by Blake Pierce
“I hear that,” he said. “Same thing here. My folks were good people but I became a teenager and started acting like a teenager and then they sort of shrugged me off. I wasn’t Christian enough for them. Liked girls a little too much. That sort of thing.”
Mackenzie said nothing because she was in a bit of shock. It was the most he had said about himself since she had known him—and it had all come in a sudden, unexpected, twelve-second burst.
Then, before she was aware that she was even doing it, she spoke up again. And when the words were out of her mouth, she almost felt like she had vomited.
“My mom sort of did that to me,” she said. “I got older and she saw that she wasn’t really in control of me anymore. And if she couldn’t control me, then she didn’t want much to do with me. But when she lost that control over me, she lost control over just about everything else, too.”
“Ah, aren’t parents grand?” Bryers said.
“In their own special way.”
“How about your father?” Bryers asked.
The question was like a sting to the heart but she again surprised herself by answering. “He’s dead,” she said with a crisp tone to her voice. Still, a part of her wanted to tell him about her father’s death and how she had discovered the body.
While their time apart had seemed to improve their working relationship, she still wasn’t quite ready to share those wounds with Bryers. Still, despite her cold answer, Bryers now seemed much more open, talkative, and willing to engage. She wondered if it was because he was now working with her with the assurance and blessing of those that supervised him.
“Sorry to hear it,” he said, passing over it in a way that let her know he’d picked up on her unwillingness to talk about it. “My folks…they didn’t understand why I wanted this for a job. Of course, they were very strict Christians. When I told them that I did not believe in God when I was seventeen, they basically gave up on me. Since then, I’ve seen both of my parents to the grave. Dad hung in there for about six years after mom passed. Dad and I made some unstable sort of peace after mom died. We were friendly again before he died of lung cancer in 2013.”
“At least you got a chance to patch things up,” Mackenzie said.
“True,” he said.
“Did you ever get married? Any kids?”
“I was married for seven years. I got two daughters out of it. One is in college in Texas right now. The other is somewhere in California. She stopped talking to me ten years ago, right after she left high school, got knocked up and engaged to a twenty-six-year-old.”
She nodded, finding the conversation too awkward to continue. It was odd that he was opening up to her in such a way, but she appreciated it. Some of what he had told her made some sense, though. Bryers was a fairly solitary man, and that lined up with having had a strained relationship with his parents.
The information about two daughters that he rarely spoke to, though—that had been a huge revelation. It made some sort of sense as to why he was so open with her and why he seemed to enjoy working with her.
The next two hours were filled with scant conversation, mostly about the case at hand and Mackenzie’s time in the academy. It was nice to have someone to talk to about such things and it made her feel a little guilty for shutting him down he had asked about her father.
It was another hour and fifteen minutes before Mackenzie started seeing signs announcing the exit for Strasburg. Mackenzie could practically feel the air within the car shifting as they both switched gears, tucking personal matters away and focusing solely on the job at hand.
Six minutes later, Bryers turned the sedan onto the Strasburg exit. When they entered the town, Mackenzie felt herself tense up. But it was a good sort of tension—the same kind she had felt as she had stepped into the parking lot the night before graduation with the paintball gun in her hand.
She had arrived. Not just in Strasburg, but into a stage of her life she had dreamed about ever since taking her first demeaning desk job back in Nebraska before she’d been given a proper chance.
My God, she thought. Was that only five and a half years ago?
Yes, it was. And now that she was literally being driven toward the realization of all of those dreams, the five years that separated that desk job from the current moment in the passenger seat of Bryers’s car seemed like a barricade of sorts that kept those two sides of her apart. And that was just as well as far as Mackenzie was concerned. Her past had never done anything but hold her back, and now that she had finally seemed to outrun it, she was glad to leave it dead and rotting in the past.
She saw the sign for Little Hill State Park, and as he slowed the car, her heart quickened. Here she was. Her first case while officially on the job. All eyes would be on her, she knew.
The time had come.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Mackenzie stepped out of the car in the Little Hill State Park visitor’s lot, she braced herself, feeling immediately the tension of murder in the air. She did not understand how she could sense it, but she could. It was a sort of sixth sense she had that sometimes she wished she hadn’t. No one else she had ever worked with seemed to have it, too.
In a way, she realized, they were lucky. It was a blessing, but also a curse.
They walked across the lot and to the visitor’s center. While fall had not yet fully gripped Virginia yet, it was making its presence known early. The leaves all around them were beginning to turn, teasing an array of reds, yellows, and golds. A security shack sat behind the center, and a bored-looking woman regarded them from the shack with a wave.
The visitor’s center was a lackluster tourist trap at best. A few clothing racks displayed T-shirts and water bottles. A small shelf along the right side contained maps of the area and a few brochures on fishing tips. In the center of it all was a single older woman a few years beyond retirement, smiling at them from behind a counter.
“You folks are with the FBI, right?” the woman asked.
“That’s right,” Mackenzie said.
The woman gave a quick nod and picked up the landline phone sitting behind the counter. She punched a number in from a scrap of paper sitting by the phone. As she waited, Mackenzie turned away and Bryers followed.
“You said you haven’t spoken directly with the Strasburg PD, right?” she asked.
Bryers shook his head.
“Are we walking in as friends or an obstacle?”
“I guess we’ll have to see.”
Mackenzie nodded as they turned back to the counter. The woman had just hung up the phone and was looking to them again.
“Sheriff Clements will be here in about ten minutes. He’d like for you to meet him at the guard shack outside.”
They walked back outside and headed for the guard shack. Again, Mackenzie found herself nearly hypnotized by the colors blooming on the trees. She walked slowly, taking it all in.
“Hey, White?” Bryers said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“You’re trembling. A little pale. As a seasoned FBI agent, my hunch is that you’re nervous—very nervous.”
She clenched her hands together tightly, aware that there was indeed a slight tremor in her hands. Yes, she was nervous but she had hoped she was hiding it. Apparently, she was doing a very poor job.
“Look. You’re into the real deal now. You can be nervous. But work with it. Don’t fight it or hide it. I know that sounds counterintuitive but you have to trust me on this.”
She nodded, a little embarrassed.
They continued on without saying another word, the wild colors of the trees around them seeming to press in. Mackenzie looked ahead to the guard shack, eyeing the bar that hung from the shack and across the road. As cheesy as it seemed, she could not help but feel her future was waiting for her on the other side of that bar and she found herself equally intimidated and anxious to cross it.
Within seconds, they both heard the small engine noise. Almost immediately af
ter that, a golf cart came into view, coming around the bend. It looked to be going at top speed and the man behind the wheel was practically hunched over it, as if willing the cart to go faster.
The cart sped forward and Mackenzie got her first glimpse of the man she assumed to be Sheriff Clements. He was a forty-something hard-ass. He had the glassy stare of a man who had been dealt a rough hand in life. His black hair was just beginning to go gray at the temples and he had the sort of five o’clock shadow bordering his face that looked like it was probably always there.
Clements parked the cart, barely regarded the guard in the shack, and walked around the bar to meet Mackenzie and Bryers.
“Agents White and Bryers,” Mackenzie said, offering her hand.
Clements took it and shook it passively. He did the same to Bryers before turning his attention back to the paved trail he had just come down.
“If I’m being honest,” Clements said, “while I certainly appreciate the bureau’s interest, I’m not so sure we need the assistance.”
“Well, we’re here now, so we may as well see if we can lend a hand,” Bryers said, being as friendly as he could.
“Well then, hop on the cart and let’s see,” Clements said. Mackenzie was trying her best to size him up as they loaded up on the cart. Her main concern from the start was trying to determine if Clements was simply under immense stress or if he was just as ass by nature.
She rode alongside Clements in the front of the cart while Bryers clung to the back. Clements did not say a single word. It fact, it seemed like he was making an effort to let them both know that he felt inconvenienced by having to usher them around.
After a minute or so, Clements swerved the cart to the right where the paved road forked off. Here, the pavement ended and became an even thinner trail that barely allowed for the width of the cart.
“So what instructions has the guard at the guard shack been given?” Mackenzie asked.
“No one comes through,” Clements said. “Not even park rangers or cops unless I’ve given prior permission. We already have enough people farting around out here, making things harder than it has to be.”
Mackenzie took the not-too-subtle jab and tucked it away. She wasn’t about to get into an argument with Clements before she and Bryers had gotten a chance to check out the crime scene.
Roughly five minutes later, Clements hit the brakes. He stepped out even before the cart had come to a complete stop. “Come on,” he said, like he was talking to a child. “This way.”
Mackenzie and Bryers stepped down from the cart. All around them, the forest loomed high over them. It was beautiful but filled with a sort of thick silence that Mackenzie had come to recognize as an omen of sorts—a signal that there was bad blood and bad news in the air.
Clements led them into the woods, walking quickly ahead of them. There was no real trail to speak of. Here and there Mackenzie could see signs of old footpaths winding through the foliage and around the trees but that was it. Without realizing she was doing so, she took the lead in front of Bryers as she tried to keep up with Clements. On occasion, she had to swat away a low-hanging branch or wipe away stray strands of cobwebs from her face.
After walking for two or three minutes, she started to hear several mingled voices. The sounds of movement grew louder and she started to understand what Clements had been talking about; even without seeing the scene, Mackenzie could tell that it was going to be overcrowded.
She saw proof of this less than a minute later as the scene came into view. Crime scene tape and small border flags had been set up in a large triangular shape within the forest. Among the yellow tape and red flags, Mackenzie counted eight people, Clements included. She and Bryers would make ten.
“See what I mean?” Clements asked.
Bryers came up beside Mackenzie and sighed. “Well, this is a mess.”
Before stepping forward, Mackenzie did her best to survey the scene. Of the eight men, four were local PD, easily identified by their uniforms. There were two others that were in uniforms but of a different kind—state PD, Mackenzie assumed. Beyond that, though, she took in the scene itself rather than let the bickering distract her.
The location seemed to be random. There were no points of interest, no items that might be seen as symbolic. It was just like any other section of these forests in every way Mackenzie could see. She guessed that they were about a mile or so off of the central trail. The trees were not particularly thick here, but there was a sense of isolation all around her.
With the scene thoroughly taken in, she looked to the bickering men. A few looked agitated and one or two looked angry. Two of them weren’t wearing any sort of uniform or outfit to denote their profession.
“Who are the guys not in uniform?” Mackenzie asked.
“Not sure,” Bryers said.
Clements turned to them with a scowl on his face. “Park rangers,” he said. “Joe Andrews and Charlie Holt. Shit like this happens and they think they’re the police.”
One of the rangers looked up with venom in his eyes. Mackenzie was pretty sure Clements had nodded this man’s way when he’d said Joe Andrews. “Watch yourself, Clements. This is a state park,” Andrews said. “You’ve got about as much authority out here as a gnat.”
“That might be,” Clements said. “But you know as well as I do that all I have to do is make a single call to the precinct and get some wheels moving. I can have you out of here within an hour, so just do whatever it is you need to do and get your ass out of here.”
“You self-righteous little fu—”
“Come on,” a third man said. This was one of the state cops. The man was built like a mountain and wore sunglasses that made him look like the villain from a bad ’80s action movie. “I have the authority to throw both of you out of here. So stop acting like children and do your jobs.”
This man noticed Mackenzie and Bryers for the first time. He walked over to them and shook his head almost apologetically.
“Sorry you’re having to hear all of this nonsense,” he said as he approached. “I’m Roger Smith with the state police. Some scene we’ve got here, huh?”
“That’s what we’re here to figure out,” Bryers said.
Smith turned back to the seven others and used a booming voice when he said: “Step back and let the feds do their thing.”
“What about our thing?” the other ranger asked. Charlie Holt, Mackenzie remembered. He looked to Mackenzie and Bryers with suspicion. Mackenzie thought he even looked a little timid and afraid around them. When Mackenzie looked his way, he looked to the ground, bending over to pick up an acorn. He moved the acorn from hand to hand, then started to pick at the top of it.
“You’ve had enough time,” Smith said. “Just back up for a second, would you?”
Everyone did as asked. The rangers in particular looked unhappy about it. Doing everything she could to ease the situation, Mackenzie figured it would help if she tried involving the rangers as much as possible so tempers didn’t flare.
“What sort of information do rangers typically need to pull from something like this?” she asked the rangers as she ducked under the crime scene tape and started to look around. She saw a marker where the leg had been found, marked as such on a small clapboard marker. A good distance away she saw another marker where the remainder of the body had been found.
“We need to know how long to keep the park closed down for one thing,” Andrews said. “As selfish as it might sound, this park accounts for a pretty good chunk of tourism revenue.”
“You’re right,” Clements spoke up. “That does sound selfish.”
“Well, I think we’re allowed to be selfish from time to time,” Charlie Holt said rather defensively. He then regarded Mackenzie and Bryers with a stare of contempt.
“Why’s that?” Mackenzie asked.
“Do either of you happen to know what sort of crap we have to put up with out here?” Holt asked.
“No, actually,” Bryers asked.
“Teenagers having sex,” Holt said. “Full-blown orgies from time to time. Weird Wicca practices. I’ve even caught some drunk guy out here getting frisky with a stump—and I’m talking pants all the way down. These are the stories the Staties laugh about and the local PD just use as fodder for jokes on the weekends.” He bent down and picked up another acorn, picking at it like he did with the first one.
“Oh,” added Joe Andrews. “And then there’s catching a father in the act of molesting his eight-year-old-daughter just off of a fishing path and having to stop it. And what thanks do I get? The girl yelling at me to leave her daddy alone and then a firm warning from local and state PD to not be so rough next time. So yeah…we can be selfish about our authority from time to time.”
The forest went quiet then, broken only by one of the other local cops as they made a dismissive laughing sound and said: “Yeah. Authority. Right.”
Both rangers stared the man down with extreme hatred. Andrews took a step forward, looking as if he might explode from rage. “Fuck you,” he said simply.
“I said stop this nonsense,” Officer Smith said. “One more time and every single one of you are out of here. You got it?”
Apparently, they did. The forest fell into silence again. Bryers stepped behind the tape with Mackenzie and when everyone else busied themselves behind them, he leaned over to her. She felt Charlie Holt’s eyes on her and it made her want to punch him.
“This could get ugly,” Bryers said quietly. “Let’s do our best to get out of here post-haste, what do you say?”
She went to work then, combing the area and taking mental notes. Bryers had stepped out of the crime scene and was resting against a tree as he coughed into his arm. She did her best not to let this distract her, though. She kept her eyes to the ground, studying the foliage, the ground, and the trees. The one thing that made little sense to her was how a body in such bad shape had been discovered here. It was hard to tell how long ago the murder had occurred or the body had been dumped; the ground itself showed no signs of the brutal act being carried out.
