Before He Sees (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  “Yes sir.”

  “The one other thing I thought was interesting…in the notes I saw, I read where you had apparently made the suggestion that the people were being held or contained in some sort of cage or entrapment based on the puncture wounds and scratches along the top of the head. It made me think of stray animals…cats and dogs that sympathetic families take in.”

  He stopped talking here, giving her the chance to connect the dots. She did so, a theory slowly falling into place.

  “Strays,” she said, thinking out loud. “Animals that wander around and willingly go to strangers, hoping for refuge.”

  He smiled. “Indeed.”

  “So maybe the killer isn’t going to the victims…maybe…oh my God.”

  “Yes? What is it?” McClarren asked, still smiling.

  “I’ve held the theory that the victims were all going to him somehow,” Mackenzie said, nearly in a daze.

  He nodded.

  “Buy why—” she started, but was interrupted by a shake of McClarren’s head.

  Door-to-door, she thought, the idea now locking firmly in place. She knew then and there that it was the answer without any doubt.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. White, but I don’t see students after class unless it is by appointment.” With this said, he gave her a little wink.

  She offered him a quick smile in return and then headed quickly out of the room. By the time she reached the hallway, she was nearly in a sprint. With the door-to-door link now impossible to overlook, she felt like the entire case was starting unfold before her and she was afraid that if she didn’t get back to her apartment and hunker down in front of the case files, she’d lose it.

  With that sense of urgency pushing her, Mackenzie rushed outside. By the time she made it to the street, she was nearly running.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  She was so sure of her hunch when she got to her apartment that she wasted no time. She threw her backpack down on the floor in front of the door and dashed to the coffee table where her laptop and case files were still sitting from yesterday afternoon. She grabbed up the file folder and dumped out the contents, scattering them over the coffee table and the couch.

  She came to Trevor Simms’s information, possibly the easiest to pinpoint. It had all but been confirmed that he had spent the day he died out on the streets trying to land customers for his lawn care business. She then pulled out Dana Moore’s information. While they had concrete confirmation about a door-to-door situation, her mother had indicated that much of her business was conducted by going to the homes of her potential customers.

  Susan Kellerman wasn’t a lock for the door-to-door theory, but some quick Google research could answer that question. She powered on her laptop and while she waited for it to come to the home screen, she looked over the scant information on Shanda Elliot—the first victim and the one they knew the least about.

  She looked to the next of kin information in the case file and saw that her husband was listed. Finding out there was a door-to-door connection would be easy enough, but she was going to have to take a risk.

  “To hell with it,” she said, grabbing her cell phone.

  Slowly, deliberately, she punched in the husband’s number. She listened to it ring, praying it did not go to voicemail. She was already putting her ass on the line; leaving a voice message to call her back that could be used as physical evidence against her later on was simply asking for trouble.

  Fortunately, it did not come to that. Tony Elliot answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Tony Elliot?” she asked.

  “It is. Who is this?”

  “Mr. Elliot, my name is Mackenzie White. I’m a consultant with the FBI and I’ve been asked to follow up on a few questions concerning your wife. We have what appears to be a promising lead on capturing the suspect but could use your help. Do you have a moment?”

  “Yeah, I have a few minutes,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

  “Well, a lot of it is basically going to be things you may already have been asked. But we’re double-checking everything right now.”

  “Is that bad?” he asked somberly.

  “Not at all. We just have to be very efficient before settling on a lead and going in a certain direction with the investigation.”

  “Good, good,” Tony Elliot said.

  “Mr. Elliot, what did your wife do for a living?”

  “She was a waitress at Ruby Tuesday’s.”

  Just like that, Mackenzie’s theory crumbled apart and hope deflated in her chest. She struggled to come up with a few more questions so the call wouldn’t seem suspicious.

  “And…what was the relationship with her employees like?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “She never really talked about them. The people she did talk about, though, were some of the weird people she met while working what she referred to as her second job.”

  “A second job?”

  Tony sighed. “Yeah. If you can call it that. I think she averaged about sixty bucks a month with it.”

  “And what was her second job?”

  “Avon,” he said. “She tried selling Avon products on the side, hoping to help pay some bills.”

  Mackenzie’s heart pounded.

  Door to door.

  “And did she go door-to-door for that?”

  “Sometimes. She never really told me when she was going to do it, though. It always caused fights between us. She had to spend money to get the stuff and then never sold it. I think she even…,”

  He trailed off here, as if struck by something.

  “What is it, Mr. Elliot?”

  “Hold on a second, would you?”

  “Of course,” she said, curious.

  As she waited for him to come back on the line, she grabbed her laptop and started multi-tasking. With her phone held between her chin and shoulder, she pulled up the web browser on her laptop and typed in the name of Dana Moore’s business: Natural Health Remedies. With such a generic name, numerous entries came up, so she narrowed it down with the geographic location and Dana’s name.

  A well-polished website popped up, featuring a beautiful picture of Dana Moore. Mackenzie scrolled to the Contact Me page and read the brief text. There, located at the bottom of the page, were two sentences: If you have questions about my products or services, feel free to call and request a face-to-face consultation absolutely free! I’ll even come straight to your front door!

  Mackenzie read the sentences several times, feeling her theory get a bit stronger. As she read through them for the third time, Tony Elliot’s voice filled her ear again.

  “Ms. White, are you still there?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “I feel so stupid,” he said. “I never even thought to look before.”

  “Look for what?”

  “Well…Shanda kept her Avon kit in the bedroom closet. She only moved it when she was going out for sales. Any other time, it stayed right there.”

  “And where is it now?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Well, that’s just the thing. It’s gone. She must have been on an Avon call on the day she was killed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  It was 2:05 when Mackenzie pulled her car into the parking garage of the J. Edgar Hoover building. She drove to the lowest level and parked in the far backside of the lot. There was already another car sitting there, parked in the shadows. She could see Bryers through the windshield. He looked irritated and a little worried.

  Mackenzie quickly got out of her car, bringing her case files with her. She then walked over to the car Bryers was sitting in and got into the passenger seat. He looked at her in the same way a disappointed father might look at a daughter that had gotten in trouble at school.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Mackenzie said. “I know you’re risking a lot.”

  “You’re damned right I am,” he said. “So please tell me this game-changing discovery you’ve made.”

&nbs
p; “Well, I feel stupid because I’d offhandedly mentioned the possibility after we met with Caleb Kellerman. I should have pushed harder but I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. But I am now almost one hundred percent certain that our killer did not hunt down his victims. I’m pretty sure they went directly to him.”

  “And why would they do that?” Bryers asked. “You still pushing this door-to-door thing?”

  “Yes, I am. They went to him because they were called there. They went of their own free will. If you looked really closely at the personal details, each and every one of the victims worked at least minutely in a door-to-door capacity.”

  “Go on,” Bryers said. He wasn’t being condescending. She knew he had bought into the door-to-door connection when she had first mentioned it. Now that she had a bit more to go on, he was apparently willing to look it over once more.

  She opened her file and went through it page by page, handing each sheet to Bryers as she went through them.

  “We know for a fact that Trevor Simms was going door-to-door for his business on the day he went missing. That’s a fact. The unfortunate thing is that the log for that day was torn from his planner, so we have no idea where he was.

  “Then there’s Susan Kellerman. While her main job was usually working behind a desk and answering phones for A New You University, her husband told us that she sometimes went out on sales calls. He never got specific about the nature of the calls, but some very quick research showed me that about half of those calls are door-to-door.

  “Next, Dana Moore. While we have no absolute proof that she was visiting a client for a visit on the day she was killed, the fact remains that a large portion of her clientele came about from her going door-to-door.

  “And then the last one, which was totally overlooked: Shanda Elliot.”

  “She wasn’t overlooked,” Bryers said a bit defensively. “She was a waitress, right?”

  “Yes, she was. But I spoke with her husband and—”

  “When?”

  “About an hour and a half ago.”

  “Damn it, White! Are you trying to get expelled?”

  “No. I’m, trying to solve this case and keep more people from getting killed.”

  Bryers slammed his hand on the dash and cast her a look that actually hurt her a bit. He looked disappointed and angry but, deep down, curious. As if to confirm the curiosity, he gripped the edge of the dash and sighed.

  “What did the husband have to say?”

  “That Shanda sold Avon on the side. She made hardly anything on it and it was a point of contention in the marriage. He said she had a kit that she kept in the closet, only moving it when she was visiting someone for a call.”

  “Let me guess,” Bryers said, the anger quickly flushing from his mood. “The kit isn’t there, is it?”

  “No. And he’s pretty certain it was there the day before Shanda went missing.”

  Bryers nervously rubbed at the bridge of his nose and gave her another perplexed look. “That’s some good work,” he said. “Not airtight or bulletproof, but the best lead we have so far. But here’s the thing…I need to present it to McGrath…and he’s going to want to know how I made the connection. I can’t not tell him you called the Elliot husband.”

  Mackenzie smiled nervously and looked upward. “His office is right over our heads, right?” she asked. “I say we pay him a visit.”

  “That might not be the best idea for you.”

  “Well, the last idea I had that wasn’t good for me gave us this lead. So I’m willing to take my chances.”

  Bryers shrugged. “Whatever you want, White. It’s your funeral.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  McGrath’s eyes were narrow and thin, like a man squinting from the pain of an incredibly bad headache. He sat quietly, looking across his desk at Mackenzie and Bryers. They had just presented him with Mackenzie’s findings and in the fifteen seconds that had passed, McGrath had not spoken a single word.

  In a sudden motion, McGrath pushed his chair back from his desk and got to his feet. He didn’t really look mad, but he certainly wasn’t happy, either.

  “You understand,” he finally said, looking at Mackenzie, “that this is grounds for severe punishment. The simplest punishment would be to simply expel you from the Academy. Not only did you go directly against my orders, but you basically also assumed the identity of a consultant for the Bureau—a title you were revoked of when I pulled you off of the case.

  “And you,” he said, now swinging like a pendulum toward Bryers, “should have known better than to take her call. You knew she had been pulled from the case and the smartest thing you could have done would to have been to ignore the call.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” Bryers said, “I answered the call because she’s smart and I value her opinion. More than that, I am also very much aware that she was pulled into a nearly impossible situation and, despite that, performed well—albeit a bit like an anxious rookie…which she is.”

  “Watch your tone, Agent Bryers,” McGrath said.

  Bryers nodded, but went on. “Also, I might add that because I took her call, we now have the strongest lead on this case that we’ve managed to—”

  “I know how strong the fucking lead is,” McGrath said, stuck somewhere between resigned defeat and absolute frustration. “And that’s why, against my much better judgment, I have decided to put her back on the case.”

  “What?” Mackenzie asked in utter disbelief.

  McGrath leaned across his desk and leveled his gaze at her. She could feel his fury coming at her in waves but she also sensed a sort of wavering hope there as well.

  “This time, you do everything you’re told,” he sneered. “You play by the rules and you work as quietly and as unnoticed as you can. You’re a ghost, you understand? No one else outside of this room knows about this decision. And that means if you should crack this case, you won’t be recognized. It will be passed to Bryers or whatever other agent might be closest to you if a capture goes down. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now…as you’re officially back on this case, tell me where you’d go from here, feeling confident that this man is killing people that go door-to-door.”

  “There are a few avenues,” she said. “But I think the two best leads are going to come from Dana Moore and Trevor Simms. With Dana Moore, we’d need access to her e-mail and computers, looking for scheduled calls or visits. With Trevor Simms, we could speak with his co-worker to find out what neighborhoods they had discussed as potential customer targets. I also think we should consider the Black Mill Street area, since we have confirmation from the bus driver that Susan Kellerman was headed that way on the day she disappeared. Becka Rudolph also said that she was pretty sure Dana Moore planned to visit that area. “

  McGrath considered this for a moment and sighed. “I’m okay with you speaking with the friends and family of Trevor Simms. But stay away from Becka Rudolph. That woman hated you, apparently. As for Black Mill Street, I’ll send someone over to canvass the area. Once you’ve exhausted your resources for Trevor Simms, I’ll have you and Bryers head over to Black Mill to help with the search.”

  “Yes, sir. And…thank you.”

  “Don’t you dare thank me yet,” McGrath said. “Just get out there and prove to me that I’m not a complete moron by giving you this second chance.”

  Mackenzie gave a quick nod and headed out of the office. After a few moments, she heard Bryers falling in behind her. When they were safely away from McGrath’s office and hurrying down the hallway for the elevator, Mackenzie realized that she had somehow gotten sucked right back into the whirlwind.

  As they waited for the elevator at the end of the hallway, Mackenzie drew up as much courage as she could before speaking to Bryers. She’d always found it hard to be genuinely open and thankful; it made her feel awkward and indebted to someone.

  “Thanks for what you did in there,” she said. “You didn’t
have to stand up for me like that.”

  “No need to thank me,” Bryers said. “And don’t get used to it. It’s not too often that someone will go to bat for you like that. I just thought you deserved it, given the absolutely wretched situation you were dealt.”

  She wanted to add that no one had ever stood up for her like that—not as a detective in Nebraska, not in her family during her childhood, not even in high school when she had relied heavily on her friends for encouragement and support she was not getting at home.

  But she kept that quiet. There was no sense in opening up those sorts of wounds and invitations to pain. So instead, she waited in silence with him until the elevator arrived with a ding that seemed to invite her back into the hunt for a killer that was somehow luring his victims directly to his front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Lauren Wickline did not like talking in front of people. In fact, whenever she was in a crowd of friends that equaled more than ten, she usually stayed quiet. Last year, during her sophomore year of high school, she’d had to speak in front of the entire freshman class to welcome them to the school and she nearly barfed all over the place. Speaking to large groups of people was simply not her thing. One or two people, though—that’s where she really shined. That’s why it seemed like such a perfect fit to be a representative for the girls’ track and field team.

  She was peddling discount booklets for local businesses, trying to raise money for the team so they could finally get some decent uniforms. So far, the door-to-door approach had worked wonderfully. She knew she had a charming smile and, for the horny old men that answered the door, a rack that even college girls would die for, much less her friends in high school. So when she had to, Lauren knew the ways to bend or lean in order to make a sale.

  She was currently walking up Estes Street, a block over from a part of town their coaches had told them to avoid. Black Mill Street had gotten a bad reputation; it was so bad that even the druggies and stoners at school had stopped buying drugs from the area. And even though Lauren knew for herself that it could be a dangerous place, she also knew that it was the middle of the afternoon and that if she played her cards right (and her cleavage, of course) she could make more money that anyone else on the team and finally be recognized as an actual contributor rather than the pretty girl that all the guys come to the meets to check out.