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

by Blake Pierce

  “Anything bigger than that?”

  “No. Not that I can remember.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Hooks. You’ve been very helpful. I feel pretty confident that you’ll be out of here in no time.”

  He nodded, as confused as ever. Mackenzie gave him a final look as she left the room, closing the door behind him. The moment she was outside of the interrogation room, Nelson came out of the review room a few doors down. He looked flustered as he approached her and she could feel the tension coming off of him in waves.

  “Well, that was quick,” he said.

  “He’s not the killer,” Mackenzie said.

  “And how the hell are you so sure?” he asked.

  “With all due respect, sir, did you even ask him about the rope?”

  “We did,” Nelson snapped. “He spouted off some story about needing it for Vacation Bible School at his church.”

  “Did anyone bother to check on that?”

  “I’m waiting on a call at any moment,” he said. “I sent a car out there about half an hour ago.”

  “Sir, his church is about fifteen minutes away from the site in question. He said he had plans to preach on the Cities of Refuge sometime soon.”

  “Seems convenient, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” she said. “But when is such a weak connection grounds for an arrest?”

  Nelson scowled at her and placed his hands on his hips. “I knew it was a mistake to bring you in. Are you determined to draw this out as long as you can? Do you want the attention so you can stay in the headlines?”

  Mackenzie couldn’t help herself when she took a step forward, her anger rising up. “Please tell me that’s just the frustration talking,” she said. “I’d like to think you have a better head on your shoulders than to think such a thing.”

  “Check your tone, Mackenzie,” he said. “Right now, you’re just off this case. Get in my face again, I’ll suspend you indefinitely.”

  A tense silence fell between them that lasted only three seconds, interrupted by the ringing of Nelson’s cell phone. He broke his gaze with Mackenzie, turned his back to her, and answered it.

  Mackenzie stood there and listened to his end of the conversation, hoping whatever the call was about, it might help to clear things up and free Pastor Hooks.

  “What is it?” Nelson asked, his back still turned. “Yeah? Okay….you’re certain? Well shit. Yeah…got it.”

  When Nelson turned back to her, he looked like he wanted to throw his cell phone down the hall. His cheeks had taken on a bright red color and he looked absolutely defeated.

  “What is it?” Mackenzie asked.

  Nelson hesitated, looking to the ceiling and letting out a sigh. It was very much the posture of someone that was about to eat a large helping of humble pie.

  “The rope in his truck is an exact match to rope used to create stage designs for Vacation Bible School at Grace Creek Baptist. More than that, there were printed papers and handwritten notes in a small office in the back of the church that show where Hooks is indeed planning a sermon on the Cities of Refuge.”

  It took every ounce of her will to not make a comment about how he and his officers had been wrong—how they had been so eager to wrap this case up without the help of the State or the FBI that they had arrested a man that had no business ever being cuffed.

  “So he’s good to go?” Mackenzie said.

  “Yes. He checks out.”

  She allowed herself a thin smile. “Should you tell him, or should I?”

  Nelson looked like his head might explode at any moment. “You do it,” he said. “And when you’re done, please promptly get the hell out of here. It might be best that you and I don’t speak for a day or so.”

  Gladly, she thought.

  She turned back to the interrogation room, glad to be out of Nelson’s sight. When she closed the door behind her, Hooks looked up to her with hope in those dark brown eyes.

  “You’re free to go.”

  He nodded appreciatively, breathed deeply, and said: “Thank you.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you one more question before you go?” she asked.

  “That would be fine.”

  “Why would God designate cities for sinners to escape to? Isn’t it sort of God’s job to punish sinners?”

  “That’s up for debate. My own belief is that God wanted to see his children succeed. He wanted to allow them the chance to get right with him.”

  “And these sinners believed they could find God in these cities? They thought they could find favor with him there?”

  “In a way, yes. But they also knew that God is at the center of all things. It was just up to them to seek Him. And these cities were the designated places for them to do that.”

  Mackenzie chewed this over as she headed for the door. She walked Hooks through the motions of checking out but her mind was elsewhere. She thought about six cities located in a circle and how a sometimes wrathful but ultimately forgiving God oversaw it all.

  How had Hooks put it?

  But they also knew that God is at the center of all things.

  Suddenly, Mackenzie felt as if a filter had been removed from her mind’s eye. With that single comment floating in her head, the connection she had nearly made in the interrogation room snapped into place.

  Five minutes later, she was speeding back home, letting that single thought wash over every corner of her mind.

  God is at the center of all things.

  The clock on her dashboard read 8:46, but Mackenzie knew her night was just getting started.

  Because, if she was correct, she knew how to find where the killer lived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  As soon as she returned home, Mackenzie immediately went to the couch and hurried to the clutter of paperwork she had left on the coffee table. It was ironic in a way; she’d thought the house would be tidier after Zack had left, but instead, her work clutter had replaced his mess. For just a moment, she wondered where he was and what he was doing. But the thought lasted only a handful of seconds. It was replaced by the thought that had escorted her home, still whirling through her head like a stray breeze across a desert floor.

  God is at the center of all things.

  She scoured through the papers on the table and came to the two maps—the Old Testament Cities of Refuge map and the local one showing the area within one hundred miles. She overlaid them against one another and looked at them contemplatively. She then focused on the local map and stared at the Xs she had placed there with a black Sharpie, tracing them with her finger. She then encompassed the Xs, connecting them all with a line and drawing the implied circle that the locations made.

  With the circle drawn, she turned her attention to the inside of the circle. Grabbing the nearest pen, she traced a faint line from each of the six “cities” like spokes on a wheel from the edges of the circle.

  God is at the center of all things.

  The lines all met in the center of the circle. She drew another, much smaller circle where all of the lines connected. It encompassed a section of the downtown district not too far away from where they had apprehended Clive Traylor a few days ago. Along the very edge of this new smaller circle she saw the squiggly line that indicated a river—in this case, Danvers River, the little waterway that etched its way through a park downtown, along the backside of several rundown downtown properties and then eventually emptied out into Sapphire Lake.

  It was hard to tell from the map, but she was pretty sure her new circle included two or three different streets and a small cluster of forest that separated the western downtown region from the edge of Sapphire Lake.

  This was the center of the killings—the central point that existed between the killer’s sites, so-called cities. If this man felt that he was, in a way, God, or working under the guidance of God, then he probably thought he existed in the center of it all. And if God was at the center of all things, this central point was very likely his home.

/>   She simply sat there for a moment, a familiar twinge of excitement starting to bloom in her heart. She knew she had a decision to make and that it could very well decide the outcome of her career. She could call Nelson and give him this bit of information, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t take her call. And even if he took her seriously, she feared that the idea would be placed on the back burner.

  The site they had discovered with the pole already in place meant that the killer had been on the verge of striking again. What if he already had a woman ready for his next sacrifice? And what if he had to think outside of the box since his other three murder sites were under surveillance?

  To hell with it, she thought.

  Mackenzie jumped to her feet, brushing much of the paperwork off of the table in her hurry and excitement. She went into the bedroom to retrieve her service pistol and as she holstered it to her belt, her cell phone rang. The sudden and unexpected sound of it made her jump slightly and she had to take a moment to calm her nerves before answering it. Looking at the display, she saw that it was Ellington again.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Oh wow,” Ellington said. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer. I was just going to leave a message letting you know I was turning in for the night and for you to call me tomorrow with news on the arrest. Are you not there yet?”

  “Oh, I’ve gone and already come back. It wasn’t the killer.”

  He paused.

  “And you found that out in less than half an hour?”

  “Yes. It was obvious. Nelson and his men, they, well, they weren’t exactly on top of things.”

  “Too eager to make an arrest?”

  “Something like that,” she said as she finished holstering the gun.

  “You okay?” Ellington asked. “You sound really rushed.”

  She almost didn’t tell him—she almost kept her new theory quiet. If she turned out to be wrong on this, it could turn out very badly—especially if someone knew what she was up to beforehand. Yet, on the other hand, she felt that she was not wrong; she felt it in her heart, her gut, her bones. And if she was missing something or jumping to conclusion, Ellington was the most logical person she knew.

  “White?”

  “I think I figured something out,” Mackenzie said. “About the killer. About where he lives.”

  “What?” He sounded shocked. “How’s that?”

  She quickly told him about her conversation with Pastor Hooks and how she had located the center of things with the map. As she spoke it out loud, she became ever more convinced that this was it. This was finally the right path that would lead them to the killer.

  When she was done, there was silence on the line for a moment. She braced herself, expecting the usual criticism she always received.

  “You think it’s flawed?” she asked.

  “No. Not at all. I think it’s genius.”

  She was surprised herself, and felt motivated.

  “What did Nelson say?” he asked.

  “I haven’t called him. I’m not going to.”

  “You have to,” he urged.

  “No I don’t. He doesn’t want me on the case. And after the exchange we had at the station, I doubt he’d even take my call.”

  “Well then let me shoot the lead to the State guys.”

  “Too risky,” she said. “If it turns out to be a dead end, who does the blame come back to? You? Me? Either scenario would not be good.”

  “That’s true,” Ellington said. “But what if it’s not a dead end? What if you apprehend the killer? You’ll have to call Nelson anyway.”

  “But at least I’ll have results. And as long as I catch the bastard, I really don’t care what my consequences are.”

  “Look,” he said sounding frustrated, “you can’t do this. Not alone.”

  “I have to,” she said. “We have no idea when he’s going to kill again. I can’t sit on this until Nelson is ready to talk to me again or until your guys decide it’s worth their time to come down here.”

  “I could present the idea as my own,” Ellington said. “Maybe that would speed things up on the Bureau end.”

  “I thought of that,” Mackenzie said. “But when’s the soonest you’d have agents out here?”

  His sigh from the other end told her he knew she was right.

  “Probably about five or six hours,” he answered. “And that’s being optimistic.”

  “So you see my point.”

  “And you see how you’re putting me in an awkward position,” he countered. “If you go out there and something happens to you, I have to say something to my supervisor. If you get harmed or killed and it’s discovered that I knew about your plan, that’s my ass on the line.”

  “I guess I just have to make sure I don’t get hurt or killed.”

  “Damn it, White—”

  “Thanks for the concern, Ellington. But this has to be done now.”

  She ended the call before he could say anything else that might sway her out of her decision. Even now with the call ended, she wondered if this was being too reckless. She’d be on her own, venturing into darkness with specific orders not to get involved in the case. Worse than that, she’d potentially be on the turf of a killer they knew very little about.

  She walked through the living room and out the front door before she could change her mind. Breathing in the crisp night air seemed to push aside any doubt. She ran her hand along the shape of the pistol holstered in her belt and it calmed her a bit.

  Wasting no more time, she dashed to her car and started the ignition. She peeled out of her driveway and headed west, the night unrolling before her like some dark curtain on a stage that was finally about to open.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  She’d listened to him rummaging around in the house all day. On occasion, he’d sing hymns, one of which she knew from sitting on her grandmother’s lap in a small pew in a rural Baptist church. She was pretty sure it was called “How Great Thou Art.” Each time he hummed it she felt a fresh wave of nausea and fear, knowing what he had done to her—and what he would do.

  As she’d listened to his singing and movements, she’d tried to get to her feet again. If she’d had on clothes, it would have been easier. She’d managed to roll to the far wall, place her back against it, and slowly lift herself up. Even then, though, her calves started to stretch and burn due to her ankles being so tightly tied together. Because she had worked up such a sweat by that point, her back would slip against the wall and she’d slip right back to the ground on her backside.

  Now, wrists bleeding from the abrasions the ropes had etched into her skin, she backed up against the wall again. Her legs felt like putty and the scratches she’d gotten along her back stung like bee stings. Whimpering, she tried again, pushing against the wall while she pushed herself up by her feet. When she reached the point where her ankles and calves started to burn, she simply forced herself through the pain and extended her legs.

  As she stood up fully, her legs wobbled and she almost fell right away. But she pressed against the wall and managed to keep her balance.

  Okay, now what?

  She didn’t know. She was just relieved to finally be on her feet. She figured if she could get through the doorway a few feet to her right, she might be able to find a phone and call the police. She’d heard him open the door and close it all day. She supposed he was going outside for small periods of time and coming back in. If she could get just a glimpse of what was going on elsewhere in the house, maybe she could get out of this alive.

  She slunk against the wall and made it to the doorway. Her skin broke out into goose bumps as sweat coated her body. She felt her body trembling and she wanted to cry, to sink back to the floor. She scanned the room, looking for any sharp instrument with which she could sever her wrist ties.

  But there was none.

  She felt like giving up. This was too much, she though, too hard.

  With her back to the door, she fumbled fo
r the doorknob. When she had it in her hands, she turned it slowly. There was a slight click as the tumbler removed itself from the doorframe.

  She stepped away from the door, letting it slowly swing open. She could feel the fresh air from the other side of the door and she wondered if anything had ever felt so good in her life.

  She turned around slowly, trying to move as quietly as she could. She’d find a phone to call someone, or an open window. Sure, her hands and legs were tied up but she’d risk a fall just to get out of here.

  But when she fully turned, facing the doorway, he was standing there.

  Her scream was blocked by the cloth gag over her mouth. He smiled at her and stepped into the room. He placed a hand on her bare shoulder and caressed her there. Then, with his smile widening, he shoved her. She went sprawling to the ground and when she did, her shoulder bounced awkwardly. She screamed again and it turned into a deep sob.

  “You’ll be free soon enough,” he told her.

  He got down on his knees and again placed a hand on her shoulder, as if for reassurance.

  “We’ll both be free, and it will be glorious.”

  He left the room and when he closed it, she could hear an additional clicking noise as he set the lock. She wept, feeling like she might suffocate because of the gag. And all the while, he moved around downstairs, singing hymns to the same God that she found herself desperately praying to on his dusty floor.

  *

  He did not like working under pressure. He also did not like change, especially when things had been so carefully planned and thought out. Yet here he was, having to alter his plans halfway through his work. There were three more cities to raise, three more sacrifices. One was propped and ready to go but he still had no idea how he would carry out the other two.

  For now, he had to take it one step at a time. For now, the fourth city was all he was concerned about.

  He thought he’d adjusted well in light of recent events. It had been the work of God that he had driven by the planned site of the fourth city just in time to see the police presence. The men of the world were on to him and would do whatever they could to stop his work. But God, sovereign and all-knowing, was protecting him. He had prayed then, and God had told him that it was the work that mattered, not the location of the sacrifice.