by Blake Pierce
“Stalking?”
“Yeah. He said he caught her trailing behind him, trying to stay out of sight when he was headed out to climb Devil’s Claw. He told the cops he only reported it because he was pretty sure she’d done the same thing three weeks prior when he had been out near Logan’s View.”
“In his audio recordings, Charles Rudeke claimed he felt like someone had been following him, too.”
Timbrook nodded and then looked to Ellington. “Sergeant Timbrook,” she said, introducing herself.
“Special Agent Ellington.”
“My partner,” Mackenzie clarified. “And husband.”
“Oh…”
“We need to speak to that climber before going right after Lutz,” Mackenzie said. “Do you have a name?”
“And an address. Petry is on the phone, tracking him down right now.”
Mackenzie headed for the door, brushing by Ellington. She was still unable to rein in the multiple emotions she currently felt toward him. Timbrook, meanwhile, walked away from the room, whether to hurry the case along or to give them their space, Mackenzie did not know.
Mackenzie stopped at the doorway and turned around to face him. “Come on,” she said. “The quicker we can wrap this, the quicker we can get home and figure this out.”
“Mac…I was only trying to help.”
“I know,” she said.
But knowing did not temper her anger. She wasn’t sure what to feel as she caught up with Timbrook and headed for the exit. She did not bother to run to see if Ellington was following or not. She did not, in fact, bother looking in his direction until they were piling into Timbrook’s car moments later.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The climber who had reported Brittany Lutz for stalking was a thirty-five-year-old man named Daniel Haskins. He worked at a small accounting firm and, being that it was nowhere near tax season, it was easy to pull him away from his work. When Mackenzie, Ellington, and Timbrook sat down in his office, Haskins looked a little alarmed. Probably because there were three of them there to question him, Mackenzie thought, once again feeling a flare-up of anger toward Ellington.
“We have you on record as stating that you believe Brittany Lutz was stalking you at one point,” Mackenzie said. “Were you able to actually see her when she was following you? You know without a doubt it was her?”
“Without a doubt,” Haskins said. “And when I spotted her, she didn’t really even make too much of an effort to hide herself. She was sort of hiding along the sides of one of those little unofficial trails in the woods. I spotted her, she just stared back at me for a while, and then she casually started walking back the way she had come.”
“Did you attempt to chase her down?” Timbrook asked.
“I did at first, for like five seconds. But then I thought better of it. I didn’t really want to be the guy that chased down a partially crippled woman and chew her out, you know? That’s why I called the cops. I figured I’d let them handle it…maybe put a little scare in her.”
“Our files say this wasn’t the only time she followed you, though. Is that right?”
“Well, there was a time a few weeks before that when I sort of got the feeling that someone was in the woods, sort of sneaking around. I figured it was just teenagers goofing off or something. But then I realized that whoever it was, they were following me. The footsteps were easy to hear. I heard them going out to the climb and then on the way back down the trails to my car after I rappelled back down.”
“But you never saw the person?” Ellington asked.
“No.”
“Tell me what you know about Brittany Lutz,” Mackenzie said. “And for just the moment, I’m going to ask that you be unfiltered. Give us an honest opinion of your own thoughts and things you might have heard from any climbing circles you’re a part of.”
“Well, I honestly never knew who she was until the accident. When it became clear that her left leg was likely screwed up for the rest of her life, there were a few groups that started raising money to help pay for her surgeries. From what I understand, she’s never been married but it was common knowledge that she had dated two local guys—both climbers—and those relationships ended very badly.”
“Do you know who the guys were?”
“No. But I do know one of them ended up moving to LA. I know this because it was a point of contention at one of the many little episodes she had at a local bar.”
“Had you ever spoken to her at length prior to the stalking experience?”
“A few times, yeah. Nothing too deep, though. And it was always about climbing. She was apparently really good at it, entering into competitions and always scoring high. I think she just liked to talk about it…to sort of live vicariously through others. That’s the one reason I didn’t think it would be right to go off on her about following me around. She really wasn’t even hurting anything. It was just…I don’t know…sort of creepy.”
“What can you tell us about the time she hit someone with a bottle in a parking lot?”
“I know the story, but I wasn’t there when it happened. She attacked some guy in a parking lot, but from what I understand it was a guy that was sort of coming on to her. I don’t know if she was going for his head and he just blocked it, but from what I understand, the guy got several stitches in his hand.”
“Were you surprised to hear about it?” Timbrook asked.
“Not really. Like I said…she was known for her moodiness and temper.”
“Was she ever cruel or mean to you in any way?”
“She got a little mouthy a few times but nothing serious. At the risk of sounding like a jerk, I always got the feeling that she was very good at feeling sorry for herself. She hated that others could do what she could no longer do and would try to make people feel bad about it.”
Mackenzie did not want to put ideas in Haskins’s head, so she restrained herself from asking if he thought she might be capable of killing people by sabotaging their climbs. She simply had to use her own logic—logic that told her that someone that envied the abilities of others and had experienced trauma because those same abilities had been taken from them might very well be capable of seeking some sort of perceived retribution.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Haskins,” Mackenzie said, getting to her feet. Ellington and Timbrook did the same, heading for the door.
“Sure. Look…I don’t mean to pry, but is she in some kind of trouble? I hate to think that my stupid stalking call is going to get her nailed for something.”
“We just need to talk to her about a few things,” Timbrook said. “Your name doesn’t even have to come up.”
Haskins nodded, with a slight frown on his face. “She might not be all there, you know? There are all kinds of rumors, but people seem to think she whacked her head pretty good. She had a bad concussion but…who knows what it could have done to her head.”
Mackenzie only nodded as she left Haskins’s office. She was already cycling back through everything they knew about their killer so far: either an attraction or aversion to heights, singling out climbers.
It sure does seem to fit, she thought to herself.
And then, despite her uneven emotional state due to Ellington’s appearance, she started to feel hopeful that they’d have their killer in custody by the end of the day.
***
There were times when Mackenzie realized that her job as an agent was significantly easier than it had been for agents twenty or so years before her. Part of that was the convenience of easily locating people. Sometimes it was thanks to technological breakthroughs but more often than not, she had the growing trend of people working from home to thank. This trend was the reason she was so quickly able to know where to find Brittany Lutz.
She worked out of her home as a consultant and research writer for a telecom company out of Salt Lake City. She also apparently wrote blogs and articles on a variety of climbing websites and online magazines. As Mackenzie knocked on the do
or of Lutz’s house, she thought briefly on the instructor she had managed to save. She remembered the blood all around him, the wailing of the ambulance sirens, and the pain in his eyes. She did not know what became of him…if he had made a full recovery or if he had been forever injured in some way much like Lutz.
As she waited for Lutz to answer the door, she glanced back to Timbrook’s patrol car in the small paved driveway. Ellington had elected to remain in the car, speaking to Waverly on the phone as they tried to connect Lutz’s profile to any of the clues or leads they had collected so far.
While it was a worthwhile conversation to have, Mackenzie knew he was staying behind because he was starting to feel useless. He had come here to as a supportive husband (no matter how misguided his intentions might have been) and was now already starting to feel like something of a third wheel in terms of the investigation. It made her feel for him, once again forcing her to face her conflicted feelings about him suddenly being here.
Before she could latch on to that, Lutz came to the door. She opened it, stared out at both of the women on her porch, and gave them a hesitant smile. When her eyes finally took in Timbrook’s uniform, the smile faltered.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you Ms. Brittany Lutz?” Mackenzie asked.
“I am.”
“Ms. Lutz, I’m Agent White, with the FBI. This is Sergeant Timbrook with the local Jackson Hole PD. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Concerning what, exactly?”
Mackenzie could tell that they were not going to be invited in warmly. With every second that passed, Lutz seemed to get a bit more defensive. She was going to have to play her cards just right, angling it as nothing more than concerned law enforcement officials before bringing the hammer down.
“Well, there have been three separate climbing-related deaths in the last two weeks, all within the area. As we’ve done some digging, your name came up as someone who used to climb in competitions. Your name has come up more than once, in fact.”
“Then I’m sure you heard that my climbing days are over,” Lutz said. “Two failed knee replacements and dead nerves in the upper thigh will do that to you.” She paused here and then gave them a skeptical look—a look with a bit of venom to it, making Haskins’s description of her being mean-spirited appear to be true. “What else, exactly, did you hear about me?”
“I am with the local PD,” Timbrook said. “So yes, I am well aware of your record.”
“So there are some accidents in the area and because of my record, I fit the bill to be harassed?”
“We’re not here to harass you,” Mackenzie asked. “We’d just like to see if you knew these recently deceased climbers or had at the very least heard about them.”
This, of course, was a lie. But she knew that with her defenses all the way up, Lutz was going to be very much guarded to just about anything they asked her. In other words, she was doing nothing at all to ease Mackenzie’s mind. If anything, Lutz was fitting the profile more and more with every word exchanged between them.
“I haven’t been involved with climbing groups in several months,” she said.
“Then why were you following Daniel Haskins around?”
Lutz recoiled from this, as if she had been slapped hard across the face. In that response, Mackenzie saw one of the emotions she had been looking for ever since Lutz had opened the door. She saw guilt. She saw fear.
“I wasn’t following him around,” Lutz spat.
“Do you know a man named Charles Rudeke, by any chance?” Timbrook asked.
“No.”
Mackenzie wasn’t sure Lutz was answering truthfully. At this point, she was answering as quickly as she could with the hopes of getting the FBI agent and local police sergeant off of her front porch.
“Would you be willing to perhaps tell us some of the reasoning behind your frequent outbursts in local bars?”
“I actually would not,” Lutz said. “I am not proud of my behavior sometimes. Dealing with this injury sometimes makes me lash out. A huge part of my life was taken away from me on the day I had my accident and—you know what? No…I don’t need to tell you any of this. I’m going to kindly ask you to leave.”
“But we’re not done with our questions,” Timbrook said. “You can either help us out here or we can have you come down to the station to answer them.”
“On what grounds, might I ask?” Lutz asked.
Before either Timbrook or Mackenzie could answer that, Mackenzie heard Ellington approaching from behind. As he neared the porch steps, he said, “Agent White, can I speak with you for a moment?”
Her first reaction was pure rage. He had poked his head into her case by coming all the way across the country and leaving their son with his nutcase mother. And now he was intruding in her questioning of a suspect. Was there no end to his attempts to try saving the day?
She kept her anger in check as she tuned to him. She met him at the sidewalk, staring a hole into him as she stood in front of him. He closed the distance between them so that he could talk in a whisper.
“What is it?” she asked, practically hissing the question at him.
“Waverly said he just finished speaking to someone with forensics. We now know a lot more about those two partial shoe prints you have on file. For starters, it’s a smaller shoe. No bigger than a size nine and a half or ten in a men’s. It could be a larger women’s shoe, but forensics isn’t certain on that just yet. As for the heaviness of the print, they agreed with your theory that it could have been made by a hiker carrying a heavy pack on their back. But because there also seems to be a bit of drag to both of the prints…”
Mackenzie cut him off before he could finish, a new theory dawning on her.
“It could have been made by someone favoring one side of their body.”
“The right side, to be exact,” Ellington said. “They think there’s a possibility that the prints could have been made by someone that favored their left side.” He then nodded up toward the porch. “Perhaps by someone with an injury to their left leg.”
That was enough for Mackenzie. She slowly made her way back up the stairs, giving Timbrook a subtle nod.
“Ms. Lutz,” Mackenzie said. “We need you to come with us to the station to answer some questions.”
“I ask again…based on what?”
“On suspicion in the involvement of the events that caused the death of three local climbers.”
Again, that shocked look crossed her face. But Mackenzie barely saw it. Instead, she was looking at the woman’s feet— more specifically, she looked at the scuffed up New Balance shoes covering them.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
It went easy enough at first. Lutz came with them with nothing more than a string of curses and preteen-level pouting all the way to the station. Ellington sat in the back of the car with her which, Mackenzie assumed, was why she remained so civil. Yet, the moment they arrived at the station and Mackenzie opened the rear passenger door for Lutz, it all changed very fast.
The moment Lutz was out of the car, she slammed her right foot down on Mackenzie’s ankle. Mackenzie buckled but caught herself against the side of the car. When Lutz tried to make a run for it, Mackenzie reached out, grabbed her, and slammed her against the side of the car—perhaps a little too hard. It felt good but it was also a simple move that showed just how rusty her time off had made her.
Lutz cried out as Mackenzie pinned the woman’s arm behind her back. She applied a pair of cuffs, officially placing her under arrest.
“Ms. Lutz, that was quite stupid,” Mackenzie said. “Where were you planning to run?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Except clumsily assault a federal agent,” Timbrook chimed in.
Ellington joined them, instantly going to Mackenzie’s side. She could tell it was killing him to not be able to check her over. It had been a simple kick, nothing serious, but she could see that look
of concern on his face. It was a look she’d seen a lot during her pregnancy and delivery—the look of a man who was diligent about making sure his wife was well taken care of.
Timbrook took the lead as they headed into the station, Mackenzie behind her as she ushered Lutz inside. Ellington brought up the rear and even then, Mackenzie could feel his concern or her, like the heat of off a stove burner that has just been turned off.
The trio split up when they entered the station. Mackenzie led Lutz directly to the small interrogation room at the back of the building while Timbrook and Ellington met with Waverly to get printouts of the forensic files.
Inside the interrogation room, Mackenzie gave Lutz a little push toward the table. A chair sat on either side of it, but Lutz did not take one. Instead, she turned her full attention to Mackenzie, her sneer one of the sharpest Mackenzie had ever seen.
“Do you enjoy pushing around crippled people?” she asked.
“I don’t, actually. And by the way, you didn’t seem too crippled out in the parking lot when you took that kick at me.”
“You have no right to have me here.”
“Maybe you’re right. Hopefully we’ll find out soon enough.”
Behind Mackenzie, Ellington and Timbrook entered the room. Timbrook was looking over one of the printouts from Waverly’s files. She handed it to Mackenzie as she finished it up.
“What’s that?” Lutz asked. She sounded on edge…nervous.
Mackenzie scanned the paper, detailing the findings from the shoe prints. There was nothing other than what Ellington had already told her, but seeing it in writing was somehow much more damning.
“How old are the shoes you’re wearing?” Mackenzie asked.