Before He Covets (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 3) Read online

  She noted the location of the placards that marked where the different parts of the body had been found. It was too far apart to have been an accident. If someone dumped a mutilated body and placed the parts so far apart, that spoke on intentionality.

  “Officer Smith, do you know if there were any signs of bite marks from possible wildlife on the body?” she asked.

  “If there were, they were so minuscule that a basic exam didn’t reveal any. Of course, when the autopsy comes in we’ll know more.”

  “And no one on your crew or with local PD moved the body or the severed limbs?”

  “Nope.”

  “Same here,” Clements said. “Rangers, how about you guys?”

  “No,” said Holt with an evil sneer in his voice. He now seemed to be taking offense to just about everything.

  “Can I ask why that might matter in terms of finding out who did it?” Smith asked her.

  “Well, if the killer did his business here, there would be blood everywhere,” Mackenzie explained. “Even if it happened a long while ago, there would be at least trace amounts scattered around. And I don’t see any. So the other possibility is that he maybe dumped the body here. But if that’s the case, why would a severed leg be so far away from the rest of the body?”

  “I don’t follow,” Smith said. Behind him, she saw that Clements was also listening attentively but trying not to show it.

  “It makes me think the killer did dump the body out here but he separated the parts so far apart on purpose.”

  “Why?” Clements asked, no longer able to pretend he wasn’t listening.

  “It could be several reasons,” she said. “It could have been something as morbid as just having fun with the body, scattering it around like it was nothing but toys he was playing with. Wanting to get our attention. Or there could be some sort of calculated reasons for it—for the distance, for the fact that it was a leg, and so on.”

  “I see,” Smith said. “Well, some of my men already wrote up a report that has the distance between the body and the leg. Just about every measurement you could ask for.”

  Mackenzie took a look around again—at the gathered group of men and the seemingly peaceful forest—and paused. There was no clear reason for this location. That made her think that the location was random. Still, to be so far off of the beaten path spoke of something else. It indicated that the killer knew these woods—maybe even the park itself—fairly well.

  She started walking around the scene, looking closer for trace amounts of dried blood. But there was nothing. With every moment that passed, she became more and more certain of her theory.

  “Rangers,” she said. “Is there any way to get the names of people that frequent the park? I’m thinking about people that come here a lot and know the area well.”

  “Not really,” Joe Andrews said. “The best we can do is provide a list of financial donors.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said.

  “You have a theory to test?” Smith asked.

  “The actual murder was done elsewhere and the body was dumped here,” she said, half to herself. “But why here? We’re almost a mile away from the central path and there appears to be nothing significant about this location. So that makes me think that whoever is behind this knows the park grounds fairly well.”

  She got a few nods as she explained things but got the overall feeling that they either doubted her or just didn’t really care.

  Mackenzie turned to Bryers.

  “You good here?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Thanks, gentlemen.”

  Everyone looked at her in silence. Clements seemed to be sizing her up.

  “Well, come on then,” Clements said, finally. “I’ll give you a ride back to your car.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Mackenzie said a bit rudely. “I think I’d rather walk.”

  Mackenzie and Bryers took their exit, heading back through the woods and toward the walking trail Clements had brought them down.

  As they sank back into the forest, the stares of the state police, Clements and his men, and the park rangers at their backs, Mackenzie couldn’t help but appreciate the grand scale of the forest. It was eerie to think about how endless the possibilities were out here. She thought about what the ranger had said, about the countless crimes that took place in these forests, and something about that sent an icy chill through her.

  If someone had it in them to slaughter people like the person who had been discovered within this taped-off triangle and they had a fairly decent knowledge of these forests, there were virtually no limits to the amount of menace they could cause.

  And she felt sure that he would strike again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mackenzie settled down in her office just after six in the evening, exhausted from the long day and tidying up her notes to prepare for the debrief she had requested on their way back from Strasburg.

  A knock came on her door and she looked up to find Bryers, looking as tired as she felt, holding a folder and a cup of coffee. He looked like he was trying his best to hide his exhaustion and it then occurred to her that he had been hands-off back in the state park, allowing her to take the lead with Clements, Smith, Holt, and the other egotistical men out in the forest. That, plus his coughing, made her wonder if he was coming down with something.

  “The debrief is ready to roll,” he said.

  Mackenzie got up and followed him to the conference room at the end of the hall. When she entered, she glanced around at the several agents and experts that made up the team on the Little Hill State Park case. There were seven people in all and while she personally thought that was too much manpower for a case this early on, it was not her place to say such a thing. This was Bryers’s and she was simply happy to be along for the ride. It was much better than reading up on immigration laws and swimming in paperwork.

  “We have a busy day today,” Bryers said. “So let’s start things off with a quick recap.”

  If he had been tired when he came in, he had shrugged it off. Mackenzie watched and listened with rapt attention as Bryers filled in the seven people in the room with what he and Mackenzie had discovered in the woods of Little Hill State Park that day. The others in the room took notes, some scribbling on pads, others typing it into tablets or smartphones.

  “One thing to add,” one of the other agents said. “I got a ping about fifteen minutes ago. The case has officially hit the local news. They’ve already started calling this guy the Campground Killer.”

  A moment of silence filled the room, and inwardly, Mackenzie sighed. This would make life much harder for them all.

  “Man, that was fast,” Bryers said. “Damned media. How in the hell did they get their hands on it so fast?”

  No one answered, but Mackenzie thought she knew. A small town like Strasburg was filled with people who loved to hear their town’s name on the news—even if it was for bad news. She could think of a few park rangers or local police that might fit into that category.

  “Anyway,” Bryers went on, undeterred, “the last piece of information we got came from the state PD. They handed off details of the crime scene to forensics. We now know that the severed leg and the body to which it was formerly attached were exactly three and a half feet apart. We obviously have no idea if that is significant, but we’ll be looking into it. Also—”

  A knock at the door interrupted him. Another agent dashed into the room and handed a folder to Bryers. He whispered something quickly to Bryers and then made his exit.

  “The coroner’s report from the newest body,” Bryers said, opening up the folder and looking inside. He scanned it quickly and then started to pass the three sheets around to the team. “As you’ll see, there were no marks from hungry predators on the body, though there were slight bruises along the back and shoulders. It’s believed the leg and right hand were severed with a rather dull knife or some other large blade. The bones looked to have been more broken than sawed th
rough. This differs from the case from two years ago but, of course, that could just be because the killer doesn’t take care of his tools or weapons.”

  Bryers gave them all a moment to look at the report. Mackenzie barely looked it over, perfectly fine with relying on Bryers’s rundown. She had already grown to trust him and while she knew the value of files and reports, there was nothing better than a straight verbal report as far as she was concerned.

  “We also now know the name of the deceased: Jon Torrence, twenty-two years of age. He went missing about four weeks ago and was last seen at a bar in Strasburg. Some of you will have the not-so-fortunate task of speaking to his family members today. We’ve also dug up some information on the victim from two years ago. Agent White, would you like to fill the team in on that victim?”

  Mackenzie had read the details in a document sent over from Officer Smith and his state PD team on their drive between Strasburg and Quantico. She’d memorized the details within ten minutes and, as such, was able to recite them to the team with confidence.

  “The first body was that of Marjorie Leinhart. Her head was almost completely severed from her body. The killer cut off all of her fingers and her right leg from the knee down. None of the severed parts were ever discovered. At the time of her death, she was twenty-seven years old. Her mother was the only surviving relative as Marjorie was an only child and her father died while stationed in Afghanistan in 2006. But Mrs. Leinhart committed suicide a week after her daughter’s body was discovered. Vigorous searches revealed only one other relative—an estranged uncle living in London—that knows nothing about the family. There were no boyfriends and the few close friends that were questioned all checked out. So there is literally no one to question there.”

  “Thank you, Agent White. So there you have it. That’s all we have for right now. So I’m going to want some of you on family detail, one or two of you to help with forensics, and someone else to do some digging about any violent crimes in or around Little Hill State Park over the last twenty-five years or so. Does anyone else have anything to add?”

  “This could be ritualistic,” one of the older agents offered. “Dismemberment in such a capacity is telltale of ritualistic murders. I’d be interested to see if there have been any reports of Satanism or cultlike gatherings in or around Strasburg.”

  “Good point,” Bryers said, making a quick note on one of his papers.

  Mackenzie raised her hand. A few of the agents within the room—all seasoned and well-decorated—rolled their eyes. Of course you have something to add, they all seemed to think.

  “Yes, Agent White?” Bryers asked. He gave her a knowing little smile as the rest of the room looked her way.

  “Looking through some old case files that the state PD sent over, I found a documented case of a child abduction right around the Little Hill area nineteen years ago. A boy named Will Albrecht. He was taken right from under his parents’ noses. When the parents were questioned, they stated that their son loved to ride his bike around the trails in Little Hill State Park. The connection is tenuous at best but, I think, worth looking into.”

  “Absolutely,” Bryers said. “Can you make sure everyone on the team gets that file?”

  “I’m on it,” she said, already pulling the e-mail up on her phone.

  “And why would that be relevant?” another agent asked.

  Never one to back down from a challenge, Mackenzie answered right away. “I’m working on the theory that whoever did this knew the area well. To randomly dump a body in such a non-selective place speaks of a knowledge of the forest. Throw in Marjorie Leinhart from two years ago and that only backs it up further.”

  “I still don’t see how that stacks up with a kidnapping,” yet another agent said.

  “To take a kid while his parents were very close by and get away with it…you’d have to know the lay of the land. They never even came close to finding the abductor.”

  That apparently gave them enough to dangle on. She got a few appreciative nods but most everyone else in the room simply looked to their phones or the table in front of them.

  “Anything else?” Bryers asked. As he waited for a response, he let out a hearty cough into his elbow.

  “That’s it then,” Bryers said after three seconds of silence. “Let’s get to work and land ourselves a killer.”

  The team started to murmur and mumble excitedly as they filed out. Mackenzie stayed behind, curious to see if Bryers needed anything else before they called it a day.

  “You know,” Bryers said. “I’m going to task someone with looking into that abduction you mentioned. If it turns out to be nothing, you’re going to have an enemy or two.”

  “So, business as usual?”

  “I guess so,” he said with a grin. “But you know…maybe you and I handle that detail. We’ll drive back up to Strasburg tomorrow and kill two birds with one stone. We’ll also talk to the family of Jon Torrence. You up for another drive out into the country?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They arrived in Strasburg shortly after nine o’clock the following morning and as they drove into the town, Mackenzie thought she could understand the charm of a place like this. To be rooted so deeply in history had, to her, seemed a little silly at first. But there was also something rustic and respectable about it as well. American flags hung nearly everywhere (along with Confederate flags here and there, a staple of small-town Virginia, she assumed) and a lot of the local businesses had been named after Civil War troops.

  Mackenzie knew that it was a foolish trap to think that the most deranged killers came from these sorts of unsuspecting towns. Statistics showed that a crazed killer was just as likely to step out of New York or LA as they were a small backwoods town in Virginia. Still, there was something quiet and just a bit morose about a town like this—a town where everything seemed perfect while passing through, making it easy to forget that there were dark secrets possibly hiding behind every charming little front door.

  They finally pulled into the Torrences’ driveway, and Mackenzie felt a knot tightening in her stomach. Mackenzie had called ahead while they were on the way and spoke to Pamela Torrence, Jon’s mother. She’d seemed pleased to speak with anyone that could help and Mackenzie saw evidence of this as the front door of the small house opened up and Pamela stepped out before Bryers had even parked the car.

  They met her on the front porch and made quick introductions. It was clear that Pamela Torrence had not gotten much sleep over the last few days. Her eyes looked dazed as there were red splotchy marks under them. Still, she was trying to be as normal as she could as she welcomed Mackenzie and Bryers into her home.

  As she led them into her small living room, Mackenzie saw more stereotypes of the small-town American family. There were pictures of children on the walls and on top of end tables. One picture Mackenzie saw showed what she assumed was a teenaged Jon Torrence, smiling bright in his high school football uniform.

  “Thanks for coming out,” Pamela said.

  “Of course,” Mackenzie replied. “When I spoke to you on the phone, you indicated that your husband was here. Is he still around?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s been too much for Ray. When he learned that you were coming, he started crying. He got it together, grabbed his rifle, and went out to go hunting.”

  Mackenzie didn’t think that was the best idea, but she said nothing. Who was she to question the ways in which the parents of a recently dead young man chose to grieve?

  “So what can you tell us about Jon?” Mackenzie asked.

  Pamela shrugged and tried on a smile that didn’t look as if it belonged on her tired face. “He was a good kid. A quiet kid. He was working part time at Gino’s Pizza and taking classes over at the community college. He was only in his second year. He started late. He was always scared to go to college. He finally talked himself into it after the girl that he had dated for three years finally moved away after graduating from Virginia Tech.”

  �
��What did he do for fun?” Bryers asked.

  “He had started to get into running. He did these little events here and there—five K races for breast cancer, church fundraisers, things like that. He had his eye on one of those mountain madness marathons early next year. He was training for that.”

  “Did he run in Little Hill Park often?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Pamela said. “It was his favorite place. He loved running out there. He went at least twice a week.”

  “What can you tell us about the girl that broke up with him?” Mackenzie asked. “Was there still a friendship after the break-up?”

  “I don’t think so,” Pamela said. “If there was, he wasn’t telling me.”

  “Do you think it’s something he might have gone to your husband about?” Bryers asked.

  “Probably not,” Pamela said. “Jon and Ray were never close. I think it’s one of the reasons Ray’s taking it so hard. Too much regret…”

  “You said Jon was working part time and going to community college,” Mackenzie said. “Was he still living here or did he have a place of his own?”

  “He was living here,” she said. “He was so ashamed. We never asked for rent, but he gave us what he could every month.”

  “Would you mind if we had a look around his room?”

  “Help yourselves.”

  Pamela led them downstairs into a partially finished basement. The area that had been finished consisted of a bathroom and a fairly spacious bedroom. Mackenzie and Bryers stepped inside to what was clearly the bedroom of an older and recently dumped male. An iPod sat on the floor around a few magazines; the magazines all appeared to be related to weaponry for hunting. Dirty clothes were scattered here and there and the bed was a mess.

  A TV sat on top of a small dresser. An Xbox and several games and movies sat beside it. She saw a few romantic comedy titles alongside games like Halo and Call of Duty. She also saw a few sketchpads. She flipped through them and saw some fairly innocent sketches of nudes, renderings of deer and rifles, and a few attempts at drawing a woman’s face. Mackenzie wondered if it was the face of his ex-girlfriend.