Before He Longs. Блейк Пирс

sort of scrutiny for the rest of your life?”

      “Oh yeah,” Ellington said. “And I look forward to it.”

***

      They were halfway back to his apartment before Ellington bothered calling his mother. He explained that they had been called away and asked if she would like to try to get together sometime after they got back. Mackenzie listened closely, barely able to hear his mother’s reply. She said something about the perils of a romantic couple working together and living together. Ellington cut her off before she could really get going.

      When he ended the call, Ellington tossed his phone on the floorboard and sighed. “So, Mom sends her best.”

      “I’m sure.”

      “But the thing she said about husband and wife also working together…you prepared for that?”

      “You heard McGrath,” she said. “That won’t happen after we’re married.”

      “I know. But still. We’ll be in the same building, hearing about each other’s cases. There are days where I think that would be awesome…but others when I wonder just how weird it could get.”

      “Why? You afraid I’m going to eventually overshadow you?”

      “Oh, you already have,” he said with a smile. “You just refuse to acknowledge it.”

      As they rushed to the apartment and then through the chore of packing, the reality of the situation hit her for the first time. This could be the last case she and Ellington ever worked on together. She was sure that they would look back on their cases together fondly when they got older, almost as a sort of inside joke. But for now, with the wedding still looming and two dead bodies waiting on the other side of the country, it was felt daunting—like the end of something special.

      I guess we’ll just have to go out with a bang, she thought as she packed her bag. She peeked over at Ellington, also packing a bag for the trip, and smiled. Sure, they were about to head into a potentially dangerous case and lives were likely on the line, but she couldn’t wait to get on the road with him one more time…perhaps one last time.

      Chapter Five

      They arrived in Seattle with two crime scenes to visit: the location of the first victim, discovered eight days ago, and the location of the second victim, discovered just the day before. Mackenzie had never visited Seattle before so she was almost disappointed to see that one of the city’s stereotypes appeared to very much be true: it was drizzling rain when they landed at the airport. The drizzle held up until they were in their rental car and then grew to a steady pour as they headed out to Seattle Storage Solution, the location of the most recently discovered body.

      When they arrived, there was a middle-aged man waiting for them in his pickup truck. He stepped out, unlatched an umbrella, and greeted them at their car. He handed them another umbrella with a lopsided smile.

      “No one from out of town really ever thinks to bring one,” he explained as Ellington took it. He popped it up and, as chivalrous as ever, made sure Mackenzie was fully underneath it.

      “Thanks,” Ellington said.

      “Quinn Tuck,” the man said, offering his hand.

      “Agent Mackenzie White,” Mackenzie said, taking the offered hand. Ellington did the same, introducing himself as well.

      “Come on, then,” Quinn said. “No sense in putting it off. I’d rather be home, if it’s all the same to you. The body’s gone, thank Jesus, but the unit still gives me the heebie jeebies.”

      “Is this the first time you’ve ever had something like this happen before?” Mackenzie asked.

      “It’s the first thing this terrible, sure. I had a dead raccoon caught in a unit one time. And this other time, wasps somehow got into a unit, made a nest, and dive bombed the renter. But yeah…nothing this bad before.”

      Quinn brought them to a unit with a black 35 plastered above the garage-style door. The door was open and a policeman was milling around in the back of the unit. He carried a pen and notepad, jotting down something as Mackenzie and Ellington entered.

      The policeman turned to them and smiled. “You folks with the bureau?” he asked.

      “We are,” Ellington said.

      “Pleased to meet you. I’m Deputy Paul Rising. I thought I’d be out here when you arrived. I’m taking notes on everything stored in here, hoping to find some sort of clues. Because as of right now, there’s exactly none.”

      “Were you on the scene when the body was removed?”

      “Unfortunately. It was pretty gruesome. A woman named Claire Locke, age twenty-five. She’d been dead for at least a week. It’s not clear if she starved to death or bled out first.”

      Mackenzie slowly took in the sight of the unit. The back was stocked with boxes, milk crates, and several old trunks—typical things to be found in a storage unit. But the bloodstain on the floor made it quite different indeed. It wasn’t a very large one, but she guessed it could have resulted in enough blood loss to lead to death. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was pretty sure she could still smell some of the stench the body had left behind.

      While Deputy Rising went on about his business with the boxes and bins in the back, Mackenzie and Ellington started to investigate the rest of the interior. As far as Mackenzie was concerned, a bloodstain on the floor pointed to something else worth finding. As she looked around for any clues, she listened to Ellington as he asked Rising about the case details.

      “Was the woman bound or gagged in any way?” Ellington asked.

      “Both. Hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together, and one of those ball gags in her mouth. The blood you see on the floor there came from a small stab wound high in her stomach.”

      Being bound and gagged at least explained why Claire Locke had been unable to make any noise to alert people on the other side of the unit walls. Mackenzie tried to imagine a woman locked in this crammed little space with no light, food, or water. It pissed her off.

      As she slowly made a circuit around the unit, she came to the corner of the doorway. Rain drummed down in front of her, slapping at the concrete outside. But just along the inside of the metal door frame, Mackenzie spotted something. It was very low to the ground, at the very base of the frame that allowed the door to slide up and down.

      She dropped to her knees and leaned in closer. When she did, she saw a splotch of blood on the edge of the groove. Not much…so little, in fact, that she doubted any of the cops had seen it yet. And then, on the floor just beneath the splotch of blood, was something small, ragged, and white.

      Mackenzie gently touched it with her finger. It was piece of a torn fingernail.

      Somehow, Claire Locke had managed to try to escape. Mackenzie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to envision it. Depending on how her hands had been tied, she could have backed up to the door, knelt down, and tried lifting the door upward. It would have been a futile attempt due to the lock outside, but certainly worth trying if you were on the verge of starving or bleeding to death.

      Mackenzie waved Ellington over and showed him what she had found. She then turned to Rising and asked: “Do you recall if there were any additional injuries to Ms. Locke’s hands?”

      “Yes, actually,” he said. “There were a few superficial cuts on her right hand. And I think most of one of her fingernails was missing.”

      He came over to where Mackenzie and Ellington were standing and let out a little “Oh.”

      Mackenzie continued looking but found nothing more than a few stray hairs. Hairs she assumed would belong to either Claire Locke or the owner of the unit.

      “Mr. Tuck?” she said.

      Quinn was standing just outside of the unit, perched under his umbrella. He was doing everything he could to not be standing in the unit—to not even be looking inside. At the sound of his name, though, he stepped inside reluctantly.

      “Who