by Blake Pierce
She ventured down to the chain-link fence that surrounded the dump. She started at the gate where vehicles came through and worked her way to the left. She looked around the bottom edge of the fence for a few seconds before another thought hit her.
He’d have to climb the fence, she thought.
She then started investigating the fence. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Maybe stray dirt or fibers on the chain links. Anything she found would be a long shot, but it would be something.
It took less than two minutes before she came across something of interest. It was so infinitesimal that she almost ignored it completely. But as she stepped closer, she saw that it might be more helpful than she had originally thought.
About five feet off the ground and six feet to the left of the entry gate, a single strand of white fabric clung to one of the diamond shapes in the fence. The fabric itself might not yield any results but this at least gave them a great place to start dusting for fingerprints.
“Agent Bryers?” she said.
He came over slowly, as if he wasn’t expecting much. As he got closer, she heard him make a hmmm sound as he looked at the piece of fabric.
“Great work, Ms. White,” he said.
“Please, just Mackenzie,” she said. “Mac, if you’re feeling adventurous.”
“What do you think it is?” he asked.
“Maybe nothing. Buy maybe a strand of clothing from someone that recently scaled the fence. The fabric may be useless, but it gives us a concentrated area to focus on for fingerprints.”
“There’s a small evidence kit in the trunk of the car. Can you retrieve it while I call this in?”
“Sure,” she said, heading back to the car.
By the time she returned to him, he was already ending the call. Everything with Bryers seemed to be quick and efficient. It was one of the things she was quickly starting to like about him.
“Okay, Mac,” he said. “Now let’s continue down the trail you spelled out earlier today. The victim’s husband lives about twenty minutes away from here. You up for it?”
“I am,” Mackenzie said.
They got back into the car and pulled out of the still-closed-down landfill. Overhead, a series of scavenger birds performed their duty diligently, watching the drama unfold below with uncaring eyes.
***
Caleb Kellerman already had visitors in the form of two policemen when Mackenzie and Bryers arrived at his home. He lived just outside of Georgetown in a two-story house that made for a cute starter home. Thinking that the Kellermans had only been married for a little over a year before his bride had been killed made Mackenzie feel sorry for the man, but also angry about what had happened.
A starter home that never got a chance to see what else it could be, Mackenzie thought as they stepped into the house. How profoundly sad.
They entered through the front door, stepping into a thin foyer that looked directly into the living room. Mackenzie could feel the creeping sense of loneliness and quiet that accompanied most residences shortly after a death. She hoped she’d eventually get used to it, but found it hard to believe.
Bryers made introductions with the police outside of the foyer and the boys in uniform seemed relieved to be asked to step aside. When they made their exit, Bryers and Mackenzie stepped into the living room. Mackenzie saw that Caleb Kellerman looked incredibly young; he could easily pass for eighteen with his clean-shaven look, Five Finger Death Punch T-shirt, and baggy camo shorts. Mackenzie was able to quickly look past his appearance, focusing instead on the indescribable grief she saw in the young man’s face.
He looked up to them, waiting for either of them to speak. Mackenzie noticed Bryers giving her the go-ahead, nodding subtly in Caleb Kellerman’s direction. She stepped forward, both terrified and flattered that she was being given such authority. Either Bryers thought a lot of her, or he was trying to make her uncomfortable.
“Mr. Kellerman, I’m Agent White, and this is Agent Bryers.” She hesitated there for a moment. Had she really just called herself Agent White? It sort of had a nice ring to it. She skipped past this and continued on. “I know you’re dealing with a loss that I won’t even pretend to be able to understand,” she said. She kept her tone soft, warm, but firm. “But if we want to find the person that did this, we really need to ask you some questions. Are you up for it?”
Caleb Kellerman nodded. “Anything I can do to make sure the man that did this is found,” he said. “I’ll do anything.”
There was rage in his voice that made Mackenzie hope that someone would seek some sort of therapy for Caleb in the coming days. There was something in his eyes that looked nearly unhinged.
“Well, first of all, I need to know if Susan had any enemies…anyone that might be a rival of sorts.”
“There were a few girls she went to high school with that would get pissy with her on Facebook,” Caleb said. “It was usually over politics, though. And none of those girls would do it, anyway. It was just nasty arguments and things like that.”
“And what about her job?” Mackenzie asked. “Did she enjoy it?”
Caleb shrugged. He sat back on the couch and tried to relax. His face, however, seemed resigned to a permanent frown. “She liked it about as much as any woman that went to college and lands a job that has nothing to do with her degree. It paid the bills and the bonuses were pretty good sometimes. The hours sucked, though.”
“Did you know any of the people she worked with?” Mackenzie asked.
“No. I heard about them in the stories she’d bring home, but that was it.”
Bryers chimed in next. His voice sounded very different in the still of the house as he used somber tones. “She was a saleswoman, correct? For A Better You University?”
“Yeah. I already gave the police her supervisor’s number.”
“We’ve had some people from the Bureau already speak with him,” Bryers said.
“It won’t matter,” Caleb said. “No one at work killed her. I can guarantee it. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s this feeling I have. Everyone at her work is nice…in the same boat we were in, trying to pay bills and make ends meet. Honest people, you know?”
For a moment, he teetered on the edge of weeping. He stifled it back, looked down to the floor to collect himself, and looked back up. The tears that he had barely suppressed floated along the edges of his eyes.
“Okay, then what can you think of that might lead us down the right path?” Bryers asked.
“I can’t,” Caleb said. “She had a sell sheet of the clients she was visiting that day, but no one can find it. The cops said it’s probably because the killer took it and trashed it.”
“That’s probably the case,” Mackenzie said.
“I still don’t get it,” Caleb said. “It still doesn’t feel real. I’m waiting for her to come back through that door any minute now. The day she died…it started out just like any other day. She kissed me on the cheek as I was getting dressed for work and said goodbye. She left for the bus stop, and that was it. That was the last time I saw her.”
Mackenzie saw that Caleb was on the verge of losing it and, as much as it seemed wrong to do so, she got in one last question before he collapsed.
“Bus stop?” she asked.
“Yeah, she rode the bus to the office every day; she caught the eight twenty to get to work on time. The car crapped out on us two months ago.”
“Where’s that bus stop located?” Bryers asked.
“Two blocks down,” Caleb said. “It’s one of those small vestibule-type deals.” He then looked at Mackenzie and White, hope suddenly blooming in his eyes under the pain and hatred. “Why? Do you think it’s important?”
“There’s no way to know for sure,” Mackenzie said. “But we’ll keep you posted. Thank you for your time.”
“Sure,” Caleb said. “Hey…guys?”
“Yeah?” Mackenzie said.
“It’s been more than three days now, right? Three days sinc
e I last saw her and almost two whole days since they found her body.”
“That’s right,” Bryers said quietly.
“So is it too late? Is this bastard going to get away?”
“No,” Mackenzie said. It was out of her mouth before she could stop it and she knew right away that she had made her first mistake in front of Bryers.
“We’ll do the best we can,” Bryers said, placing a gentle but urging hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder. “Please call us if you think of anything that might help.”
With that, they made their exit. Mackenzie shuddered a bit when she heard Caleb break down in a sobbing fit before they were able to shut the door behind them.
That sound did something to her…something that reminded her of home. The last time she’d felt such a thing was the moment back in Nebraska when she had become absolutely consumed with the task of stopping the Scarecrow Killer. She felt that all-consuming need again as they stepped out onto Caleb Kellerman’s front steps, and she slowly realized that she would stop at nothing until she caught this killer.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You can’t do that,” Bryers said the moment they were back in the car, he taking the wheel.
“I can’t do what?”
He sighed and tried his best to seem sincere rather than disciplinary. “I know you’ve probably never been in this exact situation before, but you can’t tell the family of a victim that no, the killer isn’t going to get away. You can’t give them hope if there is none. Hell, even if there is hope, you can’t say something like that.”
“I know,” she said, disappointed. “I knew it the moment the word was out of my mouth. I’m sorry.”
“No need for apologies. Just try to keep your head on straight. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Because Bryers knew the city better than Mackenzie, he drove them to the Department of Public Transportation. He drove with some urgency and requested that Mackenzie call ahead to make sure they could speak to someone that knew what they were talking about and could get them in and out of there in a hurry. It was such a simple method, but Mackenzie was impressed with the efficiency of it. It was a far cry from what she’d experienced in Nebraska for sure.
During the half hour drive, Bryers filled the car with conversation. He wanted to know all about her time on the force in Nebraska, most notably the Scarecrow Killer case. He asked about college and her interests. She was happy enough to give him the surface-level information but didn’t go too deep—mainly because he wasn’t going very deep himself.
In fact, Bryers seemed reserved. When Mackenzie asked him about his family, he kept it as general as he could without being rude. “A wife, two boys that are off to college, and a dog that’s on its last legs.”
Well, Mackenzie thought. It’s only our first day together and he doesn’t know me at all—just what he read about me in the papers six months ago and from whatever is in my file with the Academy. I don’t blame him for not opening up just yet.
When they arrived at the Department of Public Transportation, Mackenzie still held a favorable opinion of the elder agent but there was a tension between them that she couldn’t quite grasp. Maybe he didn’t feel it; maybe it was just her. The fact that he had basically waved off any questions she asked him about his work made her uncomfortable. It also made her quickly remember that this was not her job yet. She was simply riding along as a favor to Ellington, a way to test her wheels, so to speak.
She was also involved in all of this due to some shady dealings in back rooms where the higher-ups were taking a gamble on her. It added a whole new level of risk not only for her, but for the people she was working with—Bryers and Ellington included.
The Department of Transportation was located inside of a building with about ten other departments housed within it. Mackenzie followed Agent Bryers through the hallways as best she could. He walked quickly, nodding to people here and there as if he were familiar with the place. A few people seemed to recognize him, giving him quick smiles and waves here and there. The day was coming to an end, so people seemed to be milling about quickly, waiting for five o’clock.
As they came to the section of the building they needed, Mackenzie started to allow herself to appreciate the moment. Four hours ago, she’d been coming out of McClarren’s class and now she was somehow knee deep in a homicide case, working with an agent that seemed to be well conditioned and damn good at his job.
They approached a counter where Bryers leaned slightly over it and eyed the young woman sitting behind a desk immediately in front of them. “We called about speaking to someone about the bus schedules,” he explained to the woman. “Agents White and Bryers.”
“Oh yes,” the receptionist said. “You’ll be speaking to Mrs. Percell. She is out back in the bus garage. It’s all the way down the hall, down the stairs, and out the back.”
They followed the receptionist’s directions, heading to the back of the building where Mackenzie could already hear the humming of engines and the rumbling of machinery. The building was constructed in such a way that the noise was not at all noticeable in the busier, nicer parts of the building but here in the back, it sounded almost like an auto garage.
“When we meet this Mrs. Percell,” Bryers said, “I want you to take the lead.”
“Okay,” Mackenzie said, still feeling like she was taking some sort of weird exam.
They took the stairs down, following a sign labeled Garage / Bus Lot. Downstairs, a thin hallway led into a small open office. A man in mechanic’s scrubs stood behind an antiquated computer, typing something in. Through a large picture window, Mackenzie was able to look out into a large garage. Several city buses were parked there, undergoing maintenance. As she watched, a door in the back of the office opened and a cheerful-looking overweight woman entered from the garage.
“Are you the FBI folks?”
“That’s us,” Mackenzie said. Beside her, Bryers flashed his badge—probably because she didn’t have one to show. Percell seemed satisfied with the credentials and started talking right away.
“I understand you have questions about the bus schedules and the rotation of drivers,” she said.
“That’s correct,” Mackenzie replied. “We’re hoping to find out what stop a certain bus made three mornings ago and, if possible, to get a word with the driver.”
“Sure,” she said. She went over to the small desk where the mechanic was typing and nudged him playfully. “Doug, let me take the wheel, would you?”
“Gladly,” he said with a smile. He stepped away from the desk and headed out to the garage as Mrs. Percell sat down behind the computer. She hit a few keys and then looked up to them proudly, obviously glad to be of service.
“Where’s the stop in question?”
“At the corner of Carlton and Queen Street,” Mackenzie said.
“What time would the person have gotten on?”
“Eight twenty in the morning.”
Mrs. Percell typed the information in quickly and scanned the screen for a moment before giving her answer. “That was bus number 2021, driven by Michael Garmond. That bus makes three stops before reporting back to that same bus stop for a nine thirty-five pickup.”
“We need to speak with Mr. Garmond,” Mackenzie said. “Could we have his information, please?”
“I can do better than that,” Mrs. Percell said. “Michael is out in the garage right now, signing out for the day. Let me see if I can grab him for you.”
“Thanks,” Mackenzie said.
Mrs. Percell dashed to the garage door with speed that defied her size. Mackenzie and Bryers watched her amble expertly through the garage in search of Michael Garmond.
“If only everyone was that enthusiastic about helping the feds,” Bryers said with a grin. “Trust me…don’t get used to this.”
In less than a minute, Mrs. Percell returned into the small office, followed by an elderly black man. He looked tired but, like Mrs. Percell, more than happy to help.
“Hey, folks,” he said, giving a tired smile. “How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for details about a woman that we are fairly confident got on your bus at the eight twenty stop at the corner of Carlton and Queen three mornings ago,” Mackenzie said. “Do you think you could help us with that?”
“Probably,” Michael said. “There aren’t too many people at that stop in the mornings. I never get more than four or five.”
Bryers pulled out his cell phone and thumbed through it for a bit, pulling up a photograph of Susan Kellerman. “This is her,” he said. “Does she look familiar?”
“Hey, yeah, she does,” Michael said, a bit too excited in Mackenzie’s opinion. “Sweet girl. Always really nice.”
“Do you recall where she got off the bus three mornings ago?”
“I do,” Michael said. “And I thought it was weird because every other morning for about two weeks or so, she was getting off at another bus stop. I talked to her a bit one morning and found out she walked two blocks from her usual stop to work at some office. But three days ago, she got off at the station instead of a stop. I watched her hop on another bus. I kind of hoped she’d gotten some better job or something, so she was taking a different route.”
“Where was that?” Mackenzie asked.
“Dupont Circle.”
“What time would you say she got off the bus there?”
“Probably around eight forty-five or so,” Michael answered. “No later than nine o’clock for sure.”
“We can check that in our records,” Mrs. Percell said.
“That would be great,” Bryers said.
Mrs. Percell went back to work behind the grimy little desk as Michael looked at the agents forlornly. He looked back to the picture on Bryers’s phone and frowned. “Something bad happened to her?” he asked.
“In fact, yes,” Mackenzie said. “So if there’s anything you can tell us about her that morning, that would be great.”