Before He Preys

by Blake Pierce

  She looked down the length of the bridge and counted three different struts. She went to the rail and hunkered down to get a closer look. The strut in front of her also supported five smaller struts than ran beneath the bridge. These smaller ones were attached to the larger ones with large bolts. The bolts were capped off with what looked like smooth metal caps, worn and rusted with age.

  Mackenzie looked at the picture of Malory’s palm, zooming in on the indentation in her skin. Slightly circular, the curves looking very much like the circumference of the metal caps on the strut.

  She ran her finger carefully over the metal cap. Yes, it was smooth—probably put there to hide the rougher edging of whatever industrial bolt had been used to attach the struts—but the edges of the caps were a little rough around the edges.

  Mackenzie got back to her feet and slowly walked a bit farther down the bridge. She saw the same layout, one after another. Five bolts, the ends of which were covered by those smooth iron caps. There would then be a break in the spacing of the caps, and then there would be five more. She counted three sets of five in the first iron strut, and then five in the next.

  She didn’t get to the third iron strut on the last portion of the bridge, though. When she was about halfway down the bridge, she came to a spot where the wooden base of the bridge’s frame poked out just a bit from beyond the iron strut. Not much…maybe three inches. But it was enough for Mackenzie to realize that the beams and struts beneath the bridge were partially made of wood—perhaps just the original frame or additional construction.

  She again went to her knees and leaned a bit out past the safety railings. She ran her hand along the little bit of exposed wood. It was old and brittle but quite hard. She compared the color and texture of the wood to the small piece that Burke had bagged and showed to her. Even with the glare of her cell phone, she could tell that it was the same.

  But if she jumped, how the hell did it get into her hair?

  She was pretty sure the picture of Malory’s palm answered that question.

  If the indention of one of those caps was on her palm, she didn’t jump. She was hanging from the bridge…maybe trying to save herself. And the wood chip in her hair…if she was hanging from this very spot, it’s not too hard to believe that this old wood might have flaked off into her hair as she tried to regain her grip.

  She ran her thumb over the five caps along the strut in front of her one by one. At the one second to the end, she felt a roughness to the cap’s ending. It was certainly rough enough to cause those paper-thin abrasions on Malory’s hand.

  With her heart in her chest, Mackenzie looked down over the rail. The rocks that had ultimately killed Malory Thomas and Kenny Skinner waited down there. Even from this height, she could see the discoloration where there had been blood less than twelve hours ago.

  I’m standing where they stood, Mackenzie thought. They were standing right here moments before they died.

  She then looked back to the picture of the indentation in Malory’s palm, and then back to the bolt caps. And then she corrected her thought: They were standing right here moments before they were murdered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mackenzie did not have cell phone reception until she was back off of the gravel road so she wasn’t able to call McGrath with an update for another ten minutes. His secretary said he was out of the office and he did not answer his cell phone. She decided not to leave a message and, instead, called up Sheriff Tate.

  Tate didn’t answer either but as his voicemail kicked on, she remembered him telling her how his outdated phone had been misbehaving. She hung up, frustrated, but before she had time to get angry, Tate called her directly back.

  “Told ya,” he said. “This damned phone. Anyway, what can I do for you, Agent White?” he asked.

  “How quickly can you meet me at the station with a few of your best men?”

  “I’m at the station right now. And if it’s concerning Kenny Skinner, then the only other person that knows is my deputy, like I told you last night. I can have him back here in about twenty minutes. Why? What’s up?”

  “Just some things I want to fill you in on.”

  “You find something?” he asked, instantly curious. He also sounded a bit excited and Mackenzie wasn’t sure how to take that.

  “I’d really rather wait until I can meet you there. By the way…do you have any way for me to dial in to DC?”

  “Just a standard old touchtone phone. We can conference someone in if we need to.”

  She felt a little spoiled when she found this disappointing. Regardless, she thanked him and ended the call.

  She was five minutes away from the Kingsville PD when McGrath called her back. After she went over the details of what she had found, he went silent for a moment. Finally, just as she was about to pull into the station’s lot, he spoke.

  “You’re certain of this?” he asked.

  “I’m certain enough to say that it strongly warrants an investigation.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Find some way to bring me into this meeting you’re about to have. I want to stay close on this one.”

  “Will do. Give me a few minutes.”

  She parked and went into the station. Sheriff Tate was sitting behind the little bullpen area, waiting for her. When she came into the lobby, he walked quickly to meet her right away. As he escorted her to the back of the small building, he spoke to her under his breath.

  “I did manage to get one of my guys to figure out a way to hook you up with a video call sort of thing on one of our laptops. I’m sure it’s not as high tech as what you’re used to in DC, but it’s all we got out here.”

  “It’s okay. That should be fine.”

  Tate led her into a conference room where a rather old MacBook was sitting on a small wooden table. Another man sat at the end of the table, giving her a wave as she came in. He then stood up and offered his hand.

  “Deputy Andrews,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Agent White.” He was a short and stout man, a little on the heavy side, with the sort of gritty southern charm that could be either charming or off-putting. Mackenzie couldn’t decide where Andrews fell just yet.

  “So, this is the best we could do,” Tate said, turning the MacBook in her direction. “My guy just made sure FaceTime was operable on it. That’s high-tech shit for Kingsville.”

  She pulled McGrath’s number from her contact list and typed it in. When she placed the call, it took a few moments before it connected. When McGrath’s face came on the screen, Tate and Andrews crowded in behind Mackenzie.

  A quick round of introductions were made—nothing more than a formality really, as she was sure McGrath couldn’t care less about Kingsville’s finest.

  “For the sake of all being on the same page,” Mackenzie said, “I’m going to go over everything one more time. There were very minor abrasions on Malory Thomas’s left palm. There was also a very faint indention of sorts, as if she had been clutching on to something moments before her death. After visiting the Miller Moon Bridge this morning, I was able to determine that the indentation was the exact shape of the end caps placed on the bolts along the struts on the edge of the bridge.

  “Additionally, there was a piece of wood found in her hair—which the coroner found off because it was the only piece. It just so happens that the scrap of wood in her hair is the exact same as the wooden planks along and underneath the bridge, right down to the tone and texture. Put all of this together with the fact that she was nude and her clothes were discovered on the bridge, it makes me think she did not jump. It seems more like she was dangling on the edge of the bridge. Pretty tightly, I might add, based on that indentation. And if she was going to kill herself, why would she struggle to hold on to the edge?”

  “Makes sense to me,” Tate said.

  “Yes, it does,” McGrath said. “But that then leads us to more questions. Was it just Malory Thomas who might have been murdered? Can we also lump Kenny Skinner in with her? And
if so, why not everyone else who has jumped from that bridge?”

  “I spoke with Dr. Jan Haggerty, a psychiatrist here in town. She says that based on what she knew of Kenny Skinner, there was no way he committed suicide. His mother strongly agrees. And if you look at the dates of the suicides, it’s been almost two years since a body was found on the rocks beneath the bridge. Now, two years later, we have two within the span of four days. I think it’s a safe assumption to say that Kenny Skinner’s death might be worth looking into as a murder as well. The timing makes it too concrete to be a coincidence.”

  “Sheriff Tate, we’ve discussed the importance of the Skinner kid already,” McGrath said. “I ask that in the coming days you please consider giving Agent White any assistance she needs. And please let her have full run of this case. She’s among my best agents and I trust her completely. Can you do that for me?”

  “Absolutely. Just let us know how we can help.”

  “Agent White, do you have any leads to pursue at this point?”

  “Nothing solid,” she said. “But I imagine it wouldn’t be too hard to find some people to speak with in regards to the lives of the victims. I’m continuously being told how this is one of those towns where everybody knows everybody. Speaking to Kenny Skinner’s mother gave me a few ideas.”

  “Good. Get to it, and keep me posted. Sheriff Tate, thanks again for your cooperation.”

  “No pro—”

  But McGrath had hung up, the screen glitching for a moment and then the call coming to an end.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Mackenzie said. “He does that to me all the time.”

  With a shrug, Tate asked, “So what do you need from us?”

  Mackenzie thought for a moment, trying to determine the best course of action. “Can you get me the police records for any of the people who have committed suicide from the bridge in the last five years or so?”

  “I can get that for you,” Miller said. “But I don’t think there will be too much to look at.”

  “That’s fine, just—”

  Her phone rang, interrupting her. She answered it and heard Pam Skinner’s somber voice on the other end.

  “Agent White? Are you still in Kingsville?”

  “I am.”

  “Do you think you could come back over to our house? My husband has finally sort of calmed down and would like to speak with you.”

  “Of course. Just give me a few minutes.”

  It wasn’t a lead, per se, but it was better than what she had at the moment. And just like that, Mackenzie left the Kingsville PD more certain than ever that she was officially looking for a murderer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Mackenzie pulled into the Skinners’ driveway ten minutes later, she saw a man that she assumed to be Vincent Skinner on the front porch. He was sitting rigidly in an old rocker, his eyes trailing her car as she pulled in. When she joined him on the porch, she could see quite clearly that he was wrecked. His eyes were red from crying and his entire body seemed like one tightly coiled knot, ready to snap at the next sign of pressure.

  “Mr. Skinner, thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

  “Thank you for looking into this,” he said. “I figured we’d meet out here. Pam is finally letting herself sleep so I want to keep the house nice and quiet.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Pam told me all the things she told you and I have to agree with her one hundred percent,” Vincent said. “Kenny just wasn’t the sort of young man that would kill himself. As cheesy as it sounds, he loved life too much.”

  “Can you give me some examples?”

  Vincent looked to the porch boards at his feet and chuckled, a sad sound coming out of his hoarse throat. “Well, I won’t paint a pretty picture for you. I mean, I loved my son without fail but he could be a little troublesome at times. He had this crappy apartment on the outskirts of town and he’d been working for me for years, so I know the kind of money he was making. He also dabbled in some stupid stock market apps, bringing in a little money here and there like that. But still…a new girl seemingly every month, partying on the weekends but never to excess…but despite all that, he was well-mannered. And I feel confident that anyone else in town would tell you the same. He was polite, kind-hearted…but he liked to have his fun, too.”

  “These woman he saw,” Mackenzie said. “Is there any chance there might be a jealous ex-boyfriend that could have been seeking revenge?”

  “If so, I wouldn’t know about it. I do know, though, that the last two girls he was fooling around with were single at the time.”

  “And do you know their names?”

  “Lizzy was one…but I don’t remember her last name. She wasn’t from Kingsville. She was from Elm Creek, two towns over. The one before her was Amanda Armstrong. She lives here in town. Had a divorce a few years back. I sort of poked fun at him because she was damn near twelve years older than he was. But her ex moved away to Boston, I think. So I don’t think there’d be any chance of him being involved.”

  “Well, what about at work? He worked for you and you run a tractor supply store, is that correct?”

  “Yeah, tire and tractor. Kenny was good at what he did but really didn’t put a lot of passion into it.”

  “And what was he responsible for at work?”

  “I had him and one other guy in charge of all tire sales,” Vincent answered. “Kenny was also pretty good with small repairs to cars, trucks, and farm equipment.”

  “And did he get along with his co-workers?”

  “Yeah. They’re the ones he’d usually party with on the weekends. They could be irresponsible at times but I never had any problems with them. Well…I take that back. There was one time, about eight or nine months ago I guess, where Kenny just about got into a fist fight with a guy in the parking lot.”

  “A customer?”

  “Well, a would-be customer. He came to the shop for a few tractor tires from what I understand. But he and Kenny had some words and it got really heated. I wasn’t there that day; one of the other guys had to break it up.”

  “And you don’t know what the argument was about?”

  “No. And Kenny never told me.”

  “Do you recall the name of the man?”

  “Oh yeah. It was J.T. Case. He’s a local guy. Has a pretty sizable cornfield about ten miles from here.”

  “And is he known to be a troublemaker?”

  “No, not J.T. But his son, Mike, is a little asshole. One of those guys that was always bullying kids in school. I hate to spread gossip but there’s a rumor that he beat one of his ex-girlfriends half to death. He was gone for about a year and then came back. No one is really sure what happened, to be honest.”

  “But the argument at work was between J.T.—the father—and Kenny, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mackenzie took all of this in, not feeling that there was much to go on but wanting something to start building some leads.

  “Lastly, is there anyone you can think of who might have something against your son—something so bad that they’d be driven to murder?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since we learned that he had died. The moment Sheriff Tate told me that it looked like suicide, I knew it was bullshit. I instantly started wondering who would want to kill Kenny and I couldn’t come up with a single person.”

  Mackenzie nodded and got to her feet. “Well, you have my card if you do think of anything else. Don’t hesitate to call me even if you think of something that might seem trivial.”

  “Sure,” Vincent said, but he already had a faraway look in his eyes. He was looking to the porch boards at his feet again, perhaps trying to figure out how this had all happened—how his life had literally changed overnight.

  Mackenzie returned to her car and backed out of the driveway, feeling like she’d accomplished nothing through this meeting other than causing a grieving man to dig even deeper into his pain.


  ***

  When she arrived back at the station, there seemed to be more energy about the place. She assumed this was because the two recent suicides were now officially being investigated as murder cases. When she returned to the small conference room, she found Deputy Andrews and another officer poring over several stacks of files.

  “Get anything from the father?” Andrews asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Mackenzie said. “There’s still just too much digging to do. I may need to head back out to the bridge to get a better look at the rocks down below in the daylight. Maybe there’s something there that was missed.”

  “Maybe,” Andrews said, though this tone indicated that he wasn’t really so sure about it.

  “Well, I think I might have something for you,” said the other officer. He was a younger-looking African-American guy, maybe in his late twenties. The tag above his left breast read Roberts. He slid two files over to her with a hopeful look in his eye.

  “What am I looking at?” Mackenzie asked.

  “The files for Malory Thomas and Carl Alvarez.”

  “Alvarez,” Mackenzie said. It took her a moment to recover the name from her memory. He had been on the list of suicides from Miller Moon Bridge over the course of the last several years.

  “Yes,” Roberts said. “He jumped off the bridge four years ago. At first glance, there’s really not much that ties the two of them together. Only Alvarez has a record and the only charge against him was possession of marijuana from the very same year he killed himself. However, it’s how he got the marijuana that connects them. It seems the guy that sold Alvarez the pot also has a connection to Malory Thomas. Got into a fight with her ex-boyfriend not too long ago.”