Read Online Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce - Free Book Online
Authors: Blake Pierce
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Traylor’s home screen and then the box for
IP-blocking hardware in Traylor’s hallway, she had been able to put the pieces
together. The fact that Traylor was a known sex offender had made the equation
all the easier to solve.
Nelson was standing with Mackenzie and
Porter while Traylor was driven away.
“We think we just touched the surface of
this,” he said. “Once we can get past that software he had installed, I think
we’re going to find a hell of a whole lot more. Damn good work, you two.”
“Thanks, sir,” Porter said, clearly at
odds with taking the praise that Mackenzie mostly deserved.
“By the way,” Nelson said, looking
directly at Mackenzie now, “I sent some guys to the shed out back. There was
nothing there—just some unfinished handmade stuff—a bookshelf, a few tables,
things like that. I even had them check the poles behind the shed and it turns
out they’re made of pine, the same as the stuff he’s building. So it was just a
huge coincidence.”
“I was sure this was the guy,”
Porter said.
“Well, don’t let this set you back,”
Nelson said. “The day is young.”
Nelson left them, heading over to speak
with the tech crew that was working on getting deeper into Traylor’s laptop.
“That was sharp thinking in there,”
Porter said. “I would have missed both of those things—the software on his
computer and the hardware box.”
He sounded depressed, almost sad.
“Thanks,” Mackenzie said, a little
uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him how she had come to her conclusions but
figured that would only irritate him. So she kept quiet, as always.
“Well,” Porter said, clapping his hands
together as if the matter were now totally resolved. “Let’s get back to the
station and see what else we can dig up on our killer.”
Mackenzie nodded, taking her time to get
into the car. She looked back to Clive Traylor’s house and the shed in the
backyard. She could see the ends of the poles from where she stood. On the
surface, yes, this had seemed like a sure thing. But now that it had turned out
to be something else entirely, she was again faced with the fact that they were
pretty much back to square one.
There was still a killer out there and
with each minute that passed, they were giving him another chance to kill
again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As a boy, one of his favorite pastimes
was to sit out on the back porch and watch their cat stalk around the yard. It
was particularly interesting whenever it came upon a bird or, on one occasion,
a squirrel. He’d watched that cat spend up to fifteen minutes stalking a bird,
toying with it until it finally pounced on it, tearing out its neck and sending
its little feathers into the air.
He thought of that cat now, as he
watched the woman arrive home from yet another night at work—a place of
employment where she stood up on a stage and pandered her flesh. Like that cat
from his childhood, he had been stalking her. He’d nixed the idea of taking her
at her workplace; the security was tight and even under the murky glare of the
early morning streetlights, there was too much of a chance of getting caught.
Instead, he’d waited in the parking lot of her apartment complex.
He parked directly in front of the
stairs on the far right side of the complex, as those were the ones she used to
go to her apartment on the second floor. Then, after three o’clock, he’d
climbed those stairs and waited on the landing between the first and second
flight of stairs. It was poorly lit and dead quiet at this time of the night.
Still, as a decoy, he had an old cell phone that he would quickly place to his
ear and pretend to talk into if someone happened to pass him.
He’d followed her for two nights now and
knew that she’d get home sometime between three and four in the morning. On both
of the occasions where he had followed her and parked on the opposite side of
the street, he had only seen one person use those stairs between three and four
in
IP-blocking hardware in Traylor’s hallway, she had been able to put the pieces
together. The fact that Traylor was a known sex offender had made the equation
all the easier to solve.
Nelson was standing with Mackenzie and
Porter while Traylor was driven away.
“We think we just touched the surface of
this,” he said. “Once we can get past that software he had installed, I think
we’re going to find a hell of a whole lot more. Damn good work, you two.”
“Thanks, sir,” Porter said, clearly at
odds with taking the praise that Mackenzie mostly deserved.
“By the way,” Nelson said, looking
directly at Mackenzie now, “I sent some guys to the shed out back. There was
nothing there—just some unfinished handmade stuff—a bookshelf, a few tables,
things like that. I even had them check the poles behind the shed and it turns
out they’re made of pine, the same as the stuff he’s building. So it was just a
huge coincidence.”
“I was sure this was the guy,”
Porter said.
“Well, don’t let this set you back,”
Nelson said. “The day is young.”
Nelson left them, heading over to speak
with the tech crew that was working on getting deeper into Traylor’s laptop.
“That was sharp thinking in there,”
Porter said. “I would have missed both of those things—the software on his
computer and the hardware box.”
He sounded depressed, almost sad.
“Thanks,” Mackenzie said, a little
uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him how she had come to her conclusions but
figured that would only irritate him. So she kept quiet, as always.
“Well,” Porter said, clapping his hands
together as if the matter were now totally resolved. “Let’s get back to the
station and see what else we can dig up on our killer.”
Mackenzie nodded, taking her time to get
into the car. She looked back to Clive Traylor’s house and the shed in the
backyard. She could see the ends of the poles from where she stood. On the
surface, yes, this had seemed like a sure thing. But now that it had turned out
to be something else entirely, she was again faced with the fact that they were
pretty much back to square one.
There was still a killer out there and
with each minute that passed, they were giving him another chance to kill
again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As a boy, one of his favorite pastimes
was to sit out on the back porch and watch their cat stalk around the yard. It
was particularly interesting whenever it came upon a bird or, on one occasion,
a squirrel. He’d watched that cat spend up to fifteen minutes stalking a bird,
toying with it until it finally pounced on it, tearing out its neck and sending
its little feathers into the air.
He thought of that cat now, as he
watched the woman arrive home from yet another night at work—a place of
employment where she stood up on a stage and pandered her flesh. Like that cat
from his childhood, he had been stalking her. He’d nixed the idea of taking her
at her workplace; the security was tight and even under the murky glare of the
early morning streetlights, there was too much of a chance of getting caught.
Instead, he’d waited in the parking lot of her apartment complex.
He parked directly in front of the
stairs on the far right side of the complex, as those were the ones she used to
go to her apartment on the second floor. Then, after three o’clock, he’d
climbed those stairs and waited on the landing between the first and second
flight of stairs. It was poorly lit and dead quiet at this time of the night.
Still, as a decoy, he had an old cell phone that he would quickly place to his
ear and pretend to talk into if someone happened to pass him.
He’d followed her for two nights now and
knew that she’d get home sometime between three and four in the morning. On both
of the occasions where he had followed her and parked on the opposite side of
the street, he had only seen one person use those stairs between three and four
in
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