Mackenzie was mostly nude when someone knocked on the door at 11:45. She was in the midst of stripping down to her sleeping attire when the rapping at the door startled her. She looked at the door, curious and a little concerned. Other than Ellington, Penbrook, and the man who had checked her into the room earlier, no one knew she was there,
The knock came again. “Agent Mackenzie White?” came a man’s voice. “If you’re in there, please open the door. My name is Sheriff David Fredericks. I spoke with an Agent Ellington that told me you were staying here.”
Mackenzie pulled her pants back on and ventured over to the door. She looked through the peephole and did indeed see a man in a sheriff’s outfit. A female officer was with him, standing behind him. As she took them both in through the peephole, her phone rang from behind her.
“One moment,” she called.
She checked the phone display and saw that it was Ellington…probably calling to tell her to be prepared for a visit from the Belton sheriff. She silenced the ringer and went back to the door. She opened it slowly and waved Sheriff Fredericks inside.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” she asked.
Fredericks and the woman—Officer Potter, by the name on her breastplate—stepped into the room, Potter closing the door behind her.
“We’ve got a body that we are pretty certain is linked to a case that you are currently working. Agent Ellington gave us the details when we spoke to him.”
“Why did you call the bureau in the first place?” Mackenzie asked.
“Because of the business card we found on the body. Barker Antiques. The PD has known about the open case for a while now. Everyone on the force has been instructed to call the FBI right away if they so much as think they’re reporting on a crime that is connected to it. I called the field office in Omaha and they directed me to Agent Ellington…who told me you were here.”
“Any ID on the body?” she asked. “Was it a vagrant or homeless person?”
“No,” he said sourly. “Quite the opposite, actually. The crime scene is only about fifteen minutes away from here. I was hoping you’d come out with us and have a look.”
“Any indication how long the body has been there?” she asked.
Again, Fredericks made that grim expression. “Not long at all. When we got there, the blood was still flowing.”
The killer is here, Mackenzie thought. No longer in Omaha…in Belton. But why? And how long has he been here?
“Let’s go,” she said.
She grabbed up her sidearm and ID off of the dresser and marched out of the room behind Fredericks and Potter. As she took the passenger seat of Fredericks’s cruiser, she could hear police sirens in the distance. While the sound likely made most people cringe with worry, she couldn’t help but feel relieved by it. Sure, there had been another murder and that was certainly tragic.
But blaring police sirens on the move meant things were happening—that a case was, in way or another, evolving and hopefully coming closer to its end.
***
The crime scene was along the side of State Route 14, which drove through both Belton and Elm Branch. When Fredericks pulled the car over where a few other patrol cars were parked with their flashers on, they were a bit closer to Elm Branch than Belton. A strange feeling passed through Mackenzie when she realized she had passed this very spot no more than twelve hours ago…a little less, actually.
She got out of the car and walked further out along the road, flanked by Fredericks and Potter. The body was lying about eight feet off of the road, casually dumped in a gathering of weeds and scrubby trees. Mackenzie could tell at once that it was a female even though it was lying face down in the weeds.
“The victim is Wanda Young,” Fredericks said. “She’s a longtime Belton resident who left for a few years to do some mission work in Africa after her husband died. She’s been back home for about six months. Everyone made a big deal about it because her family comes from money. It was like the golden child returning home.”
“Has anyone moved the body?” Mackenzie asked.
“The first officer on the scene pulled her shoulder up just enough to see her face, just to get the ID. That’s also when he saw the business card. Other than that, she’d gone untouched.”
Mackenzie approached the body and hunkered down next to it. Wanda Young had been wearing a thin Under Armour windbreaker when she had died. Mackenzie very carefully lifted the body partially by the shoulder. She was pretty in a plain way and looked to be forty or fifty. There was a clear fracture to the side of her head on the left side. A heavy gash sat below it, still trickling out blood.
Fresh, Mackenzie thought. This murder took place no more than an hour ago. Maybe even less.
Wanda’s eyes were still open and her mouth was slightly agape. The Barker Antiques business card had been stuffed into her mouth. It was hard to tell from the angle and the poor light, but she thought it had been folded perfectly in half.
“Can someone get me some better light and something to get the card out with?” she called back over her shoulder.
At once, two officers were standing behind her with flashlights—Potter on her right and another officer on her left. A few seconds later, Fredericks handed her a pair of tweezers. He also handed her a thin set of plastic evidence gloves. Mackenzie put the gloves on and carefully pried the card away from Wanda Young’s mouth.
Behind her, she heard a man utter the words holy shit. This was followed by a slight commotion. Before examining the card, Mackenzie turned to see what was going on. One of the other officers was quickly approaching Fredericks, holding a cell phone.
“Sheriff…we’ve got a witness.”
“To the murder?”
“Yeah, we think so,” the officer said, “Or her abduction prior to the murder at least.”
Fredericks looked at Mackenzie, giving her a shrug and a look that conveyed the question: You want to take it?
Mackenzie got to her feet, removed the evidence gloves, and took the cell phone. “This is Agent Mackenzie White with the FBI,” she recited. “Who’s speaking?”
“My name is Amanda Napier,” an obviously upset woman said.
“And you’re calling the police why exactly?”
“About an hour ago…I saw someone attack a friend of mine—a woman named Wanda Young.”
“And where are you calling from?” Mackenzie asked.
“My home in Belton.”
“And where did you see the attack?”
Amanda paused here, sniffling a sob away. “Outside of Wanda’s house. She lives in that really nice two-story on Felton Street. When I saw her, she was heading up her porch stairs and someone…someone grabbed her. Hit her hard. He had something in his hand.”
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing…I…I shouldn’t have been there. I—”
As Amanda Napier broke down, Sheriff Fredericks approached Mackenzie. He looked like he might be sick. He was clearly worried and unsettled—even more so than he had been when he had given her the identity of Wanda Young.
“What is it?” she mouthed.
Fredericks showed her that he was holding the business card that she had tweezed out of Wanda’s mouth. He had unfolded it and was currently showing her the back of it.
Something was written there, in all capital letters in black ink. The handwriting was sloppy and intentionally childish in nature.
But there was nothing at all childish about the message.
WELCOME HOME, AGENT WHITE.