Before He Takes

by Blake Pierce

  “How long ago was that?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Oh, I’m not too sure. Ten years? Maybe twelve?”

  “Were you still talking to her after that?” Ellington pried.

  “No. And I get it. These little girls that knew me when they were younger don’t have much need for an old woman in their lives, you know? I haven’t spoken to any of them in at least ten years. Just a nod here and there on the street when I was still able to get out. But Delores did send me a copy of her first book with a thank-you note. Sweet girl…”

  “So, you have no idea what might link them together?” Mackenzie asked. “Can you think of any reason why someone might have targeted them?”

  The old woman frowned and sipped from her iced tea. “No. People are just mean as hell these days, ain’t they? I mean, would someone even need a reason or connection other than they’re just mean?”

  This question was met with silence. Mackenzie looked around the living room, taking in the photos of family members, the family Bible on the coffee table, and old books scattered here and there on even older shelves and a rickety book case.

  “Well, thank you again for your time,” Ellington said.

  “Oh, you going already?” Mildred asked. “At least stay for a glass of tea. Keep an old lady company for five minutes, won’t you?”

  Mackenzie opened her mouth to politely decline, but Ellington beat her to it. “You know, I think we can do that,” he said, giving Mackenzie a quick grin. “You just tell me where it is and I’ll pour it. No need in you getting up.”

  Mildred cackled and made a huge show of slowly getting out of the recliner. “Oh, I ain’t given up quite that bad just yet.”

  As she made her way out of the living room and toward the hallway beyond, she was still chuckling. Mackenzie smiled at Ellington, finding his decision to stay both sweet and fascinating. The man was apparently full of surprises.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “Besides, it’s sweet tea. And the older the old lady, the sweeter the tea. And I can’t pass up a glass of sweet tea.”

  Mackenzie had no idea how to respond, so she stayed quiet. She looked around the living room, trying to imagine a younger Delores Manning sprawled on the floor with a notebook and a pen. She saw this ghost image in front of her until she was interrupted by the clinking of ice in two glasses of sweet tea coming toward them from the hallway.

  Even as they sat there for another five minutes with Mildred, Mackenzie was already thinking about the stories the old woman had told them and how she might use them to hunt down another lead.

  Crystal Hall’s father, she thought. He’s certainly not our guy but with a daughter with a reputation like hers, he’s sure to have information on the lowlife men in this town. It’s maybe the best lead we have so far.

  With that little nugget in mind, it was a little easier for her to sit still and enjoy the tea almost as much as Ellington did.

  ***

  Dusk was falling as they headed out to their car. As Ellington got in behind the wheel, he looked over to Mackenzie and grinned. “So, who’s going to make the call?”

  “What call?” she asked.

  “To Crystal Hall’s father. That’s the next step, right?”

  It was beyond eerie how quickly he had been able to almost sync himself to her level. She had been thinking that it would be a good bet to speak with Crystal Hall’s father while they’d been sipping sweet tea. Maybe they could get a few names from him—of the men Crystal had been involved with. It was yet another long shot, but it was better than no shot at all.

  “I’ll make the call to Bateman,” she said.

  “Sounds good. So tell me...sweet tea aside, is it safe to say that the visit to Mildred Cole’s house was mostly a bust?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that,” Mackenzie said. “We got some insights into these women. We know more about them now. Any small details could come in handy later down the road. And we now have the very vague and probably dead-end idea to speak with Crystal Hall’s father. As you might put it, it was a rock that needed kicking over.”

  “You’ll be thinking like me in no time,” Ellington said.

  “That’s terrifying,” she said, scrolling to Bateman’s number.

  Prompt as always, Bateman answered just after the first ring. “Hey, Agent White. Anything new?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “But look, we just spoke to Mildred Cole. I think it might be worth speaking to Crystal Hall’s father. Is he still around the Bent Creek area?”

  “Oh yeah. And you know…it’s five fifty-seven right now. I can almost guarantee he’ll be easy to find. Just make a stop by Bumper’s Bar between now and about nine o’ clock.”

  “Even now, less than ten days after his daughter being taken?”

  “Yes, even now. I think he’s under the impression that she just moved away. It’s a weird family. Really screwed-up dynamic there. I’ll shoot you over a recent mugshot from about five months ago when we brought him in on a drunk and disorderly.”

  “Thanks,” Mackenzie said. “We’ll keep you posted.”

  She ended the call and looked to Ellington. “Feel like hitting up a bar?”

  “Always.”

  She pulled up the directions for Bumper’s Bar and navigated the way. She got an e-mail from Bateman containing the picture of Crystal Hall’s father. The information in the placard listed him as Donald M. Hall, age fifty-one. She then looked out to the streets. The night was pressing down, the first stars beginning to show and the threat of snow still looming.

  All Mackenzie could think of was how this was just an opportunity for their man to strike.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Mackenzie had never liked country music and whenever she walked into a bar and it was the first thing she heard, she cringed inside. It was no different when she and Ellington walked into Bumper’s Bar. Bumper’s was quite a bit nicer than the bar beside the Motel 6 that she and Ellington had visited. There was no real crowd to speak of, just a handful of men sitting at the bar and a loud table of twenty-somethings in the far corner working on a pitcher.

  Mackenzie spotted Donald Hall right away, sitting at the farthest edge of the bar. Another man sat beside him but they were not speaking. Donald Hall was staring blankly at the small television behind the bar currently set on mute and showing two sports broadcasters on ESPN. She once again watched Ellington assume the role of reluctant protector as he took the lead while they walked across the bar. Mackenzie noticed two men at the bar checking her out. Their eyes on her were like bugs on her skin. She was glad Ellington was there with her. If not, some creep might say something to her and she’d end up throwing a punch or two.

  They approached Donald Hall, keeping their distance a bit but sidling up to the bar. “Mr. Hall?” Mackenzie asked.

  He turned toward them and she could see that there was already a slight drunken haze to his eyes. He had the look and demeanor of a seasoned drinker. Mackenzie figured him as the type that got hammered at least twice a week and just mildly drunk the other five nights. Being that his daughter was just reported missing, she expected the ratio was a bit different now—even if he did think Crystal had simply left town without bothering to tell anyone.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “We’re with the FBI,” Mackenzie said. “I’m Agent White, this is Agent Ellington. We were hoping to speak with you about what happened to your daughter.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked. He seemed more annoyed than anything. If he felt anything about his daughter being MIA, he was hiding it incredibly well.

  “Maybe we could speak somewhere more private?” Mackenzie suggested.

  “No, I’m good here. Besides…there’s nothing to tell. Everyone in town knows the kind of girl Crystal was. Especially the fucking men.”

  “Could you elaborate on that?” she asked.

  Donald gulped from his beer and looked to Mackenzie as if she were stupid. “Well, let’s see…she was caugh
t by myself and the police four different times between the ages of fourteen and seventeen banging dudes in cars and even blowing one guy behind a store. She left home at seventeen to live with some guy that got her pregnant and bailed after shucking out the money for an abortion. She moved to Des Moines to escape her problems but had to travel out this way to visit the farms for her job. Last year she was caught sleeping with one of the farmers. His wife found out and left him. So yeah…my little Crystal is well known around here.”

  “And I’ve been told by Sheriff Bateman that you don’t think she was abducted.”

  “Nope. She’s been getting reprimanded by her supervisors out at Wrangler Beef for the way she behaves. She was never cut out for a job…well, not a real job, anyway. Did Bateman tell you that when she got busted at the age of sixteen, there was money involved? One hundred bucks so some thirty-year-old could spend an hour in a back seat with her. She was never responsible. I think she ditched her car, seeing that someone else had gone missing—this Naomi Nyles girl—and ran away from her responsibilities. God knows where she is right now and what she’s doing.”

  “And you have no interest in finding out?”

  Donald Hall turned away from her and stared back to the TV. “No. Now…are we done here?”

  “One more question, if you don’t mind,” Mackenzie said. “This farmer that lost his wife because of the affair. Who was it?”

  “It don’t matter. His wife left and he moved to Texas.”

  “And what about some of these other men Crystal has been caught with in her past?” Ellington asked. “Do any of them jump out to you as being suspicious or just made for trouble?”

  Donald thought about this for a second and bit down on a thin smile. “You know,” he finally said, “actually, yeah. The jackass that paid for her. His name is Mitch Young.”

  “Does he live around here?”

  “Yeah. He holes up in a rundown trailer out in the woods off of State Route 14.”

  Mackenzie and Ellington shared a look and a single word seemed to pass between them.

  Bingo.

  ***

  After getting directions from Bateman, Ellington headed back out to State Route 14. Seeing the road in the darkness of the early hours of night seemed foreboding. It was literally like revisiting the scene of the crime. As they made their way to the address, they passed one of the dirt tracks that had been cabled off—the dirt roads that had caught Mackenzie’s attention when they had first come down this road yesterday.

  “Coincidence?” Ellington said.

  “Could be,” Mackenzie said. “This part of the state is filled with back roads. Still, if this turns out to be promising, Bateman and three others are on standby.”

  Ellington headed another half a mile down the road and turned left onto another dirt road. This one was speckled with gravel but looked in rough shape. When he turned onto it, Mackenzie realized that it was supposed to be a driveway. Being that it was on the same side of the road as both of the blocked dirt tracks she had spotted yesterday, it raised a red flag in her head.

  The driveway to Mitch Young’s place was almost ridiculously long. Mackenzie estimated that they had driven nearly a quarter of a mile before she spotted the trailer up ahead of them. It looked like the trailer was on its last legs. Two cinderblock steps led to the front door. The thing looked like it was about to fall apart—a strong wind might do the trick. Two beat up trucks and a small van sat in a dusty driveway. It all looked shady in the darkness and even more so when the headlights of their car spilled over all of it.

  “Holy shit,” Ellington said. “White, do you see that?”

  She looked beyond the vehicles and the dilapidated trailer in front of them. To the right of the trailer in an overgrown strip of land she assumed was the backyard were two storage containers. They were about three feet tall and maybe four or five feet wide.

  “Something doesn’t feel right about this,” Ellington said.

  “Agreed,” she said. “I’m going to get Bateman on the phone.” She did so and she did it quickly. When he answered, she skipped the pleasantries and simply said: “We need you out here quickly. Nothing bad yet but warning signs all over the place.”

  She ended the call before Bateman had a chance to respond. She and Ellington then shared a look and stepped out of the car. Right away, they could hear loud yet muffled music coming from the trailer. A guitar solo was trickling into the night, along with a bass line Mackenzie recognized.

  From the other side of the car, Ellington made a slight sound of disgust. “Ugh. Skynyrd. This guy has to be bad news.”

  She appreciated the attempt at humor—and was beginning to understand that this was how Ellington handled stress—but still felt the need to keep her hand by her sidearm. Right now, this was nothing more than a typical visit for information and there was no real reason to suspect danger other than the man’s past charges of lewd conduct with a minor.

  They skipped the front door for the time being, heading directly for the backyard. Mackenzie approached the first container and used the flashlight on her phone to peer inside. It was rusted out, complete with a shattered hole in the back. It looked to be made out of some sort of industrial plastic. The second one was in identical shape—neglected and worn down. If it had been used to hold people any time lately, they wouldn’t have had much difficulty escaping.

  They walked quietly back to the front of the house as Ellington looked around in disgust while approaching the cinderblock steps.

  There was only room for one of them on the makeshift stairs. When Mackenzie stepped up onto them, they wobbled a bit. When she knocked on the door, she could feel how flimsy it was.

  From inside, she heard someone utter a quick “Shit…”

  She then heard a slight commotion as things were moved around inside. She knocked again, this time following it up by saying, “This is Agent Mackenzie White with the FBI. I hear you inside, Mr. Young, and would appreciate it if you’d answer the door.”

  The commotion stopped for a moment and after a silence of five seconds or so, she got a response. “Hold on a second.”

  Mackenzie looked down at Ellington and saw that his right hand was also hovering over his sidearm. She was glad to know she wasn’t the only one who felt a sense of doom in the air. A thought then occurred to her…a dangerous one, maybe, but strategic.

  She gave Ellington a move away gesture as she whispered to him. “Don’t let him know there are two of us. If there’s anything shady, he’s more likely to show his hand if there’s just one of us.”

  He tilted his head and frowned, clearly not a fan of the idea. But at the last moment, be backed away into the shadows along the side of the trailer.

  The moment he was concealed in the darkness, the flimsy front door opened. An overweight man in a tattered white T-shirt and ripped blue jeans stared out at her. He looked almost amused to see her standing there.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  He was being intentionally smug. He was also doing his very best to block the doorway so she could not see inside.

  “I’m investigating a string of disappearances in the area,” she said. “One of the missing women is Crystal Hall. My investigation brought your name up.”

  “Honey, Crystal Hall is a name that’s going to come up when you talk with damn near any man in town.”

  “Maybe,” Mackenzie said. “But not all of them paid one hundred dollars to have sex with a minor in the back of a car.”

  “That was almost ten years ago,” Young said. “I paid my dues for that.”

  “I understand that. I was just hoping you could answer some questions for me.”

  “I don’t think I’d be much help.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Look, sweetie…I’m sorry Crystal is missing but I’m not the man you need to be talking to. After that night we got busted, I only saw her one other time. And we didn’t do much talking.”

  “Did you
pay her then, too?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Young, would you mind telling me what you use the containers in your backyard for?”

  “Nothing, really. Just keeping stuff in.”

  “Would you mind if I took a look in them?” she asked.

  “You got a warrant?”

  “No.”

  “Then no. You can’t look around my shit because some slut is missing and I happened to have sampled the goods. So why don’t you get on up the road, sweetie, and—”

  “Please stop that. Call me honey or sweetie one more time and I will aggressively get a warrant and search every inch of this place.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Suspicion. It took you a while to get to the door. What were you moving around inside?”

  “None of your business. I was cleaning. Now get the fuck off of my property.”

  Mackenzie was working on a strong hunch—a hunch that told her there was certainly something inside the trailer. She stepped up on the top cinderblock and stood toe to toe with him. “Mr. Young, I’m going to have to insist that you let me come inside.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you go from having just me taking a look around to about three other agents along with local PD in a few hours with a warrant. Your call.”

  “Well, I think I—”

  He moved quickly then—or what passed for quickly for him—and went to his side. He managed to get his hand on the butt of a gun that was resting there but he was never able to draw it.

  Mackenzie delivered an open-palmed strike to his chest. As he stumbled backward, she shoved her arm beneath his right armpit and lifted him up and over. She dropped him to the ground in a nearly perfect hip toss. When he hit the ground he let out a whooping cough as the gun he had been reaching for clattered to the ground.

  In one graceful stride, Mackenzie jumped down from the cinderblock steps and kicked the gun away. She then drew her own gun and pointed it at him. “Stay on the ground and place your hands over your head, interlocked.”