Before He Sins. Блейк Пирс

we know which reason is behind it, we can’t narrow down the motive,” Mackenzie said. “If he’s doing it as a mockery, then he’s likely not a believer – maybe even some sort of very angry atheist or former believer. But if he’s doing it as a preferred means of symbolism, then he could be a very devout believer, albeit with some pretty strange ways to profess his faith.”

      “And this thin cut along Woodall’s side,” McGrath said. “It wasn’t on any of the other bodies?”

      “No,” Mackenzie said. “It was new. Which makes me think it has some meaning to it. Like the killer might even be trying to communicate something to us. Or just going further off the rails.”

      McGrath pushed himself away from the table and looked to the ceiling, as if searching for answers up there. “I’m not blind to all of this,” he said. “I know there are zero clues and no real avenues to pursue. But if I don’t have something resembling a lead by the time this shit is splashed all over national news programs within a few hours, things are going to get bad around here. Kirsch says he’s already gotten a call from a congresswoman who attends Living Word asking why we weren’t able to crack this one as soon as Costas was killed. So I need the three of you to get me something. If I have nothing new to go on by this afternoon, I have to open it open wider…more resources, more manpower, And I really don’t want to do that.”

      “I can check in with Forensics,” Yardley offered.

      “Work alongside them for all I care,’ McGrath said. “I’ll make a call and okay it. I want you there the moment they discover anything from those bodies.”

      “It might be a needle-in-a-haystack scenario,” Harrison said, “but I can start looking at local hardware stores to get records and receipts about anyone who has purchased the nails this guy is using in the last few months. From what I understand, they aren’t particularly common.”

      McGrath nodded. It was an idea, sure, but the look on his face made it clear how much time that would take.

      “And you, White?” he asked.

      “I’ll go the families and co-workers,” she said. “In a church the size of Living Word, there’s got to be someone with some insight as to why this happened to Woodall.”

      McGrath clapped his hands together loudly and sat forward. “Sounds good,” he said. “So get to it. And check in with me every hour on the hour. Got it?”

      Yardley and Harrison nodded. Harrison closed his laptop as he stood up from the table. As they made their exit, Mackenzie hung back. When Yardley had closed the door behind them, leaving only Mackenzie and McGrath in the room, she turned back to him.

      “Ah hell, what is it?” McGrath asked.

      “I’m curious,” she said. “Agent Ellington would have been a valuable asset for this case. Where did you send him off to?”

      McGrath shifted uncomfortably in his seat and briefly looked out the window of his office, to the early morning darkness outside.

      “Well, before I tasked him with this other assignment, I obviously had no idea this case was going to be this bad. As for where he is currently working, with all due respect, that’s none of your business.”

      “With the same respect,” she replied, doing her best not to sound too defensive, “you took away a partner I work well with, which leaves me on my own to work this case out.”

      “You are not on your own,” McGrath said. “Harrison and Yardley are more than efficient. Now…please, Agent White. Get to work.”

      She wanted to press the issue further but didn’t see the point. The last thing she needed was for McGrath to be pissed at her. The pressure was already on and it was far too early in the day to be dealing with a disgruntled boss.

      She gave a curt little nod and took her leave. Still, as she walked toward the elevators, she pulled out her phone. It was too early to call Ellington so she opted for a text.

      Just checking in, she typed. Call or text when you can.

      She sent the text as she stepped into the elevator. She rode down to the garage where her car was waiting. Outside, the morning was still dark – the kind of thick darkness that seemed capable of hiding any secrets it wanted.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      After grabbing a cup of coffee, Mackenzie headed back out to Living Word. She knew that it was a large church, so singling out anyone with possible information from within its staff or congregation would take forever. She figured that if the news had gotten out and phone calls had started to make the rounds, there was a very good chance that those close to Pastor Woodall would be at the church – perhaps already setting up little memorials or just coming to the church to be closer to God as they grieved.

      Her intuition paid off yet again. When she arrived at the scene, Woodall had been removed from the doors. And while there were still several local police and members of the bureau present, there were also other people scattered here and there, held back by yellow crime scene tape that bordered the edge of the concrete walkway that led to the front doors.

      A few of them were openly crying. Several were wrapped in the embraces of other onlookers. She took note of one man standing by himself, his head turned away from the scene. His head was lowered and his mouth was moving just slightly as he offered up prayers. Mackenzie respectfully gave him some time to finish his prayer before she approached him. As she neared him, she saw what looked to be an expression of anger on his face.

      Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Do you have a moment?” She finished her question by showing her ID and introducing herself.

      “Yes,” the man said. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, as if trying to swipe away the last remnants of sleep or a bad dream. He then offered his hand and said, “I’m Dave Wylerman, by the way. I’m head of the music department here at Living Word.”

      “There’s a music department?”

      “Yeah. We have a rotating ensemble of about fourteen musicians that make up three worship bands.”

      “So you’ve worked closely with Pastor Woodall in the past?”

      “Oh, absolutely. I’m in meetings with him at least twice a week. Outside of that, he’s become a dear family friend to my wife, my kids, and I over the past decade or so.”

      “Can you think of anyone who might have been capable of doing this? Anyone who might have some sort of a grudge or grievance against Pastor Woodall?”

      “Well, it’s a big church. I don’t think there’s a single person that works here that knows everyone that attends. But as for me, no, I can’t think of anyone right off the top of my head who was angry enough with him to do this…”

      The early morning darkness had hidden Dave Wylerman’s tears to this point, but when he looked up into her eyes they were quite clear. He looked troubled, as if he were struggling to figure out how to say something.

      “Do you have a moment to talk in private?” Mackenzie asked.

      “Yeah.”

      She waved him forward to follow her. She stepped away from the concrete entryway to the church and headed back to her car. She opened the passenger’s side door for him, figuring it might do him some good to get off his feet and feel relaxed. She got in the driver’s side and when she closed her door, she could tell that Wylerman was struggling to keep himself together.

      “Has the rest of the church body been informed?” Mackenzie asked.

      “No, just the elders, myself, and a few of those close to Pastor Woodall. But calls are being made. Everyone will know within an hour or so, I’d imagine.”

      Good, Mackenzie thought. They’ll personally receive the news from someone they know rather than hearing about it for the first time on the news.

      “So, correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but it looked like you were