Inside, the noise from outside was muffled to a dull roar. The office consisted of a large counter with rows of filing cabinets behind it. The smell of cut wood permeated the place and there seemed to be dust everywhere. A single man stood behind the counter, writing something in a ledger as they entered. When he regarded them, it was clear that he was a bit confused – probably by Ellington’s suit and Mackenzie’s business-casual attire.
“Hey there,” the man behind the counter said. “Can I help you?”
Ellington took the lead, which Mackenzie was fine with. He’d shown her the utmost respect and had more experience than she did. It made her wonder where Porter was. Had Nelson kept him back at the office to go over the photos? Or was he on interview detail, maybe speaking with Hailey Lizbrook’s co-workers?
“I’m Agent Ellington, and this is Detective White,” Ellington said. “We’d like to speak with you for a moment about a case we’re trying to wrap up.”
“Um, sure,” the man said, clearly still confused. “Are you sure you have the right place?”
“Yes, sir,” Ellington said. “While we can’t reveal the full details of the case, what I can tell you is that a pole has been found at each of the scenes. We took a sample from the wood and our forensics team led us here.”
“Poles?” the man asked, looking surprised. “Are you talking about the Scarecrow Killer?”
Mackenzie frowned, not liking the fact that this case was already becoming a staple of public conversation. If a lonely man in a lumber yard office had heard about it, the chances were good that news of the case was spreading like wildfire. And among it all, her face was plastered to newspapers featuring the story.
Indeed, he looked her over, and she thought she could see recognition in his face.
“Yes,” Ellington said. “Have you had anyone out of the ordinary come by to purchase these poles?”
“I’d be happy to help you,” the man behind the counter said. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be something of a rabbit trail for you. See, I only receive and sell lumber from companies or smaller wood yards. Anything that leaves here is usually going to another lumber yard or to a company of some sort.”
“What sort of companies?” Mackenzie asked.
“It depends on what kind of wood we’re talking about,” he said. “The majority of my wood goes to construction companies. But I also have a few clients that are into wood crafting for things like furniture.”
“How many clients run through here in the course of a month?” Ellington asked.
“Seventy or so on a good month,” he said. “But the last few months have been pretty slow. So it might be easier to find what you’re looking for.”
“One more thing,” Mackenzie said. “Do you place any sort of markings on lumber that goes out of here?”
“For larger orders, I’ll sometimes place a stamp on one piece per load.”
“A stamp?”
“Yeah. It’s done by a small press I have outside. It puts the date and the name of my lumber yard on the piece.”
“But nothing engraved or carved?”
“No, nothing like that,” the man said.
“Would you be able to pull up the records on which clients have brought pre-cut cedar poles?” Ellington asked.
“Yes, I can do that. Do you know what size?”
“One moment,” Ellington said, reaching for his phone, presumably to pull up the information.
“Nine feet,” Mackenzie said, pulling the figure from memory.
Ellington looked over to her and gave her a smile.
“One foot underground,” Mackenzie said, “and eight feet above the surface.”
“The poles were also rather old,” Ellington said. “The wood was not fresh. Our tests indicate it had never seen any sort of treatment, either.”
“That makes it a little easier,” the man said. “If it came from here, older wood would have come out of my scrap stock. Give me a few minutes and I can get you that information. How far back do you need to go?”
“Let’s go three months, just to be safe,” Ellington said.
The man nodded and went to one of the ancient-looking filing cabinets sitting behind him. As they waited, Mackenzie’s cell phone started to ring. When she answered it, she was deathly afraid that it might be Zack calling to request some sort of reconciliation. She was relieved to find that it was Porter.
“Hello?” she said, answering the call.
“Mackenzie, where are you right now?” Porter asked.
“I’m with Ellington at Palmer’s Lumber Yard checking on the test results from the chip we took from the pole.”
“Any results?”
“It looks like another lead to several other leads.”
“Well shit,” Porter said. “I hate to tell you, but it doesn’t get any better.” He hesitated for a minute and she heard a shaky sigh on the other end before he added:
“We’ve got another body.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When they arrived at the new crime scene forty minutes later, Mackenzie was more than a little uneasy that this one was closer to home. The scene was exactly thirty-five minutes from her house, in the backyard of a ramshackle house that had been abandoned long ago. She could practically feel the shadow of this newly murdered woman stretching across the flat land, across the city streets, and falling across her front door.
She did her best to hide her frazzled nerves as she and Ellington walked toward the pole. She looked toward the old house, particularly into its empty window frames. To her, they looked like huge looming eyes, peering out and mocking her.
There was a small crowd of officers around the pole, Porter standing in the center of them. He regarded Mackenzie and Ellington as they approached the pole, but Mackenzie barely noticed. She was too busy taking in the sight of the body, noticing two very distinct differences about this victim right away.
First, this woman had small breasts, whereas the previous two victims had been well-endowed. Second, the lashes that had previously been on the other victims’ backs could also be seen on this woman’s stomach and chest.
“This is getting out of hand,” Porter said, his voice soft and haggard.
“Who discovered the body?” Mackenzie asked.
“The land owner. He lives two miles to the east. He had a chain up on the private dirt road and he just happened to notice it was cut. He says no one comes down here, except an occasional hunter during deer season, but as you know, deer season is several months away. And besides, he says he knows all the men that hunt here.”
“Is it a private road?” Mackenzie asked, looking back to the dirt road they had just taken to get here.
“Yes. So whoever did this,” he said, nodding at the hung body, “cut the chain down. He knew where he was going to come to show off his next trophy. He preplanned this.”
Mackenzie nodded. “That shows willful intent and purpose rather than just some unhinged psychological need.”
“Is there any chance the land owner is involved?” Ellington asked.
“I’ve got two men questioning him at his home right now,” Nelson said. “But I doubt it. He’s seventy-eight years old and limps when he walks. I can’t see him hailing poles around or successfully luring strippers into his truck.”
Mackenzie stepped closer to the body, Ellington following suit. This woman looked considerably younger than the others – maybe in her early twenties. Her head hung low, looking to the ground, but Mackenzie made note of the dark red lipstick, smeared around her cheek and chin. Her dark mascara had also run, leaving dark streaks down her face.
Mackenzie started around to the back of the pole. The lashes were the same as the other two. Some were still fresh enough to offer a wet edge, the blood not quite dry yet. She hunkered down to the bottom of the pole but was stopped by Nelson.