Before He Longs

“Thanks, Harrison.”

“So, is this case like some weird sort of pre-honeymoon thing for you two?” he asked.

“Far from it. I guess you could say it’s sort of like foreplay,” she joked.

“Yeah, that’s too much information. Let me get back to work for you. Happy trails, Agent White.”

They ended the call, leaving Mackenzie to stare out at Interstate 5 with nothing but her thoughts. She kept thinking about the image from the storage unit of Jade Barker, dead for about eight years. If the plate and pitcher she had spotted in the image were the same two objects that had been inventoried by the FBI, what did it mean? Sure, it was a thin connection to some weird findings in this new Seattle case, but where did it lead? Even if she left Salem with irrefutable proof that the killer was leaving behind tea party–themed trinkets and toys (and yes, she included dolls in a tea party theme), did it really accomplish much of anything?

Sure it does, she thought to herself. It gives us a bizarre path to pursue. It lets us hone in on one specific feature of the crime scenes—a feature that apparently means something special to the killer.

And there was one more thing, too. It would give them a glimpse into just how dangerous and warped this killer could be.

Chapter Eleven

True to his word, Harrison had given Mackenzie all of the information he could find. She had it all by the time she was half an hour away from Salem. The information came in a mixture of texts and emails with attachments. And while there wasn’t much to go on, Mackenzie thought she had more than enough.

She’d also taken some time during her drive to call ahead to the Salem Police Department. She asked if there would be anyone available to speak with her about the storage facility murders from five years ago. After a bit of shocked silence on the other end of the line, she was given the name of Detective Alan Hall.

With all of that information at the ready, Mackenzie started her trip to Salem with a visit to the police station. It appeared to be a run-of-the-mill slow day in the station. The receptionist was wiping down her desk with a cloth while three officers milled around a single desk in the back, chatting about something.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“I’m Special Agent Mackenzie White. I’m supposed to meet with Detective Hall.”

“Oh yes,” the receptionist said. “Let me just get him up here for you.”

The receptionist paged another office in the building through her phone and, after a few moments, said, “Your visitor is here.”

“Thanks,” Mackenzie said after she hung up.

“Sure. Where are you driving in from, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Flew out of DC yesterday, to Seattle.”

The receptionist tried to smile at this, but she was apparently adding things up in her head and deciding that something bad must have happened. Instead of trying to continue with chitchat, she turned back to cleaning her desk.

Before she had scrubbed a handful of times, a plainclothes detective came walking toward the little galley area where the receptionist was cleaning. He seemed a little surprised by the sight of Mackenzie but did his best to hide it. He was an older man, floating somewhere between fifty and fifty-five at Mackenzie’s guess. He wore one of those little driver caps that some men look goofy in, but he pulled it off quite well.

“Agent White?” he asked.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, offering his hand when he stuck it out for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Detective Hall.”

“You may change your mind about that soon enough,” he said. “I’ll level with you: this case haunts me. It damn near made me quit my job. So I’ll help in any way I can, but I’d really rather not dwell on it.”

“Of course,” she said. “Do you mind if we speak in private somewhere?”

“How about in my car?” Hall said. “I’ll tell you what I can on the way out to the first storage complex. It’s about fifteen minutes away.”

“That sounds good,” she said.

Apparently, Hall wasn’t one for formalities. He gave her a curt little nod and started heading for the front door without another word. Mackenzie followed him and started to feel some sort of odd dread creeping up on her.

This case haunts me, he had said.

Based on the look of unease in his eyes as he had turned toward the door, Mackenzie didn’t doubt him one bit.

***

“He’s doing it again, right?”

The question was out of Hall’s mouth before they were even out of the parking lot. He had a look of certainty on his face, as if he had been expecting to hear such news for a very long time now.

“He is,” she answered. “Or so it seems. In Seattle. What makes you sure enough to ask a question like that?”

“The way he went about killing them…just leaving them there to be found or rot…it doesn’t make sense that he’d just stop. I think we got close to getting him, I really do. I think that’s why he stopped when he did. But I’ve always felt that he’d pop up somewhere else and start again.”