Sensing that he was truly in the hot seat, Roy put his hands on his hips and looked behind the agents, toward the sheds. “Yeah. Unit 4B.”
“Thanks,” Mackenzie said, already turning to head in the direction of the sheds.
“Do I need to be worried here?” Roy asked, clearly scared now.
I wish I knew, Mackenzie thought as she and Ellington ran to Unit 4B. She had to give it to Ellington—for nearly being shot in the face less than fifteen minutes ago, he sure had his wits about him. Maybe he was more determined now, pushing forward with something of a personal vendetta.
At 4B, they came to a stop and Ellington inserted the key into the lock. The lock was built directly into the side of the sliding door and when he turned it, the door seemed to give a bit. As he pushed the door up along its tracks, Mackenzie withdrew her Glock. She knew it was a silly thing to do; if there was anything in there, it was likely a dead body. Still, after what they’d experienced this afternoon, she wasn’t about to take any chances.
The door rolled up, revealing a mostly empty unit. In the back, there were two overturned carboard boxes. Inside one of them were the shattered fragments of something porcelain. Likely a teapot.
But tucked away in the far corner was a small tackle box, the kind a beginning fisherman might take out on the river or a pond. Ellington walked slowly toward it, looking back to Mackenzie as if to tell her that it was okay—that he was going to be careful. He hunkered down to his knees and unclasped the top. When he opened it, he got to his feet and stepped back.
“Damn,” he said.
Mackenzie joined him and looked inside the tacklebox. Inside, there were three knives. One had very clearly been used, the blade coated in dried blood with splatters on the handle.
“I think it’s safe to say this is one of his,” Ellington said.
“But the question is whether or not he intended to put a body in it,” Mackenzie said.
They both looked around the area, trying to imagine a dead body on the floor. They’d seen it enough times over the last few days that it wasn’t all that easy to picture.
“Hell,” Ellington said, “there’s no way to know for sure. We know that he’s not above storing the bodies in the storage units of his victims. He’s done it once. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, no—”
The ringing of his phone interrupted his thought. He answered it quickly, still looking around the unit like a potential customer might survey it.
“This is Ellington.”
Mackenzie listened to his end of the conversation, though it was mainly just a series of yeahs and okays. She looked at the empty boxes, their presence making her think that at some time, there had been something else here. Maybe the killer had once had many of his dolls and tea items here. Maybe he constantly moved them from one unit to another just in case he was ever caught or slipped up. It was a smart play on his part but in this case, it might very well be a big mistake on his part.
At least, that’s what she hoped.
Ellington ended the call and already had a look of deep thought on his face. “That was Rising. They found the truck, but the driver was missing. It was about two miles away from where we lost it, crashed into a utility pole.”
“No sign of the driver at all?”
“No. But they ran the plate. The truck belonged to someone named Brian Dixon. I don’t know why, but that name sounds very familiar.”
In Mackenzie’s head, something clicked. Finally, some progress…
“That’s the boyfriend of the missing persons case—of Daisy Walker.”
“That’s right!” He looked like he had just remembered the lyrics to some long forgotten song, the words finally surfacing in his head. “But…wait. Dixon is the killer?”
“I doubt it. No…I don’t think so. That doesn’t feel right.”
“It seems like the simplest solution right now,” he said. “Daisy Walker is reported missing by her mother. A mother who openly admits that her daughter spends all of her time with her boyfriend. A truck belonging to that boyfriend pulls into a storage facility we just happen to be looking into and then the driver tries to blow my head off. If he’s the killer, maybe he killed his girlfriend, too. Maybe he killed Daisy.”
But even as he spoke all of it out loud, Mackenzie could tell that he was even starting to see it as not making much sense.
“All we would need to do is dust the truck for prints,” Mackenzie said. “This unit, too. A thorough search of Dixon’s house would also probably pull up some sort of documentation for at least one of the units. That’s if he’s the killer. Which I doubt.”
“Rising said he’ll have forensics out here in about half an hour for prints.”
“Once they get here, I say we check Dixon’s house. Just in case.”
“And then we join in on the manhunt for the driver of the truck.”
“Based on what, exactly? Your description of the hat he was wearing and the angle of his jawline? I hate to say it, but unless he was injured when he crashed into that utility pole, he’s gotten away.”
“Yeah, probably…”
“So instead of looking for him, we need to find more information. I do think that the killer driving the truck belonging to Daisy Walker’s boyfriend all but confirms that she’s the next victim. So between Daisy, the truck, this unit, and everything we already have, we should finally be able to move ahead. Maybe find out where he would be if he had to go into hiding.”
“If he hasn’t already made a plan to leave town when the shit hits the fan,” Ellington added.
“We can’t afford to think like that,” Mackenzie said.
“I know. It’s just frustrating the hell out of me.”
“Me, too.”
But for Mackenzie, it was more than that. Knowing there was a woman out there, perhaps still alive, perhaps not even given that death sentence of a stab wound yet, was maddening. All they needed was one more little push in the right direction and they might be able to potentially save her.
And in her mind’s eye, she saw that woman—presumably Daisy Walker—lying on a cold concrete floor with a gag around her mouth, her legs and feet tied tightly. She was squirming and looking to the back of the storage door, wondering if anyone was going to help her.
And really, she was nothing more than one of those lifeless dolls that had been taunting them, all glassy eyes and little hopeless stares.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The afternoon went by in a rainy blur. Forensics showed up at Roy’s Storage and started going through their process. Mackenzie and Ellington took their leave and headed back to Shelby Walker’s house. It was not a visit that Mackenzie wanted to make. They’d all but be confirming that her daughter might very well indeed be in serious danger—danger that could very well lead to death.
Mackenzie attempted to call before stopping by but Shelby was not answering her phone. Several horrible scenarios ran through her head but she did her best to keep them in check. This case had been terrible for her as far as keeping herself in check. And now that there was a mother’s heart and possibly even sanity on the line, she had to remain professional.
They arrived at Shelby Walker’s house at 6:12 p.m. Mackenzie was incredibly saddened to see that Mrs. Walker was still sitting on the porch in just about the same place and posture as she had been that morning. When she saw the car pull up alongside the curb, she stood up and her hand went to her mouth as if to push down a scream.
The moment Mackenzie was out of the car, she did her best to calm her. “It’s not what it might seem like,” Mackenzie said. “We just have a few more questions and maybe some information that might help.”
Mrs. Walker seemed very skeptical, eyeing the agents like they might attack her if they came up on her porch. Still, she nodded to the stairs in an invitation, slowly resuming her seated position.
“What information?” she asked.
“Earlier today, you told us that Daisy and her boyfriend, Brian Dixon, spent a lot of
time together. You also indicated that they usually took Brian’s car everywhere. But do you happen to know whether or not he also owns a truck?”
“He does, but it this old beater truck. He rarely drives it. Hauls the trash off in it, helps people move, things like that.”
“Is it a black Ford?” Ellington asked.
“I…I think so. Why? What is it? What’s happened?”
“Well, it was involved in a police chase earlier today. We don’t believe Brian was at the wheel. We think the truck might have been stolen.”
“By who?”
“We aren’t sure yet. But we do have reason to believe it might have been stolen by a suspect in a murder case.”
Mrs. Walker’s reaction was just about what Mackenzie had expected. Her mouth seemed to contort as she let out a gnashing cry. Her eyes watered as her hand once again went to her mouth in the universal sign of grief.
“Now, please keep in mind…we don’t have enough hard evidence to confirm any of this. But we do know that Brian’s car was indeed involved in a chase and accident earlier today. But the driver was not in the truck when it crashed.”
“Oh…”
This seemed to ease her a bit, making her relax the slightest little bit. “I can tell you with some assurance that Brian is not the type to lead the police on a chase.” She took a gulp of air here, as if she was not quite sure she wanted to bail on her grief and negative thoughts just yet. “I don’t think he’s ever been in any kind of trouble, aside from some parking tickets.”
“Did he always keep the truck at his home?” Mackenzie asked.
“Oh, I don’t know for sure. I saw it in front of his garage once. I figured that’s where he kept it because the garage was always so crammed and messy.”
“And you can’t think of anywhere the two of them might have gone?”
“Not without Daisy telling me,” Mrs. Walker said.
“Okay. Thank you again for your time.”
“Wait…Agents…do you think this murderer got my Daisy?”
Mackenzie hated such direct questions. She wasn’t opposed to stretching the truth to help ease someone’s mind when it was necessary, but she hated to lie. So she did the best with what she had at the time.
“It’s just too early to say. For now, I think the fact that she turned up missing with her boyfriend is a good sign. There’s certainly no need to give up hope.”
Once again, she saw Mrs. Walker relax a bit more. Still, a single tear escaped the corner of her eye and Mackenzie could tell that the poor old woman had already spent much of the day assuming the absolute worst.
“Do you think you’ll find her?” Mrs. Walker asked.
Again, not wanting to tell an outright lie, Mackenzie did the best she could. “We’re certainly going to try our best.”
It sounded like defeat. She hoped Mrs. Walker couldn’t hear it and didn’t take the chance to look back at her face as she and Ellington headed back to the car, leaving Shelby Walker with more questions than answers for the second time that day.
***
They spent the next hour going through Brian Dixon’s house. It was a simple yet quaint one-story house located three miles away from Shelby Walker’s house. It showed the signs of cohabitation—clearly from a couple close to one another but not yet married. The shampoos and soaps were all mixed up together in the shower. The books and DVDs in the living room were incredibly varied and not hidden out of sight. Daisy’s comb was on the bedside table on the left side of the bed while a MacBook sat charging on the right.
What the house did not offer them was any indication that Brian Dixon had ever rented a storage unit. Even when Ellington picked open the lock on a lower drawer to a filing cabinet in Brian’s office, there was nothing. There was, however, a brochure for wedding rings. Seeing that Brian had circled two in red marker made Mackenzie sadder than it should have.
The last place they checked was the garage. Shelby Walker had not been kidding; the garage was a mitigated disaster. There was a little bit of everything, some of which made no sense at all: sports equipment, a portion of a department store mannequin, a small collection of glass bottles, old stereo equipment, and boxes of decorations for every holiday, right down to St. Patrick’s Day.
“I think it’s safe to say that if anyone needed a storage unit, it would be this guy,” Ellington said.
“But I think the fact that his garage is such a mess shows that he doesn’t. Not to mention that there was no sign of it inside.”
“So Brian Dixon is not our killer. Which means his truck was indeed stolen—more than likely by our killer.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“We need to get back to the station and see what forensics is up to. If they can get just once clear print from the truck or the unit…”
“Yeah, it won’t hurt to hope,” Mackenzie said.
They exited the house as dusk darkened into night. On the way to the car, Mackenzie found herself reaching out and taking Ellington’s hand. She gave it a squeeze and smiled thinly at him.
“I’m glad you didn’t die today,” she said.
“Yeah, me too. I won’t lie…I thought I had pissed myself there for a second.”
She wanted to try to express to him just how worried she had been when she’d heard the shot and seen him go down. For a moment there, she was sure she had lost him and her heart had not been able to understand it—to comprehend it. But to admit such a thing meant showing vulnerability. And this close to the wedding—not to mention on the heels of a fight—she did not want to put herself in that position.
They pulled away from Brian Dixon’s home and as Mackenzie looked back at the house in the rearview mirror, she was overcome with a certainty that chilled her. Maybe it was a woman’s intuition or the instinctual extra sense she was developing as an agent. Whatever it was, the night seemed to fill her in, making her all but certain that Brian Dixon was never going to step foot in his house again and that Daisy Walker was in for some serious trouble…if she wasn’t already dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Back at the station, the atmosphere had a tension that made Mackenzie feel like there was a bomb somewhere in the building and it might go off at any moment. In addition to the storage unit killer, there were also several cops tied up in a heroin bust that was going down later that night. Word of Ellington’s near-death experience had made the rounds and most of the officers in the building were looking at him with something close to reverence.
When they entered the conference room, Rising was there with the two officers who had assisted him the previous day: Dentry and Willard. Dentry was on the phone, huddled in the corner of the room. Based on the bits of conversation Mackenzie was picking up, she was speaking to someone with forensics.
“Any luck on your end?” Rising asked them as they entered.
“Nothing,” Ellington said. “Though we feel pretty confident that we can eliminate Brian Dixon as the killer. There’s nothing at all in his house that indicates he has anything to do with the murders. No record of storage rentals, no red flags at home…nothing.”
“His packed-out garage also hints at the fact that he has never even thought of using a storage unit,” Mackenzie added.
“So the truck was stolen?” Rising asked.
“That’s what we’re thinking.”
They then filled Rising in on the conversation they’d had with Shelby Walker and their search of Dixon’s home. When they informed him that Brian Dixon was Daisy Walker’s boyfriend, a look of understanding flashed across Rising’s face.
“So chances are pretty good that Walker is the next victim,” he said.
“That’s our theory,” Mackenzie agreed.
“What about Dixon? You think he was killed just out of sheer poor luck? I mean, the killer had to get the truck somehow.”
“That’s just another question we’re going to have to find an answer to,” Ellington said.
The three of them stood around the
table, allowing a brief silence to hang around them as they let this all sink in. The silence was short-lived, however. Dentry ended her call and turned to them slowly. The look on her face indicated that any news she had was not going to be good.
“That was Rodgers, with forensics,” Dentry said. “There were no prints in the storage unit.”
“Not a single one?” Rising asked.
“That’s what they’re saying. There was a fraction of one on one of the cardboard boxes, but it’s so poor, they don’t think they can get a reading from it.”
“What about the truck?” Mackenzie asked.
“There were several prints in the truck. But based on the cleanliness of the unit, just about everyone on the scene is expecting those prints to come back as belonging to Brian Dixon.”
“How long before we’ll have results?”
“Early morning,” Dentry said.
“And please understand,” Rising said. “With this whole heroin bust and then the units out in patrol, we can’t really offer much more manpower on this.”
“We may need to consider calling DC and getting a few more agents on this,” Ellington said. “Maybe get an agent or two from the Seattle field office.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Rising said.
“I’ll make the call to McGrath,” Ellington said.
The look he gave Mackenzie was one that looked very close to defeat. Calling McGrath would mean admitting that this case had been a little too much for them…this, their last case together as a couple. She nearly argued against him making the call; if there wasn’t a life hanging in the balance, she might have done it. But right now, she could put her own ego on hold. Right now, locating either the killer or Daisy Walker was the most important thing.
Ellington stepped out of the office, leaving Mackenzie with Rising and his pair of assisting officers. She looked at the mess on the table—files, printouts, crime scene photographs. She then looked at the whiteboard, at all of the notes and scribbles that had been jotted down over the last few days.
Mackenzie White 10-Before He Longs Page 14