by Blake Pierce
“And how are you idolizing them?”
“It started out as just plain old envy,” the man on the other side of the screen said. “But that became something worse. Something nastier. I saw them as God. As Mother Mary. As Christ. I wanted to worship them…to glorify them.”
“Yes, that could be an issue. About the violence, though…are the two tied together in any way?”
“I don’t know,” the man said. “But I know when I see their blood, it makes me feel whole. It makes me feel like I have done something right.”
“Blood?” Coyle said. His heart surged in his chest and his own blood went cold.
“Yes, Father. I have to spill their blood for them to be shown for the men they truly are. Whole. Pure. Strictly of God.”
“My son…I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
There was no response.
Instantly, the news of the three deaths went through Coyle’s mind. Costas, Tuttle, and that liberal pastor, Woodall.
“Son, are you—”
That’s when a thunderous force shook against the confessional. The door on Coyle’s side buckled and came snapping in. It was a puny sound, like kindling popping over a fire. He was so frightened by the attack on the door that it took him a moment to realize that there was a man behind it, stepping into the space on his side of the booth.
“I’ve been idolizing you, too, Father,” the man said. “I’m sorry. But really…you deserve it. You deserve the glory…”
Before Coyle could open his mouth to protest, the man pummeled him with a hard right hand. Coyle saw for one brief moment that there was something in his hand, maybe a roll of quarters or some sort of tool. Whatever it was, it made the punch feel like he had been hit in the face with a baseball bat.
Father Coyle went flailing against the side of the confessional as black stars zoomed across his field of vision. His stomach lurched and his head exploded with pain.
He saw the man’s hand drawing back again, but, blessed be to God, he blacked out before he could feel its savage impact.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mackenzie sees herself standing in front of the house she grew up in. She walks up the porch stairs and sees a group of ravens huddled on the porch. As she shoos them away, she sees that one of them is wearing a crucifix around its black neck. It caws at her as she steps into the house and as she closes the door, she hears the ravens take flight behind them.
She steps into the house and there is her mother, asleep on the couch. The house is cast in darkness, the only light coming from the glow of the television, which is showing a late night talk show. The host says nothing, just stares dumbly out of the screen as if waiting for Mackenzie to start the conversation.
She walks past the television and into the kitchen. She tries flipping on the kitchen light but the lights do not respond. She looks back to the living room and sees that her mother is no longer there. The front door is open again and she can hear the ravens moving on the boards, apparently having come back to roost.
She turns back around and looks down the hallway. It is longer than the actual real-life version of it, stretching on for a seemingly impossible distance. She starts walking and as she does, she reaches for her Glock.
But instead of a firearm, she finds a Bible waiting there. Only, where the words HOLY BIBLE are typically stamped in gold or silver, hers says BARKER ANTIQUES.
She holds it in front of her, tight to her chest, and the pages start to fall out. As each one hits the floor, it sounds like a voice whispering to her.
“Get out of here.”
“Go away.”
“Get over this.”
“Turn around.”
She ignores them all and continues on. And when she finally comes to the end of the hallway, the Bible having rained its pages on her way down, she finds herself staring at her parents’ bedroom door. She knows what is waiting for her on the other side. She knows what she is going to see but she pushes it open anyway.
Things are different this time. Instead of a bed, there is a cross. Her father hangs on it, and he is still alive. He leers down at her in a grimace of pain.
“Get me down, please…”
Mackenzie drops the Bible and turns to run back toward the living room. But there stands her mother, blocking the way. She is holding a sledgehammer and a ridiculously large nail. She smiles at Mackenzie and when she opens her mouth to say something, it is only the cawing of a raven.
Mackenzie opens her mouth to scream just as her mother drives the huge nail forward, directly for her throat, a scream that does not sound like her but rather the roaring of some huge engine that is pushing the world along on its insane rotation.
***
She jerked awake, realizing that the engine noise belonged to the plane she was currently on. She breathed deeply, suppressing the shudders that passed through her. She had to remind herself where she was—not in the bedroom her parents had once shared, but sitting in an airplane, headed back to the state where that damned house sat.
When her plane taxied in, Mackenzie checked her phone. As the Wi-Fi connection was made with the airport, her phone lit up with notifications. The sheer number of them was overwhelming but she did her best to catch up as the plane rolled to a stop before passengers could get off. She had two text messages from Ellington, one from Harrison, a voicemail from Yardley, and eleven new emails.
She went through them in order of importance. Both of Ellington’s texts were to let her know that if he could not be at the airport, one of the local agents would be there to pick her up. Harrison’s message was in response to the text she had sent him earlier, letting her know that there was nothing on public record to indicate that Reverend Tuttle had been through any major hardships of any kind over the last year or so. She then checked Yardley’s voice message. She found it a little odd and, maybe, just a little disrespectful.
“Hey,” Yardley said. “Look, McGrath has me in charge of this religious leader deaths case while you’re in Nebraska. If you could give me a call to debrief me on your little day trip to Florida, I’d appreciate it.”
She didn’t bother responding to any of the messages, as passengers were being allowed to take their belongings from their overhead bins. Mackenzie was very aware that she was still in the same outfit she’d been wearing when she’d stepped off the ferry ten hours ago. She could even still feel little grains of sand in her shoes. As trivial as it seemed, she wished she had at least one change of clothes with her. As it was, though, she only had her laptop bag, bureau credentials, and nothing else.
She got off of the plane quickly. Now that she was on the ground and moments away from meeting up with Ellington, it seemed real now. It was more than just a possibility, more than just a dream—which it had seemed like when she had been in the air. She also wanted to get to work as quickly as possible so the case in DC did not dry up in her mind. She was still quite surprised that McGrath had okayed this sudden trip to Nebraska, especially on the heels of her trip to Florida. But she wasn’t about to question it.
When she entered the airport through her gate, she was relieved to see that Ellington was there after all. He looked tired and a little flustered but the smile he showed her when she stepped toward him was genuine. They greeted one another with a kiss and a brief hug, as if they’d been doing it forever.
“I don’t know which to be more confused about,” Mackenzie said. “The fact that I’m all of a sudden wanted on this case or that McGrath gave me permission for it.”
“No need to be confused,” he said. “Just come with me. We’re due at the Omaha field office in half an hour. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
They hurried through the airport, not being slowed down by any lines since Mackenzie had no bags. Ellington led her out and into the closest parking garage where they got into his rental. After he cranked the ignition, Mackenzie held her hand out in a hold on gesture. She then leaned in and kissed him deeply, in a way that would have been awkward in the airport.
&nb
sp; “Okay,” she said. “Now you can catch me up.”
Ellington smiled and said, “Hold on. Let me catch my breath first.”
***
As they skirted along the freeway and then took an exit down onto the highway, Ellington spent most of the time talking. He filled her in with the attention to detail of an experienced agent but with the demeanor of a man who was beginning to fall in love with her.
“I was called out because Kirk Peterson had convinced some FBI agents that the vagrant murders were pretty much identical to the murders of your father and the newer guy from a few months back. The thing is, there was absolutely zero evidence to back it up. That’s why McGrath chose to send me out here. Without any solid leads or evidence, we didn’t want to pull you away from the current case—or get your hopes up on your father’s case.
“Not too long after I called you the first time to tell you there was really nothing to see out here, another body was discovered. This one had a certain business card tucked into his back pocket.”
“Barker Antiques,” she said.
“Bingo. The guy was a junkie, shot in the back of the head from point-blank range by a low-caliber gun. Same old same old, just like the other vagrants. But this time, there was a clue left behind. A smudge on the business card. It was a fingerprint, but only a partial. It was at that point that I called you. Since then, the guys in Forensics at the Omaha field office have been working with a records database to narrow down the search. I got a phone call just as I was stepping into the airport to meet you. They got a match. And this is a guy with a pretty terrible history.”
“So what’s being done right now?” she asked.
“Well, this guy’s record is ripe. He’s got two domestic abuse charges, petty theft, and then he just got out of prison two months ago after serving five years for conspiring to murder. So there’s a task force being assembled. We’ve got his address. And we’ve got someone sitting outside of his apartment right now. If he leaves and heads somewhere else, we’ll have eyes on him.”
“And they want me in on this?”
“They didn’t have a choice,” Ellington said. “I insisted on it. And McGrath took my side. Everyone involved on this knows the connection to your father’s murder. You won’t be taking the lead, but you’ll be completely hands-on if an arrest is made. If this thing comes to a close, you’re going to be a part of it. Besides…even McGrath realized that no one knows more about the murders and the whole Barker Antiques ordeal than you. It just made sense to have you come in.”
“Are we headed there now?” she asked.
“We’re heading to the field office and then probably leaving there right away. If all goes well, this whole thing could be wrapped up within an hour or two.”
“And to think,” Mackenzie said, “I was walking along a beach nine hours ago.”
“Yeah, you’ll need to let me in on the secret of how in the hell you got McGrath to sign off on that.”
“I think it paid off, though. The little retreat they have on that island checks out, as does the guy who runs it. But he gave me information that I think might work itself out into a considerable lead—or a very promising resource at the least.”
“You’re quite the seasoned traveler today,” Ellington commented. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I just wish I had a change of clothes. Or at least time for a shower.”
He smiled at her and said, “If we wrap this thing up, I’ll see to it that you get a shower. And maybe, if you don’t mind, I can lend a hand?”
“Let’s see how this plays out first.”
She appreciated the gesture and sentiment, but as they raced closer to the field office, Mackenzie started to get anxious.
Is this really it? she wondered. Is this the day I get the answers I’ve been looking for when it comes to my father’s death?
Dusk settled in around Omaha as her nerves started to fire up. Every part of her knew that something big was moments away but she still found it hard to believe that it had fallen in her lap so easily.
***
Ellington hadn’t been exaggerating. The moment Mackenzie stepped into the Omaha field office, she was approached by a man wearing a simple black suit and carrying a padded file in his right hand. He looked on edge, as if he were about to jump out of his skin in anticipation of getting things underway. His thick black hair was in disarray. He stood a little over six feet tall and had the composure of a man who looked like he was always motivated, on the move to get something done.
“Agent White, I’m Darren Penbrook, the lead on this case. I’m glad to have you on board. Has Agent Ellington debriefed you?”
“He has,” she said. “I certainly appreciate you letting me come along on this.”
“Of course, of course,” Penbrook said, as if he really couldn’t care less. Behind him, the central room of the field office was aflutter with activity. She saw two agents studying a map of the city on the wall behind a bullpen-like area.
“We’re rolling out in exactly five minutes,” Penbrook said, waving her and Ellington to follow him farther back into the building. “It’ll be the three of us and two other agents. Your friend Kirk Peterson requested to come along but we denied it. There’s just too much risk here.”
“Are we assuming the suspect is dangerous?”
“The suspect is one Gabriel Hambry. In addition to the abuse charges and conspiring to murder marks on his record, he’s also been the suspect in two different instances of suspected arms trafficking across the border into Mexico. We’ve never been able to pin it on him but all of the evidence points at him. And if that’s the case, then yes—we’re assuming he’s heavily armed. And when the FBI comes knocking on his door…”
“I follow you,” Mackenzie said.
Penbrook led them into a small room in the back. There, another man was on the phone, pinching it between his ear and shoulder so that he could properly cinch a holster onto his belt. The holster carried a Sig 357 semiautomatic. Seeing it made Mackenzie that much more aware of her own firearm holstered at her side, a Glock 22 that she had come to be all too familiar with.
The man ended his call and pocketed the phone. He held out his hand for a shake and introduced himself.
“Mark O’Doul,” he said. “Good to meet you.” He then looked at Penbrook and nodded. “Suspect is still in his apartment. Watching TV, it seems like.”
“Good,” Penbrook said. “Agent White, O’Doul will be accompanying us and taking the lead as we roll in. I understand that you have something of a personal attachment to this case but I ask that you let O’Doul and I handle the tactical side. Once we get Hambry into custody, you have my word that you get first crack at interrogation. And, you know…if he happens to make a run for it and pursuit ensues…maybe I turn a blind eye if you happen to get a little rough.”
Mackenzie grinned and nodded, knowing better than to give any type of verbal cue to such a comment.
“Any questions?” Penbrook asked.
“How far away is Hambry’s apartment?” Mackenzie asked.
“About half an hour, out in Plattsmouth,” Penbrook answered. “O’Doul and I will take the lead in our car while you two follow. Our surveillance says we’re going to be best positioned by parking on the street on the other side of the block. Gives us the best shot of coming up on Hambry’s residence without giving him any sort of warning.”
Plattsmouth, Mackenzie thought. While she had only ever passed through Plattsmouth while living in Nebraska, simply hearing the name of the town made her feel as if she had come full circle—not that she had returned home by any means, but that she had revisited some ghost from her past that seemed to have been waiting for her forever.
“We have a warrant yet?” Ellington asked.
“Got it about three hours ago. Given the nature of our visit to Mr. Hambry, we won’t exactly be knocking on his door. We’ll be busting it down.”
It was a bit juvenile
, sure, but that closing comment from Penbrook got Mackenzie more excited than ever. She was moments away from nailing down the most promising lead in discovering what really happened to her father.
As far as she was concerned, the busting down of doors by force seemed fitting.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hambry’s apartment was in one of those packed out apartment complexes that look like a carbon copy of any other building in the city. It was the kind of apartment complex you saw everywhere in the nation: plain, a little grungy, and very much average. Being a little after ten o’clock on a week night, they all assumed that the chances were quite good that Hambry was home.
Mackenzie and Ellington met Penbrook and O’Doul at the central walkway along the first floor. The night was quiet and it seemed that there was not a soul stirring anywhere within the complex. Far off in the distance, a man was walking his dog. Near the back of the building a woman was laughing about something. It was any other ordinary night. Mackenzie tried to remind herself of that. It was far too easy to get excited about what the next hour could hold. So to remind herself that it was just another routine part of her job to do what they were about to do would usually center her.
But not this time. In that moment, standing with the other three agents, she felt like so much of her career was hinged on what was about to go down.
“Hambry is apartment number three hundred and six,” Penbrook said. “O’Doul and I will go in first. I want the two of you to wait three seconds and then file in behind us. If we do it right, it’s a simple arrest. In and out and back to the office. Questions?”
Ellington shook his head. Mackenzie did the same, although in her head she was practically shouting at Penbrook to get the damned show on the road already.
Perhaps sensing her anticipation, Penbrook started down the walkway that led to the first flight of stairs. The stairs were simple, with no covering or carpet of any kind. Their footfalls thudded in hollow echoes, like little tiny taps of bass from a passing car stereo. They advanced somewhere between a fast walk and a sprint as they came off of the stairs on the third floor.