Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce Page A

with
rope.
    “What is it?” Porter asked, coming over
to have a look.
    “You any good with knots?” she asked.
    “Not really.”
    “I am,” Nelson said, also coming over to
have a look. “What have you got?”
    “I’m pretty sure this is the same knot
that was used for Hailey Lizbrook.”
    “So what if it is?” Porter said.
    “It’s a bit unusual,” Mackenzie replied.
“Can you tie a knot like that? I can’t.”
    Porter looked at it again, seeming
stumped.
    “I’m pretty sure it’s a sailor’s knot,”
Nelson said.
    “I thought so,” Mackenzie said. “And
while it might be a long shot, I’d consider that our killer might be familiar
with boats. Maybe he lives near the water or has lived near the water at
some point.”
    “Drives a truck or a van, maybe lives
near water, and has some sort of mommy issues,” Nelson said. “Not much to go
on, but it’s better than where we were yesterday.”
    “And given the ritualistic manner of
these killings,” Mackenzie said, “and the short time frame between the two, we
can only assume he’s going to do it again.”
    She turned and looked at him, summoning
all the seriousness she could.
    “With all due respect, sir, I think it’s
time we call in the FBI.”
    He frowned.
    “White, their processes alone would slow
us down. We’d have two more bodies before they even sent anyone out here.”
    “I think it’s worth a try,” she said.
“We’re getting in over our heads.”
    She hated to admit it but the look on Nelson’s
face showed her that he agreed. He nodded solemnly and looked back to the body
on the pole. “I’ll make the call,” he finally said.
    From behind them, they heard a very
punctuated curse from one of the other officers. They all turned to see what
was going on and saw the bouncing glow of headlights coming down the dirt road.
    “Who the hell is that?” Nelson asked.
“No one else should know about this and—”
    “A news van,” said the officer who had
let out a curse.
    “How?” Nelson said. “Dammit, who the
hell keeps getting information to these assholes?”
    The scene became a flurry of activity as
Nelson did everything he could to prep for the arrival of a news crew. He was
fuming and looked like his head might explode at any moment. Mackenzie took the
opportunity to take as many photos as she could: of the depressed sections of
the field, of the knot at the victim’s wrists, of the numbers at the bottom of
the post.
    “White, Porter, get out of here and get
back to the station,” Nelson said.
    “But sir,” Mackenzie said, “we still
need to—”
    “Just do as I say,” he said. “You two
are the leads on this case and if the media gets a whiff of that, they’ll
constantly be on your asses and slow you down. Now get out of here.”
    It was a sensible train of thought and Mackenzie
did as she was asked. But as she headed back to the car with Porter, another
thought occurred to her. She turned back to Nelson and said: “Sir, I think we
should have the wood tested, on this pole and the last one. Get a sample and
have it analyzed. Maybe the kind of wood being used for these posts could lead
us to something.”
    “Damn good thinking, White,” he said.
“Now haul ass.”
    Mackenzie did just that as she saw two
more pairs of headlights trailing in behind the first set. The first set
belonged to a news van with WSQT written on the side. It had just parked on the
far side of the police cars. A reporter and a cameraman came bustling out and Mackenzie
instantly thought of them as vultures circling a fresh kill.
    As she got into the car, taking the
driver’s seat again, another member of the news crew got out of the van and
started snapping pictures. Mackenzie was mortified to see that the camera was
pointed in her direction. She lowered her head, got into the car, and started
the engine. As she did, she saw that three officers were already storming
toward the news van, Nelson in the center. Still, the reporter did