by Blake Pierce
“So do you miss it out here?” he asked her, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Out here?” she asked. “This isn’t Nebraska.”
He chuckled and said, “I know. But potato, potahtoe.”
He was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Still, she looked out the window and could safely say that there were aspects of the rural landscape that she missed. The winding landscapes, the absolute quiet (especially at night when the crickets came out in little armies to sing their songs), and the feeling that the world went on forever. She missed those things. But in terms of her place in life, she did not miss it at all.
“No, not really,” she said, giving the shortened answer.
“It is nice in some ways. The lack of buildings and traffic. I almost moved out to Arizona for the very same reason when I was out of college.”
“Yeah? Why Arizona?”
“Why not? I always thought the desert pictures I saw from out that way were beautiful. But then DC came calling and I just couldn’t turn down the lure of the gun, the badge, and those three iconic letters…F, B, I.”
She understood what he meant when he said lure. That was probably the best way she could describe it. Even when working as a detective in Nebraska, there had been a dream on the other end of some invisible line, calling to her, luring her closer.
And now she was there, walking along the edges of that dream and trying to better understand it. With that thought in her head, she couldn’t help but smile. It was a smile that pushed any remaining vestiges of pining for this part of the country out of her heart and dedicating it strictly to DC and the life she was building for herself there.
***
Frances Foster lived in a nice-looking Colonial-style house at the end of a short unmarked back road. The town she lived in made Bent Creek look like a booming metropolis. Mackenzie counted only a single stoplight before Ellington turned off of the main stretch of road and onto the back road Frances Foster lived on.
Mackenzie had called ahead, using the cell number she’d been provided with, so Frances was already standing at the front door. She was opening it for them before they even stepped up onto the porch. She looked to be in her early fifties, a feature that seemed both odd and quaint when Mackenzie also noted the Hogwarts shirt she was wearing.
They made a quick round of introductions and then headed inside. Mackenzie again noticed that Ellington was making a point to hang back, letting her have the lead.
“Thanks so much for meeting with us,” Mackenzie said as Frances led them through the living room.
“Of course,” Frances said. “It’s always odd to hear Vicki’s name. And there are times when I do hear it that I nearly forget that she died under such odd circumstances.”
She had led them to a large back room that Mackenzie assumed was a study. A quick glance around told Mackenzie that Frances worked from home. A MacBook sat alongside a large desktop monitor. A tidy stack of papers was to the right of the monitor, resting in front of a well-organized rack of more papers, writing utensils, and a stapler.
Frances took a seat at her rollaway chair behind her desk, swiveling it to face them. Meanwhile, Mackenzie sat down on a small loveseat in the corner while Ellington opted to stand.
“Were you and Vicki close?” Mackenzie asked.
“We weren’t best friends or anything,” Frances said. “However, when there was a family function of any kind, she and I would always end up finding a quiet corner somewhere to talk.”
“So you had shared interests?” she asked.
“I guess you could say that,” Frances said. She then plucked at her Hogwarts shirt. “I’ve always been a big kid. And while Vicki was twenty-five when she died, I kind of viewed her as a kid because she was still into childlike things. Disney movies, Harry Potter, Marvel movies, things like that.”
“Can I ask how deeply you knew her? Did she ever talk about work or marital troubles with you?”
“Not especially. I mean, we talked about sex and ex-boyfriends but there was never really anything raunchy. Nothing too personal.”
“Did she ever talk to you about anyone that she really didn’t like?” Mackenzie asked.
“Well, yeah. That would be the ex-boyfriends.”
“Sure,” Ellington said. “But what about people that she tried to stay away from? Anyone like that?”
Frances moved her mouth, nearly saying something. But she bit back her comment at the last moment as a thoughtful look came over her face. Mackenzie thought she might start crying.
“That was the kind of woman she was, you know?” she said. “No enemies. Not a single person that could say anything against her.”
“You’re certain of that?” Mackenzie asked. “You specifically mentioned ex-boyfriends.”
“Well, Vicki was the kind that boys pined over. I’m sure there were more than a few young men that had their hearts broken. There was one in particular that stands out but I don’t think even he would be able to do anything overtly illegal. Especially not something like kidnapping…if that’s what we are in fact talking about.”
“Who’s the person you’re thinking about?” Mackenzie asked. “You’d be surprised at how the smallest little detail can reap huge advances in a case.”
“My goodness…it’s been eight years now and I never even considered it. Now, I never knew him personally. But I’d heard of him. I still hear his name from time to time. Stevie Nichols.”
“Was that an ex-boyfriend?” Mackenzie asked.
“No. The way she told it, it was a regrettable one-night stand. But he kept calling and dropping by her house even after she and Sam—the man that later became her husband—got serious. Sam had words with him one time and that was the end of it.”
“You said you’ve heard his name a few times since the accident,” Mackenzie said. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Stevie is supposedly this big troublemaker. Getting drunk every weekend, starting fights. But he’s also supposed to be this small-town Casanova. A real charmer with the ladies despite his reputation. And if he landed Vicki on a one-night stand, I damn near believe it.”
Mackenzie turned to Ellington and couldn’t help but smile. She was going to ask him if he could call it in to see if they had anything on a man named Stevie Nichols. But he was already pulling out his phone and headed out of the study. For a moment, a chill rode down her back. Bryers had operated in the exact same way.
Damn, I’m going to miss that man, she thought.
She suppressed a sigh and turned back to Frances. “Would you happen to know where Stevie Nichols lives?”
“Somewhere in Bent Creek. He’s a pig farmer from what I understand. So I don’t guess it would be too hard to find him.”
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”
“Nothing that I can think of. But then again the Stevie Nichols thing didn’t register until just now.”
Mackenzie reached into the inner pocket of her coat and handed Frances a business card. “Please call me if you think of anything else.”
“Definitely. And…well, if I can ask…why is this coming up again? Why are you interested in that old accident?”
“I can’t give details,” Mackenzie said. “But it is still considered a missing persons case, so any further information you could provide will be helpful.”
Sensing that the meeting was over, Frances got to her feet and led them back through the house. Ellington was still on the phone, apparently on hold. Mackenzie thanked Frances one last time before they headed back to their car.
Ellington ended his call as they got into the car. He cranked the engine to life and gave Mackenzie a nod and a smile. “Stevie Nichols lives on a small farm just outside of Bent Creek. He has a history of assault, drunken misconduct, and credit card fraud.”
“Sounds like Frances might have been wrong about him being a charmer,” Mackenzie said.
“Now that’s not fair,” Ellingt
on said. “Us charmers come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Just drive, would you? I’ll call it in to Bateman to see if he wants in on it since it falls within his jurisdiction.”
Ellington did just that. His joking had eased the tension that had come with the quiet on the drive to Frances Foster’s house but it had not masked the anticipation that sat between them. They had their first lead and things were finally starting to look up. At least that’s what Mackenzie told herself when she thought of as many as three women being held somewhere in these rural forests, suffering through God knew what while praying for someone to rescue them.
CHAPTER NINE
Because they had started so early in the day, it still felt as if they had the whole day ahead of them when they arrived at Stevie Nichols’s house. Mackenzie stepped out of the car and was instantly struck by the stench of the place. To call the plot of land in front of them a farm was a bit of a stretch. An old house sat at the front of the property. While it wasn’t in a major state of disrepair, it did seem to be in very bad need of some maintenance and cleaning. The grass in the yard was mostly dead, fading into darker and darker shades as the back of the property took over. There, a few large pig pens took up most of the rear of the property. A lonely-looking small barn sat off to the left, on its last legs.
“I smell bacon,” Ellington said as he got out.
“Shut up,” Mackenzie said. “If this is what bacon smells like before it’s processed, I may never eat it again.”
Behind them, another car pulled into the driveway. It was a Bent Creek PD cruiser, the underside speckled with mud and dirt. Bateman and Roberts got out. Mackenzie noted that Bateman looked very well put together—almost like a completely different man from the one Mackenzie had seen in the conference room the night before.
“Thanks again for the call,” Bateman said as the four met up.
“Sure,” Mackenzie said. “Like I said, I don’t know that it’s going to amount to anything, but I thought it was worth checking out.”
“But does this really need the resources of four bodies?” Ellington asked.
“Probably not,” Bateman said. “But I know Stevie Nichols. He thinks he’s a big fish, you know? I don’t mind applying some pressure to him.”
As they walked toward the house, Mackenzie noticed three men working out back at the pig pens. The others seemed to notice this as well and, as such, they skipped going to the front door and walked around back to the pens. One of the men was working on reinforcing the fence posts to one of the pens. Two others were dishing out slop in the larger pen. Several pigs came running awkwardly to the edge of the pens as the newcomers arrived. Mackenzie had only ever seen pigs at carnivals and petting zoos. These pigs were quite different; they had been fattened up for slaughter. They were also filthy and reeked of mud and waste.
Bateman took the lead, walking to the man who was fixing the fence. “Is Stevie around this morning?” he asked.
Before the man could answer, a voice responded from behind them. “Yeah, I’m here, Sheriff.”
They all turned and saw a man coming out of the small barn to the left of the pens. He was carrying a shovel and a five-gallon bucket.
“Stevie, how are you?” Bateman asked.
Stevie Nichols regarded the four people in front of him—two of whom were in police blues, the others in obvious bureau attire. “I was doing just fine until four law enforcement types showed up on my property.”
Mackenzie could tell right away that Nichols was going to be a problem. He was the type that would push and push, doing his best to just barely break the boundaries of common sense. Knowing this, she kept herself on her heels, ready to act at any moment. She really didn’t like the fact that he had a shovel in his hand.
“Who are these two, anyway?” Nichols asked, gesturing the handle of the shovel toward Mackenzie and Ellington.
“Agents Ellington and White,” Ellington said, stepping forward. It was the first time Mackenzie had seen Ellington get almost protective over her, placing himself between her and an obvious troublemaker. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.
“FBI?” Nichols asked. “Ah, Christ, what is it you think I’ve done now?”
“Nothing, hopefully,” Bateman asked. “We were hoping you’d be able to answer a few questions for us about Vicki McCauley.”
For a moment, Stevie Nichols looked as if he had been slapped. The name had thrown him for a loop; Mackenzie was certain it was not an act. However, she saw something that made her suspicious…something that seemed a little off. There was something plastic sticking out of Nichols’s back pocket. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like two fingers of a pair of plastic gloves—the sort that fast food workers wore. There was something on the tip of one of the fingers…a residue that she could not clearly see.
“What about her?” Nichols asked. “She’s been dead for what…eight years now?”
“Assumed dead, yes,” Roberts said. “Her body was never found.”
“And I’m sure you’ve heard about the disappearances around Bent Creek lately, right?” Bateman asked.
Mackenzie watched as Nichols took a moment to sort things out. He was choosing his words carefully, clearly caught off guard. She looked to his back pocket again, that plastic glove still sticking slightly out. She then looked at the man’s hands. In her opinion, they were a little too clean for someone who worked on a pig farm.
“Yes, I have,” he said finally. “You think…wait, you think those disappearances are somehow connected to Vicki?”
“We hope not,” Bateman said. “But we have to consider it even if it is a minuscule chance.”
“Well, I don’t know what you want from me,” Nichols said.
“Well, for starters…a timeline of where you were on the nights these three women went missing.”
“Three?” Nichols said. “Way I heard it, there was only two.”
Mackenzie caught the tiniest flicker of regret on Bateman’s face. He’d let a detail slip about the case—a detail the public was not yet fully aware of. She also noted that Nichols’s reaction had seemed genuine. That alone was enough for Mackenzie to be certain that Stevie Nichols was not their guy.
“Can you account for your whereabouts if we give you certain dates and times?” Roberts asked.
“Probably,” Nichols said. “But look…I don’t have time for this shit. I’m a busy man with things to do.”
“That’s fine,” Bateman said. “Would you allow us to take a look around your property?”
“Absolutely not,” Nichols said. “That’s a hell of a note…to be subtly accused of kidnapping or killing and then expected to let you nose around my property. So instead of looking around my property, why don’t all four of you just go to hell?”
Damn, Mackenzie thought. He’s hiding something. He didn’t take those women, but there’s something going on here. That plastic glove and his too-clean hands are proof. I really need to get a good look at that glove.
“Mr. Nichols,” she said, “the more cooperative you are, the sooner we can be out of your hair. If you refuse to help us, we’ll come right back in a few hours with a warrant to search the place and do whatever we please. Really, it’s your choice.”
He nodded and said, “Then you go fetch your warrant.”
Mackenzie stepped forward, beyond Ellington. She leaned in slightly and then gave an almost dramatic look back to Ellington, Bateman, and Roberts. “Listen, Mr. Nichols…Agent Ellington and I are with the FBI. And dealing with warrants and paperwork is going to not only slow me down, but it’s going to irritate the piss out of me. So let’s skip the warrant, okay? We can forget about the warrant if you’ll agree to making yourself available for answering any questions we have over the next day or so. Is that a fair deal?”
“That still ain’t fair,” Nichols said. “But that’s doable.”
“Can I have your word on that?” she asked, extending her hand toward him for a shake.
Nic
hols gave her a strange look, as if she had lost her mind. He raised an eyebrow at her as he took her offered hand. He squeezed it tight as they shook. “Yeah, you have my word.”
“Good,” Mackenzie said.
She then drew him close and in a single deft move, reached behind him. She plucked the plastic glove out of his back pocket so quickly that she was handing it to Bateman before Nichols was even aware of what had happened. When he did realize what was going on, he did his best to push by Mackenzie. She drew his arm up, still holding his hand, and twisted it up and backward.
Nichols let out a yell but did not fight against her. With the position she had his arm in, one wrong move could result in a snapped wrist.
“Sheriff,” Mackenzie said, “could you look that glove over and let me know what the residue on the pinky finger might be?”
Amused and a little impressed, Bateman looked the glove over. With the whole glove exposed, Mackenzie saw more of the residue along the underside of it. She also saw that there was more than residue on it; there was some type of powder along the base as well.
Bateman ran his hand along it and sniffed it. He then rubbed the powder between his forefinger and thumb, flicking it into the air when he was done.
“Cocaine,” he said.
“Bitch,” Nichols said.
Mackenzie released his arm and gave him a little shove toward Ellington. He held him steady while Roberts slapped a set of cuffs on him.
“Now,” Bateman said. “Would you like to show me where you’re keeping it, or are you going to make me look?”
Nichols said nothing. He did, however, spit on Bateman’s shoes.
“Classy,” Bateman said. “Now, let’s go have a look in your barn.”
Ellington gave Nichols a little nudge as they headed toward the barn. He gave Mackenzie a fleeting smile as they went and mouthed the words “That was awesome” at her.