“Then yes,” Mackenzie said. “I’d start at the landfill and then speak to the husband.”
Ellington and Bryers gave one another a knowing look. Ellington nodded and drummed his hands on the table. “You in?” he asked.
“I’m in,” she said, unable to keep her excitement at bay much longer.
“Good,” Bryers said. He reached into his pocket and slid a set of keys across the table. “No sense in wasting time. Let’s get going.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was 1:35 when they reached the landfill. The eighty-five-degree weather enhanced the stink of the place, and the flies were so loud it was like some bizarre music. Mackenzie had driven while Bryers sat in the passenger seat, filling her in on the details of the case.
By the time they stepped out of the car and approached the dumps, Mackenzie thought she had Bryers pegged. He was, for the most part, a by-the-books sort of man. He would not come out and say as much, but he was extremely nervous about having her ride along with him, even if those in the know had approved it with blind eyes. It was evident in his posture and the fleeting glances he gave her.
Mackenzie walked slowly while Bryers approached the large green bins. He walked toward them as if he worked there. She had to remind herself that he’d been to the scene once before. He knew what to expect, making her feel very much like a novice—which she was, actually.
She took a moment to really study the place, having never taken the time to study landfills before. The area she and Bryers currently stood in—the portion of the landfill that allowed traffic—was really nothing more than a dump. Six economy-sized metal dumpsters lined the place, all set within a hollow space within the grounds. Behind the dumps, she could see the area below where state trucks came to pick up the haul. To allow for these hollow areas that hid most of the dumpsters, the paved entryway and lot took on the shape of a well-maintained hill; the area she and Bryers currently stood on was the summit while the road through the landfill led further back, wound around, and spit cars out behind the dumpsters into a road that led back out to the highway.
Mackenzie scanned the ground. Where she stood was nothing more than packed dirt that gave way to gravel and then tar around the other side of the bins. She was standing on the dirt portion and looking down to the tire tracks that were embedded like ghost prints along the ground. The criss-crossing and jumbled passage of countless tire tracks was going to make it very hard to identify a reliable print. It had been dry and hot lately; the last rainfall had been about a week ago and that had only been a drizzle. Dry ground was going to make this significantly harder.
Feeling that getting suitable prints out of the mess was going to be next to impossible, she joined Bryers by the dump he was standing by.
“The body was found in this one,” Bryers said. “Forensics already lifted the blood samples and took the prints. The victim’s name was Susan Kellerman, twenty-two years old, a resident of Georgetown.”
Mackenzie nodded, still saying nothing. She shifted her priorities as she looked into the dump. She was working with people from the FBI now so she felt comfortable skipping ahead a few steps. She wouldn’t waste her time looking for the obvious. Those that had come before her—probably including Bryers—had already done the legwork. Therefore, Mackenzie tried to focus on the obscure…on the things that might have been overlooked.
After about a minute of looking around the immediate area, Mackenzie thought she knew everything there was to know. And so far, it wasn’t much.
“So tell me,” Bryers said. “If you had to guess, what’s the significance of the killer dumping his bodies here?”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of convenience,” Mackenzie said. “I think he’s trying to play it safe. He’s discarding the bodies here because he wants to get rid of them. I’d also guess he lives nearby…no more than twenty or thirty miles. I don’t think he’d drive that far off just to dispose of a body…especially at night.”
“Why at night?” Bryers asked.
Mackenzie knew that he was testing her and didn’t mind. Given the amazing opportunity she had been handed, she expected some ribbing.
“Because he’d almost have to come during the night to dump a body. Doing it in the light of day while there are workers here would be stupid.”
“So you think he’s smart?”
“Not necessarily. He’s cautious and careful. And that’s not the same as smart.”
“I saw you scouring for tracks,” he said. “We tried and there was nothing. There are just too many.”
“Yeah, it would be difficult,” she said. “Of course, like I said, I’d assume the body was dumped after hours. Is that the assumption you’re going on?”
“It is.”
“So there would be no prints here,” Mackenzie pointed out.
He smiled at her. “That’s right,” he said. “No tire tracks anyway. But footprints would. Not that it matters. There are too many of those, too.”
Mackenzie nodded, feeling stupid for having missed such an obvious fact. But right away, that sent her mind down a different path.
“Well, it’s not like he carried the body over his shoulders,” Mackenzie said. “His tire tracks would be somewhere. Not here, but maybe just outside of the gate. We could then try to compare and contrast between tracks we find stopped outside the gate and tracks here in this dirt. We could even look right around the edge of the fence for any indication of impact from where he almost certainly threw or dropped the body over.”
“That’s good thin
king,” Bryers said, clearly amused. “That’s a detail the guys from the print lab got, but I managed to overlook. But yes, you’re right. He would have had to stop his car outside of the gate. So the thinking is that if we find tracks that come to the gate, stop, then turn around, that could be our guy.”
“Could be,” Mackenzie said.
“So you’re thinking along the right lines, but there’s nothing new. What else you got?”
He wasn’t being rude or dismissive; she knew this from his tone alone. He was simply trying to urge her on, to motivate her to keep going.
“Do we know how many vehicles come through here on any given day?”
“Approximately eleven hundred or so,” Bryers said. “Still, if we can get prints that come close to the gate and then just stop…”
“It could be a start.”
“That’s the hope,” Bryers said. “We’ve had a team working on that since yesterday afternoon and we still don’t have any leads.”
“I can take a look if you’d like,” Mackenzie said.
“Knock yourself out,” Bryers said. “But you’re working with the Bureau now, Ms. White. Don’t overwork yourself if there’s another department that can handle it better than you can.”
Mackenzie looked back into the dumpster, trying to make sense of the crushed shapes of trash inside. A young woman had been there recently, her body nude and slightly beaten. She’d been discarded in the same place people dumped their refuse, the things they no longer needed. Maybe the killer was trying to speculate that the women he had killed were no better than common household trash.
She almost wished she had been here when Bryers and his soon-to-be-retired friend had come out. Maybe then she’d have more to go on. Maybe then she could help lead Bryers closer to a suspect. But for now, at least she had proven herself rather quickly with her perceptions regarding the tire tracks.
She turned back around to him and saw that he was standing idly, peering back toward the gate. It was clear that he was giving her some time to process. She appreciated it, but again, it made her very aware just how much of a rookie she was.
