by Blake Pierce
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.
“So,” he said, “they really look down on you because you’re young and a woman?”
She shrugged.
“Seems that way. I’ve seen rookies come in—men, mind you—that get some ribbing, but they aren’t spoken down to the way they speak down to me. I’m young, motivated, and, according to a few, not too bad to look at. Something about that combination throws them off. It’s easier for them to write me off as the over-ambitious piece of ass than a woman under thirty years of age that has a harder work ethic than them.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said.
“I’ve felt a slight shift in the last few days,” she said. “Porter in particular seems to be coming around.”
“Well, let’s wrap this case up and bring them all around,” Ellington said. “Can you arrange to have every photo from both sites brought into your office?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Meet me there in about ten minutes.”
“You got it.”
Mackenzie decided right there and then that she liked Jared Ellington a little too much for her own good. Working with him for the next few days would be challenging and interesting—but for reasons other than the case at hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mackenzie got home just after seven that night, knowing full well that she could be called at any moment. There were so many avenues open now, so many different leads that could potentially require her attention. She could feel her body getting tired. She had not been sleeping well since visiting the first murder scene and she knew that if she didn’t allow herself time to rest, she’d end up making clumsy mistakes while at work.
When she walked through the door, she saw Zack sitting on the couch with an Xbox controller in his hand. A bottle of beer was on the coffee table in front of him, with two empties lined up in the floor. She knew he’d had the day off and assumed this was how he’d spent it. It made him look like an irresponsible child in her eyes and it was not what she wanted to see after coming in from a day like today.
“Hey, babe,” Zack said, barely looking away from the television.
“Hey,” she said dryly, heading for the kitchen. Seeing the beer on the coffee table, she had the urge to enjoy one. But honestly, feeling exhausted and on edge, she decided on a cup of peppermint tea instead.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, Mackenzie walked into the bedroom and changed clothes. She had overlooked dinner and was suddenly faced with the fact that there was very little in the house to eat. She hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while and she knew damn good and well that Zack hadn’t thought to do it.
When she had changed into gym shorts and a T-shirt, she walked back out to the enticing whistle of the tea kettle. As she poured the water over the bag, she heard the muted gunfire from Zack’s game. Curious and wanting to at least broach the topic to see how he’d respond, she was unable to keep her frustration to herself.
“What did you do for dinner?” she asked.
“Haven’t eaten yet,” he said, not bothering to look away from the television. “Were you going to make something?”
She glared at the back of his head and, for a moment, wondered what Ellington was doing. She doubted that he played videogames like some loser locked in his childhood. She waited a moment, letting her rage pass, and then took a step into the living room.
“No, I’m not making anything. What have you been doing all afternoon?”
She could hear his sigh even over the explosions from the game. Zack paused the game and finally turned to look at her. “And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It was just a question,” she said. “I asked what you had been doing this afternoon. If you hadn’t been playing your little game, maybe you could have made dinner. Or at the very least picked up a pizza or something.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, sarcastically and with volume. “How am I supposed to know when you’re going to get home? You never communicate that stuff with me.”
“Well, call and ask,” she snapped.
“What the hell for?” Zack asked, dropping the controller and getting to his feet. “The few times I do bother calling you at work, the call goes straight to your voicemail and you never call me back.”
“That’s because I’m working, Zack,” she said.
“I work, too,” he said. “I bust my ass at that damn factory. You have no idea how hard I work.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “But tell me this: when was the last time you saw me just sitting on my ass? I come home and I’m usually faced with your dirty clothes on the floor or dirty dishes in the sink. And you know what, Zack? I work hard, too. I work damn hard and I have to see shit on a day-to-day basis that would make you crumble. I don’t need to come home to a little boy playing video games and asking what we’re having for dinner.”
“Little boy?” he asked, nearly shouting now.
Mackenzie hadn’t meant to go that far, but there it was. It was a plain and simple truth she’d been holding in for months now and now that it was out, she felt relieved.
“That’s how it seems sometimes,” she said.
“You bitch.”
Mackenzie shook her head and took a step back. “You have three seconds to take that back,” she said.
“Oh, go to hell,” Zack said, coming around the couch and approaching her. She could tell he wanted to get in her face, but he knew better than to do that. He knew that she could easily take him in a fight; it was something that he had no problem telling her whenever he vented about things that made him unhappy in their relationship.
“Excuse me?” Mackenzie asked, almost hoping that he’d get aggressive and get in her face. And as she felt that, she felt something else with absolutely clarity: their relationship was over.
“You heard me,” he said. “You’re not happy, and neither am I. It’s been that way for a while, Mackenzie. And quite frankly, I’m tired of putting up with it. I’m tired of coming second and I know I can’t compete with your work.”
She said nothing, not wanting to say anything else to provoke him. Maybe she’d get lucky and this argument would be over soon, bringing them to the end they both wanted without an extensive knock-down-drag-out fight.
In the end, all she said was, “You’re right. I’m not happy. Right now, I have no time for a live-in boyfriend. And I certainly don’t have time for arguments like this one.”
“Well then, sorry to waste your time,” Zack said quietly. He picked up his beer bottle, gulped down what remained in it, and set it hard on the table—so hard that Mackenzie thought the glass might break.
“I think you should leave for now,” Mackenzie said. She held eye contact with him, holding his gaze so he’d know this was non-negotiable. They’d had fights in the past where he’d almost packed his things and left. But this time, it needed to happen. This time, she’d make sure there were no apologies, no makeup sex, no manipulative conversations about how they needed each other.
Zack finally looked away from her and when he did, he looked furious. Still, he made sure to leave a few inches between them when he stomped past her and toward the bedroom. Mackenzie listened to him go, standing in the kitchen and idly stirring her tea.
So this is what I’ve become, she thought. Alone, cold, and emotionless.
She frowned, hating the inevitability of it all. She’d once had a mentor who had warned her about this—how if she pursued a career in law enforcement with high ambition, her life would become too busy and hectic for anything resembling a healthy relationship.
After a few minutes, Mackenzie heard Zack start muttering to himself. As drawers in the bedroom opened and closed, she heard the terms fucking bitch, work obsessed, and heartless fucking robot.
The words hurt (she didn’t try to pretend to be so hardened that they didn’t), but she shrugged them off. Instead of focusing on them, she started cleaning up the mess Zack had accumulated during the day. She cleaned up empty beer bottles,
a few dirty dishes, and a pair of dirty socks as the man who had created the mess—a man she had, at one time, fallen in love with—continued to curse and call her names from the bedroom.
*
Zack was gone by 8:30 and Mackenzie was in bed an hour later. She checked her e-mail, seeing a few reports flying back and forth between Nelson and other officers, but there was nothing that needed her immediate attention. Satisfied that she might actually get a handful of uninterrupted hours of sleep, Mackenzie cut off her bedside lamp and closed her eyes.
Experimentally, she reached out and felt the empty side of the bed. Having Zack’s side of the bed empty wasn’t too jarring because he was often not there when she went to sleep because of his work shifts. But now, knowing that he was gone for good, the bed seemed much larger. As she stretched out and felt that empty side of the bed, she wondered when she had fallen out of love with him. It had been at least a month, she knew that for sure. But she’d said nothing in the hopes that whatever had existed between them might resurface.
Instead, things had gotten worse. She often thought that Zack had sensed her becoming more distant as her feelings had died down. But Zack was not the type to acknowledge such a thing. He avoided conflict at all costs and, as much as she hated to admit it, she was pretty sure he would have stuck around for as long as possible just because he feared change and was too lazy to move out.
As she sorted through all of these things, her cell phone rang. Great, she thought. So much for sleep.
She switched her lamp back on, fully expecting to see Nelson’s or Porter’s number on her display. Or maybe it would be Zack, calling to ask her if he could please come back. Instead, she saw a number she did not recognize.
“Hello?” she said, doing her best not to sound tired.
“Hi, Detective White,” a man’s voice said. “This is Jared Ellington.”
