A drive that should have taken her six hours ended up only taking a little over five. As she had passed through each individual county, she had called the local PDs, gave them her badge number and the license plate number of her rental, and informed them that she was speeding back to Omaha. She arrived just before 7:30 in the morning, the speedy trip having invigorated her.
The crime scene was located behind an old grocery store—a Super Saver, if Mackenzie was reading the faded logo on the front of the building correctly. She parked her car alongside the few others that were just in front of a section of cracked and faded parking lot that had been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. As she parked, she saw Ellington speaking into a cell phone amidst several other men, some of whom were dressed in standard bureau suit attire.
She ducked under the crime scene tape and headed for Ellington. She took in the scene as she crossed the lot and found herself looking at what appeared to be some sort of derelict camping ground. There were sheets and old bundled sleeping bags pressed against the back of the building. Empty glass bottles and other trash remnants were scattered around. All signs of a miniature vagrant camp.
Ellington saw her approaching and promptly ended the call he was on. “Hey,” he said with a subtle yearning in his eyes. He was glad to see her, glad to have her back. But there was hesitation there, too.
“Hey. Was that Penbrook?” she asked, pointing to Ellington’s phone.
“It was,” he said. “He’s back at the office, working with forensics.”
“You mind filling me in?” she asked as she looked at the small crowd of bureau figures behind them. There were four in all, chattering together and comparing notes. Another was off to the side, questioning a man in a stained puffy coat.
“Yeah. Pretty simple. The local PD called the field office around two in the morning. This man right here,” he said, pointing to the man in the puffy coat, “called us using a burner phone. He apparently sleeps here. He said someone came along with a gun and told them he had a tough choice to make. He then proceeded to undergo a literal round of eeney, meeney, miney, mo. The body over there,” he said, pointing to a shape under a black tarp to the left, “was the unfortunate man that was picked.”
“And that’s it?”
“No, not exactly,” Ellington said. He then held his hand out to her. There was a plastic bag in his hand. Inside the bag there was a business card that read Barker Antiques. “This was found right in the middle of the lot. Like right in the center, as if it was placed there with great care and precision.”
Mackenzie eyed the card and felt like she had swallowed a lead weight. She almost reached out for it but had no interest in touching it. She’d spent far too much of the last year of her life obsessing over that damned card.
“What happened after he shot the victim?” she asked.
“Then the man left.”
“No one saw his face?”
“Nope. If you want, we can question our friend over there,” Ellington said, pointing to the man in the coat again. “He seems happy to be getting all of the attention.”
Mackenzie wasted no time in heading over to where the man—clearly a vagrant from the clothes he wore to the state of his hair and skin. She unapologetically cut off the agent who was already speaking to him. She figured Penbrook had given her full sway over the case, so she’d take advantage of it.
“Sorry,” she said, clearly not meaning it. “I’d like a few minutes with him.” She did not ask if it was okay; she simply waited for the agent to take his leave, which he did after several moments.
The vagrant looked at Mackenzie and then at Ellington. She could smell sour liquor on him, along with the stench of dirt and sweat.
“You saw what happened?” Mackenzie asked.
“I did,” the man said enthusiastically. “I was only one finger point from getting shot. We were all sleeping right there along that wall and this man comes in with a gun like he owned the place.”
“Were you able to see his face?” Mackenzie asked.
“Nope. He was wearing a mask. Like one of those cheap Halloween masks. Nothing spooky, just a white mask. Like you sometimes see on a theater poster.”
“How many of you were there when he approached?”
“Five of us.”
“So where are the other three?”
“They hauled ass as soon as the guy left. One of them even searched the poor dead bastard’s pockets when they left.” He stopped here to think for a moment and then added: “Shit, I don’t even know the guy’s name.”
“No one does yet,” Ellington added, speaking directly to Mackenzie. “It’s one of the things we’re actively trying to figure out.”
“So what else can you tell us?” Mackenzie asked. “Any details will be fine. Anything at all, even if you think it’s just a small detail we wouldn’t care about.”
“Nothing. We’re just all scared, you know. We’ve been hearing about this for weeks now…this asshole going around killing homeless people. All I remember is the mask and the gun and then the gunshot. I ran…ran behind a building two blocks down where I used to sleep before the fucking cops got on me about it. Then I called the police on my phone.”
No means to live in a house, but he has a cell phone, Mackenzie thought. Great priorities.
“Do you recall how tall the man was? Maybe if he was thin or overweight?”
“Well, he wasn’t very tall at all. Maybe average height. And not overweight. Just an average build, I guess.”
“What was he wearing, other than the mask?”
“Jeans, I think. And a long-sleeved black shirt. He was wearing gloves, too. I saw them when he put the gun to that guy’s head.”
“So you didn’t see his skin color?” Ellington asked.
“I did, actually,” the man said. “Between the collar of his shirt and that mask. His neck and jaw. He was a white dude. Sort of a deep voice, too.”
“Anything else?”
“Nah. Just that…shooting that guy didn’t seem to bother him at all. He pulled the trigger, watched the dude drop, and then just walked off like nothing had happened.”
“And no one bothered chasing him?” Mackenzie asked.
“Hell no. He had a gun. And after what we’d just seen, the dude was clearly off his rocker, you know?”
Mackenzie looked back at the scene, to the shape under the tarp.
That makes five vagrants in less than two weeks, she thought. He’s moving fast. He’s almost daring us to find him…and if we don’t this is going to get out of control.
“You want to head back to the field office?” Ellington asked. “Penbrook is setting up a debrief meeting that’s taking place in an hour.”
“Yeah,” she said, already starting back for the car.
Ellington raced to catch up with her. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. So…are we okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I apologize if I acted in a way that made you think we weren’t.”
“It’s cool,” he said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what revisiting all of this is doing to you. If I’m being honest, I’m a little pissed at McGrath for letting you run with this.”
She shrugged. “I think he sensed I wouldn’t shut up until the case was mine.” She opened her car door and nodded to the passenger side. “Want to catch a ride with me?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
It felt good to have him there again, by her side. There was a tension between them but it wasn’t anything they would not be able to handle. For now, she just dwelled on the fact that she felt whole again—that if she happened to stumble and fall along the way, Ellington would be there to help her back up.
She pulled out of the lot and back out onto the street. Ellington reached out and took her hand and even in his slight touch, something felt different.
You’d better quickly learn to better separate your work life from your love life, she told herself. If you don’t, this case is going to wreck you.