Mackenzie White 07-Before He Sins

by Blake Pierce

  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.

  They stayed tight against the wall as they hurried down the open corridor. The street lights from below illuminated their way, their shadows following them as, one by one, they reached for their guns.

  O’Doul brought them to a halt by raising his hand. All four of them were positioned against the wall between apartments 305 and 306. O’Doul waited a beat while standing by the frame to Hambry’s door. He then held up three fingers. Mackenzie watched as those fingers dropped one by one, counting down to the moment they would burst through the door.

  Three…two…one.

  With nearly spring-loaded motion, O’Doul took one step away from the wall, pivoted, and then raised his foot. He delivered a solid kick that suggested he had done this more than a few times. Even without being able to see the result, Mackenzie knew the door had snapped open. She watched as O’Doul and Penbrook filed in one behind the other. Ellington turned to her, silently counted to three, and then they followed in as well.

  Mackenzie entered with her Glock aimed level and to the left, completing the fanned-out alignment the other three agents had begun.

  But she did not stay situated that way for long.

  The sight before her was simply too bizarre. It was difficult to hold her composure as she looked into the living room, which the apartment door led into.

  A man sat in a recliner, giving them a view from the side. He was not moving. Not only that, but the recliner was soaked in blood. Splatters of it were also all over the wall. Mackenzie stepped forward. She knew she might be overstepping her bounds, but she stepped in front of Penbrook, sidling up next to O’Doul. As she angled herself to get a better look at the man, she was dimly aware of Ellington and Penbrook inching further into the apartment to check the other rooms.

  Mackenzie was now standing directly in front of the man. From the brief file she had seen on Gabriel Hambry at the Omaha field office, there was no question that this was him. And as she stood directly in front of him, looking at him, the situation only got worse.

  Hambry had been shot in the back of the head. Without a close study, Mackenzie was pretty sure it had been from a smaller caliber weapon. Still, at point-blank range, it had done some messy work.

  But honestly, she wasn’t looking too closely at the gunshot wound or the gore that it had caused. She was more interested in the item that had been affixed to Hambry’s shirt with a safety pin.

  It was a business card.

  Blood had splattered along most of it, but it was easy to see the business name printed on the front.

  Barker Antiques.

  “What the hell?” O’Doul whispered from beside her.

  “Whoever it is, he’s playing with us,” Mackenzie said. She very badly wanted to be mad, to be filled with rage at having had her face rubbed in this mess. But instead, as much as she hated to admit it, she was actually rather scared.

  Ellington and Penbrook came back into the living room. Ellington wasted no time in coming over to her when he saw the look of shock and confusion on her face. He let out a very pronounced curse when he saw the situation for himself.

  “So Hambry was just a pawn, then?” Penbrook asked.

  “Looks like it,” Mackenzie said. She wanted to tear the business card from Hambry’s shirt but the mere thought of touching it made her feel ill.

  “But what the hell for?” O’Doul asked.

  “The last time I saw one of those business cards,” Mackenzie said, “it was on the windshield of my car. On the back, someone had written ‘Stop looking.’ I guess this is just another warning.”

  “But the case is dead, right?” Penbrook said. “I mean, until this latest murder occurred and then the vagrants that your boy Peterson thinks are linked…why would it resurface again? We’re talking what…twenty years of silence and then this shit?”

  “It’s a good question,” Mackenzie said.

  “God, this is awful,” O’Doul said, making himself tear his eyes away from Hambry’s body.

  “I’ll call it in,” Penbrook said. He looked back at Mackenzie and Ellington. “How about you two? You need anything else here before it gets crowded?”

  “No,” Mackenzie said sharply. And then, without saying so much as another word, she turned her head and left the apartment.

  ***

  Mackenzie was so overcome with emotion when she got back to the car that she was literally shaking. She was scared, she was pissed off, and she had never felt so defeated. And to make it even worse, she knew that on the other side of the country, there was a case waiting for her that still had no leads. Not a single fucking lead.

  She did not cry often—and she decided that she would not do it there, either—but she felt the sting of tears of frustration wanting to be spilled. She gripped her hands into tight fists, her fingernails slightly digging into her flesh.

  She heard footsteps behind her. Certain that it was Ellington coming to check on her, she did her best to push the turmoil of emotions away. She held her breath for a moment, squeezed her fists even tighter, and then pushed it all down.

  And that’s why you’re going to end up spending a fortune in therapy when you retire, she thought to herself.

  “Hey,” Ellington said, stepping in close to her. He reached out for her hand but she did not give it.

  She shook her head and found it hard to look at him. “This thing is wrecking me,” she said. “Five minutes ago, before we went in there, I was excited. I was jumping out of my skin to get up there and end this whole thing—with my dad and his killer. With the business cards. But now…it’s all different. This fucker is just playing with me.”

  “So you and I stay here,” he said. “I think McGrath would allow it. We stay here and you and I will do what we can do to bring this thing to a close.”

  This time, he took her hand a little forcefully. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. And although she could tell he wanted to draw her close to him, he knew that she did not care for physical touch or intimacy when she was feeling distressed. It warmed her heart to see that he knew this about her and was respecting it.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to close the priest case. I’m not going to leave it to another agent.”

  “He’s got Yardley on it,” Ellington said. “She’s pretty sharp.”

  “I know. But…I have to. I have to and—”

  “I know,” he said.

  And Mackenzie was pretty sure he did know. He knew that she could not half-ass something. She had to wrap up the case waiting for her back in DC.

  What Ellington maybe didn’t know, however, was that once it was wrapped up, she intended to put all of her time, focus, and energy on her father’s case and nothing else.

  After tonight, she had no choice.

  Whoever was behind it had essentially forced her hand tonight. And she was going to see to it that the bastard paid.

  But first, she had to know everything there was to know here in Nebraska. And that meant she had one more stop to make.

  “Do you have Kirk Peterson’s number?” she asked.

  “I do,” Ellington said. “But he’s not really reliable.”

  This struck her as odd because from what she remembered of him, Peterson was a pretty sharp guy—dedicated to his job and a hound for the details.

  “I need to talk with him before I head back home,” she said.

  Ellington seemed to weigh this out for a moment. In the end, he pulled the number up, called it for her, and handed over the phone. As it started to ring in her ear, she couldn’t help but notice that Ellington looked troubled by something.

  He’s not happy I’m calling Peterson, she though
t.

  But before she had time to wonder why, Peterson answered the phone and it was too late to ask any questions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Ellington parked the car in the parking lot of the Waffle House Peterson had asked them to meet him at, the place was pretty quiet. It was nearing 10 o’clock and the place was pretty dead. Before they got out of the car, Ellington placed a hand on her shoulder, indicated that he wanted her to wait.

  “There’s something I should tell you before we go in there,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know how you remember this Peterson guy, but something has happened to him since that last time you saw him. The dude seemed a little off to me but I figured it was just some eccentric detective bullshit. But then I heard a few things from the agents who have worked with him. They say he’s just gone sort of dark. Not in a loose cannon sort of way, but in an almost gothic sense. He’s very dreary and quiet.”

  “That’s not how I remember him.”

  Ellington shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing I said something, then. I only spoke to him twice since I’ve been here and he was helpful and all. He’s just…I don’t know. Something about him creeps me out.”

  “Okay. You’ve warned me. Let’s get moving.”

  He said nothing else, though it was clear he wanted to. They got out of the car and went inside among the smell of sweet waffle batter and syrup. Peterson was sitting at a table by himself. He had the look of a man who hadn’t slept in ages, as if he might be auditioning for the role of a vampire in a campy horror movie.

  Oddly enough, his state made her think of her younger sister, Stephanie. In his dour state, he looked almost broodingly handsome—the sort of borderline goth type that Stephanie usually went crazy for.

  Stephanie, she thought. My God, I haven’t given her a second thought in ages.

  He gave them both a little nod of recognition as they came to the table and sat down. “Good to see you again, Agent White.”

  “Same here,” she answered as she and Ellington sat down. “I hate to seem bossy, but I’d like to get back to DC as soon as possible, so I don’t really have a lot of time for formalities.”

  “Just as well,” Peterson said. “This fucking case is driving me crazy and I’m just about done talking about it. Dealing with it. Whatever. The bureau is deep into it now, anyway. I feel like I can let it go.”

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “I know how the bureau works. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I know you have a different work ethic as the bureau. So I was hoping you could tell me about the possible links between the vagrant cases you’ve been working, my father, and these damned business cards.”

  “Yeah, I heard on the scanner there was another one at the Hambry residence,” Peterson said. “Proof positive that this whole case is just way too over my head.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Well, there’s just no end to it. It reminds me of one of those conspiracy theories where the more you dig, the more questions you have. The rabbit hole just goes deeper and deeper.”

  “And how did this whole co-op thing start for the two of you?” Ellington asked.

  “Almost a year ago, I came out here when Peterson was working a case about…hell, I barely remember now.”

  “Well, it was initially a domestic thing,” Peterson recalled. “A wife wanted me to snoop on her husband—a guy named Jimmy Scotts. She thought he was cheating and spending their kid’s college savings. What I found was that he was dealing with drug cartel nonsense out of New Mexico. But before I could make the call to break the news to his wife, he turned up dead. His wife found him dead in their bedroom from two bullet holes to the back of the head. She was in the house when it happened. No memory of hearing gunshots.”

  “Shit,” Ellington said, looking at Mackenzie. “Like your dad.”

  “Yeah, but no known connection at all,” Mackenzie said.

  “I never found one, either.”

  “So how do the vagrants line up with the murders of my father and Jimmy Scotts?” Mackenzie asked.

  “The point-blank shots to the top of the head. Same kind of gun is used every time. And those business cards…there was one on every single one of the bodies.”

  “How many are we talking?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Three, so far. Two confirmed homeless during the time of their murders. The other one wasn’t homeless, but extremely poor. He was just getting his life back together.”

  “Any connection between the three?”

  “Nothing solid. Two of them attended the same soup kitchen. One of them worked together with the brother of another in the past to rob a woman at gunpoint for the sixty bucks she had in her pocketbook. But nothing else.”

  “Would you mind sending me all of your case files?”

  Peterson chuckled. “I can. But there’s not much to them. I didn’t really take many notes.”

  “Forgive me for asking,” she said, “but what happened? You seemed like a different person when you and I last met.”

  “I guess I was. But this fucking case…it got to me. I got obsessed. And it didn’t help that the third one of these murdered vagrants was a twelve-year-old kid.”

  “Oh God,” Mackenzie said.

  “So please forgive me if I’m not all sunshine and rainbows.”

  “Easy,” Ellington said sternly.

  The two men stared at one another from across the table, sizing one another up. Peterson was the first to look away—not out of intimidation but because he seemed bored.

  “Yes, I can send you what I have,” Peterson said. “Are they really planning to send DC agents out here while the Omaha guys are running it?”

  “No idea,” Mackenzie said. “But you know this case is very close to me. Any help would be appreciated.”

  “Of course,” Peterson said. “Now, I haven’t eaten in about a day or so. So I intend to gorge myself on walnut pancakes and crepes. You guys are welcome to join me.”

  Mackenzie almost accepted. The fact that seeing him had for some weird reason made her think of Stephanie was still bothering her. And something about him seemed to scream for some sort of human interaction. Yet, at the same time, it was very clear that he was not a fan of human interaction anymore.

  “Thanks, but I need to get on a plane as soon as possible,” she answered. “But thanks again for meeting with me.”

  “Sure. I’ll email you what I have as soon as I get back home.”

  Mackenzie nodded as she and Ellington got up from the table. They headed back to the parking lot, Mackenzie quiet and reflective.

  “I told you,” Ellington said. “Something got under his skin bad.”

  “You were right,” she said.

  A twelve-year-old kid, she thought. The same people who killed my father are the kinds of people who have no issues killing children.

  It certainly gave the case a new perspective.

  And as something churned within her heart, Mackenzie also realized that it gave her a whole new motivation to figure out just what in the hell was going on.

  But first…there was a mess in DC waiting for her that she needed to clean up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  They caught the red-eye flight back to DC. The plane held a thin crowd; fewer than thirty passengers filled the seats and the cabin was peacefully quiet. Mackenzie had allowed herself to drift off for a bit and when she woke up, her watch read 4:36 a.m. She thought she might have had another nightmare but if she had, she barely remembered it.

  Good riddance, she thought as she sat up gingerly in her seat. She wasn’t sure where they were, what cities lurked below in the darkness, and she really didn’t care. In the air, over the country and all of her problems, she almost felt free.

  It was the most peaceful she had felt since discovering the business card pinned to Hambry’s bloody shirt. Of course, she couldn’t stop thinking about the murdered vagrants, either. Especially the child. She wondered
if Peterson had emailed her the documents yet.

  For the second time since meeting him at the Waffle House, Mackenzie wondered how something could so harshly affect someone. When she had first met Peterson, he had been strikingly handsome, good-natured, and driven. But the obsession with his case and, apparently, the murder of those vagrants had pushed him somewhere else—somewhere dark. She’d heard about it before. She’d once read the profile of a retired cop who had ended up shooting a ten-year-old in the midst of a gunfight on a busy urban street. The cop had not only retired; he had gone on to battle severe depression, leaving his family and eventually killing himself in a motel room, placing a gun eerily similar to her service weapon into his mouth.

  Mackenzie shook the thought away and tried to reorient herself. Ellington was reading a paperback someone had left behind from a previous flight. He never slept while flying—just another of the hundreds of tidbits she had learned about him during their time together. She loved getting to know him and even now, knowing that she’d have an exhausting day waiting for her when they landed, she looked forward to every day with him.

  “Well, good morning, beautiful,” he said with a smirk.

  “Where are we?” she asked, still a little groggy.

  “The last we heard from the captain, we should land in about half an hour. How are you doing? Your nap help?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He nodded and set the paperback down on his knee, a battered old Vince Flynn book.

  “Look,” he said. “I figure I’ll go ahead and say this while you’re still sort of sleepy so you can’t get too upset. But after seeing you so shaken up tonight, I want to go along with you when you settle up and go after this Barker Antiques killer.”

  “But I don’t think it’s—”

  “Aw, I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand. “You’re mistaken. It wasn’t a question. I’m just letting you know so we can save the argument later. You have no say. I know you think you’re hot shit and all, but this is one instance where I’m going to put my foot down.”