“Sooner would be better, but I’ll take an hour. Thanks.”
She ended the call and looked to the dry erase board, covered in her notes. Quietly, Ellington sat down next to her. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing yet.”
“Liar. I know that look. You’re rummaging around in that head of yours. You think you’re on to something, don’t you?”
“Maybe. But we need to see what information Dentry and Detective Hall come back to us with.”
“You have to fill me in somehow,” he said.
“It’s a stretch, but I’m wondering how preplanned all of these murders were. They had to be followed extensively. Almost too extensively. It almost makes no sense. The killer had to know where the units were beforehand so he could be there waiting for them. And that makes me think he had a unit in the same places. Or…”
“Or what?”
Mackenzie wasn’t sure how to finish her thought. As it turned out, she didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Dentry came back in the room with an annoyed look on her face. She was holding her cell phone out to Mackenzie, shaking her head.
“He says he wants to talk to you.”
“Ralph Underwood?”
Dentry nodded. “I think he might have what you’re looking for but he’s…well, he’s sort of an asshole.”
Mackenzie took the phone and wasted no time. “Mr. Underwood, I assure you that the local police are more than capable of fielding your information.”
“Maybe. But I don’t need local noses in my business once you and your other bureau friends are out of town.”
Deciding to skip past a possible empty argument, Mackenzie settled straight to the point. “Mr. Underwood, what is it you wanted to tell me?”
“Well, the other woman was asking about the Newcomb unit. I’m here at home and have all of my records on my laptop. I have all the answers she wanted but wanted to give them to you myself.”
“Fine. Thank you,” she said, irritated with him but also trying to pacify their one source of reliable information.
“Elizabeth Newcomb had been renting this unit for eighteen months. She always paid on time and she always paid with cash. But here’s the interesting part—and I feel stupid for not just remembering it.”
“What’s that?” Mackenzie asked, hoping for a break.
“When she rented it, she did it in someone else’s name. It’s not her name on the application, but she’s the one that always used it and paid for it.”
“What name is on the application then?”
“Mark Riley. And the address is right here in Seattle.”
“That’s perfect, Mr. Underwood. Thank y—”
“But there’s something else, too. That’s not the only unit I have here under the name of Mark Riley. He has two more.”
“And he pays regularly?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any way of tracking who visits the units at any given time?” she asked.
“No. There’s no sign-in or check-in.”
“That’s fine,” Mackenzie said. “Mr. Underwood, would you allow us to visit your complex again later tonight and take a look at those units?”
“That’s fine. Do you need me there?”
“It might come in handy. Why don’t you meet us there in about an hour?”
As he answered in the positive, Mackenzie got a beep. She checked the display and saw that it was the Salem, Oregon, area code. It was Detective Hall, already calling back.
“Mr. Underwood, we’ll see you in about an hour. I have to grab this call waiting now. But thanks for your help.”
She switched lines, feeling that they really were starting to make progress now. “Detective Hall, thanks for getting back in touch with me.”
“Of course. Now, I’m looking at this final report and everything checks out…everything except one small detail. There was one unit that was checked out under a different name than the woman who was renting it.”
“Do you have the name?”
“I do. Does the name Mark Riley mean anything to you?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After calling Ralph Underwood back, Mackenzie was able to get the address for a Mark Riley in Seattle. The address, of course, was very different from the one Detective Hall had provided. A quick check of the Salem, Oregon, address revealed that the address had not been viable for more than two years. It was, in fact, an apartment in a building that had been condemned last year.
“You think we’ll find another abandoned place when we follow this up?” Deputy Rising asked Mackenzie as he headed out of the station with her and Ellington.
“I don’t know. Probably. This guy covers his tracks pretty damn good. It seems strange that he’d overlook something as stupid as freely giving his name in two different locations.”
“We’ll know who Mark Riley is within fifteen minutes,” Rising said. “Dentry and Willard are running the name right now.”
With the feeling of some sort of progress finally pushing them along, Mackenzie, Ellington, and Rising rolled out of the lot, Rising leading the way to the address Ralph Underwood had on file for Mark Riley.
In their car, following behind Rising, Ellington let out a sigh. “Something about this doesn’t seem right. I feel like we might be rolling into a trap.”
“I thought so, too,” Mackenzie said. “But if this is some kind of set-up for us, I don’t think it’s going to be anything dangerous. These clues this jackass is leaving behind…it makes me think he wants us to figure it out. He’s trying to tell us something…something that the agents back in Salem eight years ago weren’t able to decipher.”
“Still…feels like a wild goose chase. Feels like he’s just dragging us along.”
“Well, you know, the alternative could be true,” Mackenzie pointed out. “He could have just screwed up, thinking we wouldn’t catch on to him. Maybe he thought the fact that he had paid cash would keep him off the radar.”
“You know, there’s also the fact that Elizabeth Newcomb might very well have known this guy since his name was on the lease.”
“That does raise a lot of questions,” Mackenzie said. “But hopefully all of that will be answered shortly.”
Ahead of them, Rising was going about fifteen miles over the speed limit. He had elected not to run his flashers, instead going for the element of surprise—a good choice, seeing as how he was leading them to the outskirts of the city. They’d been on the road for about twenty minutes when he turned off of a generic two-lane and onto a little stretch of road that led into a rundown urban district.
The houses along this street were simple one-story domiciles, the porches thick with clutter, the yards mostly dead and gray. Rising led them down two blocks of this neighborhood before pulling his car alongside the curb. Mackenzie parked behind him, taking in a good view of the surrounding yards before she killed the headlights.
She hated to ever fall into stereotypes, but this was the type of neighborhood that just made her think of drug deals and inner-city gangs. Yet as she and Ellington stepped out of the car, the streets were silent. Somewhere very far away they could hear the muffled sound of an engine revving up, but there was nothing else.
They joined Rising in front of the house he had parked alongside. Ellington took the lead, walking up the cracked sidewalk. Even before they reached the porch, Mackenzie was fairly certain the place was deserted. Not that there was simply no one home, but that there was no one living there at all—maybe not for a few years. It just had that look to it, from the partially collapsed porch banisters to the cracked window on the left side of the porch. An overturned lawn chair sitting in the corner of the porch alongside broken beer bottles was the last giveaway.
“Told you,” Ellington said as he stepped up onto the porch. “We’ve been played. Not a fake address, but one that might as well be.”
“But why?” Rising asked.
“To screw with us,” Ellington said. “To make him feel
smarter than we are.”
The trio stood in the darkness for a moment, considering. Mackenzie then walked up the steps and looked at the door. She withdrew her little Maglite and ran the small light beam over the door frame.
The frame was still intact. She gave the door a hefty push but it did not budge. She looked to Ellington with a wicked little smile. “Would you?”
“I don’t see the point,” he said. “He’s just messing with us.”
She gave him a scowl and then shrugged. She took two steps backward, getting into a posture that would allow her to deliver a solid kick to the door. She looked back to Ellington one more time, giving him a playful look that she used quite a bit to give him last chances to change his mind. It worked most of the time, from trying to decide what to watch on TV to what they would have for dinner. Sure, the environment was different now, but the look still worked.
“Ah, hell,” Ellington said. “Move aside.”
She smiled. She was fully capable of kicking the door down but she knew Ellington liked to take the lead on things like this. Sometimes it just took some pushing.
Ellington reared back and delivered a vicious kick, his foot landing squarely beside the knob and lock. The door shuddered and didn’t so much fly open as it caved in. It shattered into several pieces as one of the hinges popped off.
Yeah, this house hasn’t been lived in in quite some time, Mackenzie thought.
Ellington and Rising now took out their own flashlights as they walked into the house. The place had been completely cleared out, no furniture, no pictures on the wall, nothing. There were cobwebs everywhere, and rat droppings scattered here and there. The wood floor had a large discolored patch covering most of it, indicating that it had once been covered in carpet. A tangle of old cords extended from the wall where a TV stand once sat.
“Yeah, I think this was a wild goose chase,” Rising said. He was standing in the large entryway between the kitchen and the living room. Mackenzie could see that in the kitchen, the stove had even been removed.
She wasn’t ready to admit that this was a waste of time just yet. She entered the hallway that extended off of the right side of the living room. Like the rest of the house, the hallway was short and neglected. A chunk of plaster had been torn from the wall to her right. A single door on that side of the hallway led into a small bathroom. There was dirt and grime in the sink and a brown stain in the bathtub.
There was only one other room along the hall. It was at the end of the hall, the door opened wide to reveal the darkness beyond. Mackenzie couldn’t help the flush of fear that ran through her, the primal fear of the unknown ahead of her. She shone the Maglite inside as she approached the doorway, seeing the glow of beams from Ellington and Rising behind her.
She stepped through the doorway and found a mostly empty room. There was no furniture, just like the rest of the house. There were marks and dings in the wall. A broken light fixture hung haphazardly from the ceiling.
But in the middle of the floor directly in front of her, a doll had been propped up against an old phone book. It looked up at her with dead, glassy eyes.
Mackenzie was almost ashamed at how frightened she was in that moment.
“Mac?”
Ellington stepped up beside her, his flashlight beam joining hers. The doll was fully illuminated now. More than that, the scrap of paper sitting in the fork of its little legs was hard to miss with all the light on it.
“Find something?” Rising asked as he joined them. When he saw the doll, he let out a quiet little curse under his breath.
Mackenzie slowly stepped toward the doll. She bent down and picked up the scrap of paper. It was a plain sheet of notebook paper that had been torn in half and then folded. It did not look like a fresh piece, but it was certainly much newer than the dust piles adrift in the house.
Behind her, Rising’s cell phone rang. The noise caused all three of them to jump. Mackenzie thought she saw Rising even going for his sidearm. They all breathed a sigh of relief, overlooking their embarrassment at being so easily spooked. Rising answered it with a look of irritation.
“Yeah?” he asked.
Mackenzie slowly unfolded the paper as they listened to Rising’s conversation. The house was so quiet that she could actually hear the voice on the other line. It was Dentry, calling with information.
“We looked everywhere, sir,” Dentry said. “The only listing we could find for anyone by the name of Mark Riley was a man that died in 1977. It’s a fake name, sir. Probably a fake address, too.”
“I wish it was,” Rising said. “Thanks.”
He ended the call and Mackenzie realized that all eyes were on her now.
She unfolded the paper, expecting a taunting note of some kind.
What she found, though, was somehow worse. It sent a sickening knot of worry dropping through her stomach.
“What is it?” Ellington asked.
She turned and showed it to him. They read it together with Rising peering over her shoulder.
Bellevue Storage. Unit 32.
There was a crude little smiley face underneath the words. The immature hand behind the drawing and the sloppy handwriting made it appear as if the paper had been left behind by a child.
“Holy shit,” Mackenzie said. She turned to Rising and asked, “How far away is Bellevue?”
“Fifteen minutes from here. Maybe twelve if we haul ass.”
That’s exactly what they did as they turned back toward the hall and made their way back through the darkened house.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once the creepiness of the abandoned house and the doll it had been hiding had worn off, both Mackenzie and Ellington were able to properly appreciate the fact that they now seemed to be on to something. Granted, they were only on to something because someone—presumably the killer—had left a hint for them, but it was better than nothing.
“I just don’t get it,” Ellington said from behind the wheel. They were once again following Rising, this time out to Bellevue. “Let’s assume that doll and the paper were left there by the killer. Why in the hell would he want to help us?”
It was the same question that had been eating at Mackenzie. She had a theory that felt right but also a little complicated. “I still think it’s all about the tea party theme. He’s setting something up. Getting ready for something. Waiting. Apparently, we aren’t moving fast enough for him. He’s using this to push us along.”
“So you think he wants to get caught?”
“I don’t know. It feels like it. But if he wanted to get caught, he would have been leaving little notes like that for us all along.”
They both mulled this over in their own way. As Mackenzie sorted through her own thoughts, she felt like she had been running at full speed all day. Had she really been in Oregon that morning? Had she really only been back in Seattle for five hours?
“So my mother called today,” Ellington said. “Twice.”
“She still in DC waiting on you to get back?”
“No. She went home. Said she didn’t really care for the venue we’d chosen after all. She thought it was too generic.”
Mackenzie shrugged. “If you don’t care what she thinks, then neither will I. I do have to wonder, though…is that a relationship I’m going to have to make myself have?”
“You mean between you and my mother?”
Mackenzie nodded. It felt silly to be talking about such things in the face of what they were currently doing but it did, at least, help to keep her alert. It also kept her from overthinking the facts of the case.
“I don’t care. She’s beyond help these days. Anyone and everyone pisses her off. If my wife is among those she doesn’t like, so be it.”
“Has she flat out said she doesn’t like me?”
“Not in so many words. But I’ve told her about your dedication to your work and she thinks work should not be a wife’s main priority.”
“Did you use the word dedication?” she asked.
“No. Actually I used the term over-committed. I thought she’d appreciate that.”
Mackenzie wasn’t quite sure why, but that remark hurt a bit. She frowned and asked: “You think I over-commit?”
“Sometimes. There are days where it seems that work is the only thing on your heart and mind.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I thought it might be at first. But it’s one of the things I like about you. I should say, though, that I’ve seen you softening. The little looks you gave me back at that house, wanting me to kick the door down. It was nice to see that side of you on the job…even if it was a little embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” She was starting to feel like this was one of those conversations they should have stopped having about thirty seconds ago. She was getting tired, they were both under a lot of stress, and sometimes Ellington didn’t know when to stop talking.
“Yeah…right in front of Rising. It didn’t seem appropriate to be flirting.”
“That wasn’t flirting,” Mackenzie said.
“Seemed like it. Felt like it. It’s just…”
“What?”
He shrugged. “It makes me understand why McGrath was so hesitant to send us out together on this. Maybe we can’t work together without the feelings getting in the way.”
In that moment, Mackenzie felt that he might as well have reached over and slapped her in the face. He hadn’t worried about such things when they had only been sleeping together. True, they had both seemed to gradually grow more protective of each other while on the job as their relationship had developed, but she had seen that as a positive aspect of their partnership.
Has he been seeing it as a negative this whole time? she wondered.
“And now I’ve pissed you off, huh?” he said.
“No comment. Let’s just focus on the job. And please don’t take that as me being over-committed.”
“Ah, Jesus…Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie White 10-Before He Longs Page 8