by Blake Pierce
He looked up to her with a strange look that was like some sort of pleading rage. “It’s not like that. He’s…he’s helping—”
“Who? And why on God’s green earth have you been helping?”
He shook his head again.
“How do you do it, Will? How do you select the people this man kills? What made Brian Woerner a candidate? Will…you know who the killer is, don’t you? You’ve been helping him.”
“I…had to. It’s important. What he’s doing…so important. And he…he would hurt me.”
“Will…whether he thinks it’s important or not, it’s wrong. He’s killing people. He’s butchering them. And you’re assisting him!”
He just shook his head, silent.
“You have to tell us who it is,” Mackenzie said. “You have to help us find him.”
But he remained silent.
She felt anger flaring up, felt the darkness wanting to rush in and take over. But she had finally gotten through to him. She knew the make-up of this sort of person; he’d been stolen and then effectively brainwashed by his captor. If she lost her temper with him, he’d shut down completely.
“Put me in jail if you need to,” he said. He was still weeping, but his voice was calm. Almost at peace. “Do anything you feel you have to do. But I am not going to talk anymore.”
She knew she had to step away. She’d already blown his cover and spoiled his fake identity. She had, in a very skewed way, upended his life in that moment. After such a traumatic event, she knew that he was not likely to give up anything else. With his cover blown, what else did he have to lose? Just one thing, apparently…the identity of the killer. And she was pretty sure he would hold on to that for dear life.
“Fine, Will,” she said. “But I want you to think about it long and hard. I want you to think about the scenes you have seen out in the forests…the work of the man you are protecting. The blood he has spilled and the sorrow he has caused is on your hands, too. You can make amends for it by doing the right thing.”
Again, Will Albrecht shook his head.
Slowly, Mackenzie headed back toward the door. She exited the interrogation room and when she was back outside in the hallway, she started clenching and unclenching her fists. Anger and logic were doing battle and in that moment, she didn’t honestly care which one came out the victor.
Clements came rushing to meet her. His eyes were wild with excitement.
“Holy shit,” he said. “You were right.”
“But there’s still a killer out there,” she said, “and if Will doesn’t talk, we’re no closer to finding him.”
From inside her pocket, her phone buzzed. She slid it out and looked at the display.
It was McGrath.
Her heart dropped in her chest as she wondered what he might be calling about. Instantly, she thought about her trip to Nebraska and how she had lied to him about the reasons behind it.
“Sorry,” she said to Clements. “I have to take this.”
She stepped away, took a deep breath, and then answered. “This is Agent White.”
“Mackenzie,” he said. “Are you in Strasburg?”
“Yes, sir. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to make sure since you apparently have a habit of lying to your superiors about why you are traveling certain places.”
“Sir, I—”
“Shut up. For once, be quiet, White. I’ve got one hell of a bone to pick with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“I’m listening,” she said. She hated that she was instantly nervous. She had a feeling she knew what this was about and figured she deserved whatever consequence came her way.
“Your trip to Nebraska,” he said. “I have it on good authority that you were not completely honest with me. Do you want to come clean now or am I going to have to lecture and berate you?”
She didn’t see the point in lying or even hesitating. “Something happened down there. A new case that links to my father’s case. A PI down there clued me in to it. Sir…I don’t even know if I can explain why, but I had to check it out for myself before it landed on the desk of someone at the bureau.”
“And why is that?” McGrath asked.
“Because I knew the chances of me getting any sort of play on it were very slim. I had to have a look before I was basically shut off from it.”
McGrath was silent for a while and when he spoke again, his words came out slow and calculated. “I understand your need to look into it yourself. But if you ever lie to me again in such a way, I’ll make sure that you are stripped of your badge.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed, and a long pause followed. Mackenzie felt her heart thumping, wondering if she would lose her job before she even started.
“Look,” he finally said, his tone softened. “I’m sure I’ll regret this later but I’ll tell you what: you wrap this thing up with a nice bow before another body turns up and I’ll see what I can do about getting you on the case. It has, by the way, officially come through. As of tomorrow, it’s an active case. And if I put you on it, you have to keep a low profile…so don’t get too excited just yet.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. For now, just go out there and round us up this Campground Killer.”
He killed the call before she had time to give him any assurances. She pocketed her phone and walked quickly to the small break room. Smith and Bryers were sitting at a little table, sipping from Styrofoam cups of coffee. Mackenzie grabbed her own and then joined them.
“Smith,” she said, “I wonder if you’d do me a favor and let Bryers and I speak in private?”
Smith nodded and took his leave. He seemed almost happy to do so. He looked restless and tired as he made his exit.
“Everything okay?” Bryers asked as Mackenzie took her seat.
“Well, things are weird,” she said. “McGrath just called me. I don’t know how, but he somehow found out why I went back to Nebraska.”
“You think it was the PI you met with?”
“I can’t be sure, but I really don’t think so. But I can’t figure any other way he would have known.”
“Was he pissed?” Bryers asked.
“That’s just the thing,” Mackenzie said. “He certainly wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t nearly as upset as he usually is over insubordination. He even told me he’d put me on the case if I wanted it. But I had to be discreet about it.”
“That’s amazing,” Bryers said. “When is he sending you out there?”
She shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Because that’s a part of my past. A past I’ve spent my entire life trying to escape. This case feels like an undertow…pulling me back. And while part of me very badly wants to get back out there and figure out the connection to my father…the smarter part of me tells me to leave it alone.”
What she didn’t add was the harrowing thought that she had managed to get by just fine without the guidance or support of the rest of her family—why would leaving behind the mystery of her father’s death be any different?
There was, of course, the new revelations with her mother to be considered.
“That’s pretty remarkable of you,” Bryers said. “And if I may be so blunt, I think it’s the smartest decision. Nebraska and everything that happened there is in your past. What you’re doing now…well, it’s your present and your future. You’re damned good at what you do, Mac. I’m still floored at how you figured out Charlie Holt was really Will Albrecht. Never let your past pull you down or prevent you from going forward.” He stopped here and gave her a weak smile. “Take it from a dying man that doesn’t have time to fully appreciate his future.”
“Bryers, you can’t think like that,” she said. “It’s defeatist. It’s—”
A knock at the door interrupted her. Clements opened the door and stepped inside. He looked almost apolog
etic, as if he knew he was breaking up something important.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But we’re going to go ahead and put Albrecht in a cell for the night. Maybe he’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Mackenzie said. She couldn’t help but notice the shift in his demeanor. He had been a totally different man four days ago when she and Bryers had first walked in on the case. She wondered if it had been her effectiveness or the nature of the escalating case that had changed his demeanor.
“So you’re okay with us locking him up?” he asked.
“I think you have more than enough reason,” Mackenzie said. “I also think it might not hurt to send a few people over to his house to see if there’s anything there worth looking at. Will is our best bet to find this killer—and he may be our only chance.”
Clements nodded, gave a quick and gruff “Thanks” and then headed back out of the room.
When he was gone, Bryers got to his feet and stretched.
“Damn good work tonight, Mac,” he said. “How about we head on back to the motel and get some shut-eye? With Albrecht in a cell, there’s nothing much else we can do here until he decides to talk.”
She wanted to hang out to potentially question Will Albrecht some more. Surely he’d crack at some point. But she could leave instructions with Clements and his local boys to call her if that happened. For now, Bryers was right. She needed to sleep. She needed to recharge.
Bryers let out a mighty whooping cough that jarred Mackenzie to her bones. She frowned at him and, as a means to skimp on the nurturing sympathy she knew would make him uncomfortable, she shook her head.
“Jeez, Bryers,” she said. “You sound awful. I’m driving.”
She could see in his eyes that he appreciated the light-heartedness. “Probably a good idea,” he said.
She opened the door for him but kept her eyes to the floor, afraid her emotions might betray her that she’d start crying at any moment.
***
Although she was exhausted, Mackenzie lay in the darkness of her motel room and stared at the dark ceiling, unable to find sleep. She tried her best to keep her mind on the Little Hill case but images of that damned business card popped into her head again and again.
Barker Antiques, she thought. A place that apparently doesn’t even exist. What the hell?
In many ways, the inclusion of the business cards at the scenes of the deaths of her father and of Jimmy Scotts was very similar to what the killer was doing at Little Hill. He was butchering his victims and putting them on display. He wanted people to see the shape of the bodies. And the person leaving the business cards wanted to leave the clues in a subtle yet daring way.
But why?
With no answer to this question forthcoming, Mackenzie finally allowed herself the gift of sleep. She dreamed, but not the usual nightmare that plagued her. In this dream, she was standing in a house that she had never been in before but was filled with familiar shapes and angles. She held a sledgehammer in her hands and was tearing into the walls. Plaster came down like snow all around her. As she tore into yet another wall, she could see into the room beyond it. In it, she could Stephanie. She was screaming into a phone and although Mackenzie’s dream-self had no way of knowing this, she was certain that their mother was on the other end.
Stephanie saw Mackenzie looking through the jagged hole in the wall and came dashing to it. She held the phone out to Mackenzie with tears in her eyes.
“She wants to talk to you,” Stephanie said.
Mackenzie reached through the hole and took the phone.
That’s when she jerked awake in bed. She heard a phone ringing but was somehow sure that it was connected to the dream. But the familiar sounds of her basic ringtone coming from her phone finally pulled her completely out of sleep.
As she grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table, her sleep-smeared eyes took in the digital numbers on the alarm clock. 3:56.
She answered the call and didn’t do much to disguise the fact that she had just been torn from sleep. “Hello,” she said without opening her mouth much.
“Agent White?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“It’s Clements,” came the sheriff’s voice. “Sorry to call at such a crazy hour, but I think you might want to get down to the Strasburg PD.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“It’s Charlie Holt…or Will Albrecht, I guess.”
“What about him?” Mackenzie asked.
“He killed himself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
She arrived at the station, sans makeup or coffee, at 4:18. She was sure she’d catch hell from Bryers, but she had not called him. She wanted him to get his rest. Besides that, there really wasn’t much that they could do now that Albrecht had killed himself. No sense in stealing any of Bryers’s much-needed rest.
An ambulance was parked in the lot, just in front of the doors. The red lights on the roof were flashing, painting everything red.
Clements met her at the door, looking just as tired as she was. He had two cups of coffee in his hands, one of which he handed to Mackenzie.
“Where’s your partner?” he asked.
“I let him sleep,” she said, graciously accepting the coffee. “Nothing two people can do for a suicide that one can’t. How’d he do it?” she asked.
“Wrapped a bed sheet around his neck and hung himself. The medics damn near brought him back but we lost him about two minutes before I called you.”
He led her to the back of the building where there were three small holding cells. They consisted of bare concrete floors, a single cot, and a small table by the cot. The first one they came to was occupied by two paramedics and a dead body covered with a sheet on a gurney.
Mackenzie looked inside, confused. “How the hell did he manage to hang himself in there?”
One of the paramedics shook her head and said, “He didn’t hang himself per se. He choked himself. Tied one end of the sheet around his neck in some expert Boy Scout knot and the other to the foot of the cot. The cot is bolted to the wall so when he got on the floor and pulled forward, it didn’t budge.”
“That takes some determination,” Mackenzie said.
“You can say that again,” the paramedic said as they wheeled the gurney out of the cell. “You need the body for anything?”
“No,” Mackenzie said, disappointed. “I’m good.”
She then couldn’t help but wonder: What if he was the killer? What if the killer was caught, killed himself, and this case is over?
She wanted to feel relief at the thought but it wasn’t there. She knew Charlie/Will was not the killer. She just hoped it was a realization that Clements and Smith would also see.
“Sorry about this,” Clements said. “We don’t exactly keep security cameras on the cells or guards stationed outside of them. In a small city like this—”
“I know,” Mackenzie said. “And don’t be sorry. There’s no way you could have known.”
They walked to the small break room where the smell of freshly brewed coffee made Mackenzie realize that her first cup was nearly gone.
“So what now?” Clements asked. “If your theory is right and he was only working for someone was not the killer, this is a big setback, right?”
“Yes. But listen to me, Clements. The killer—the way he disposed of the bodies—speaks of arrogance. He wanted us to see his work. If Will Albrecht was indeed the killer, he would not have killed himself before confessing…maybe even boasting or bragging.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Almost positive,” she replied. “He was really scared of saying the wrong thing…afraid he might say something incriminating. Did he say anything at all the rest of the night?”
“Nothing,” Clements said. “The only time I saw a single sign of life out of him was when we took his personal belongings from his pockets. We checked him right away when you and I brought him in, of course. No weapons on him. But when we tried
taking those acorns out of his pockets and out of his hands right after you and your partner left, he lost his shit.”
The acorns, Mackenzie thought. She then thought of the business cards from the two cases in Nebraska. They had been left behind as a taunt of sorts. But in the end, when all was said and done, it was an identifier of sorts.
Maybe the acorns can be an identifier, too. There were no prints, no signs of struggle or abduction. But maybe the acorns are a clue in and of themselves.
“Where did the acorns end up?” she asked.
Clements shrugged. “Probably in the trash. I can check with the officer on duty that took them from him. He’s still here.”
“I think I’d like to speak to him, please.”
“Sure thing. Come on.”
Clements led her to the front of the building where a bored receptionist sat behind a desk, scanning a magazine. Two officers stood against the far wall. One was reading over a report of some kind while the other one spoke to him.
“Hey, Gary,” Clements said.
The cop holding the report looked up and came over when Clements beckoned him forward.
“When you took the acorns from Albrecht, was there anything else in his pockets?” Clements asked.
“Nope. Just lint and dirt.”
“How many acorns were there?” Mackenzie asked.
“I don’t remember. But they’re still bagged and in the evidence locker if you want to see them.”
“Thanks,” Mackenzie said. “Clements, can you get that bag for me? And what was the name of the other ranger that was at the first scene with us?”
“Joe Andrews.”
“Can you get him down here?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “You got an idea or something?”
“Just a hunch,” she said.
But the truth of the matter was that she hoped it might be much more than a hunch. She just had to hope that luck was on her side.
