This was another theory that had long been speculated. The fact that Jimmy Scotts had also allegedly been involved with a drug cartel—his in New Mexico—provided a link, but, as a lengthy investigation had proven, there was no connection. Then again, Mackenzie’s father had been on the force and it was public knowledge that he had taken down a few local drug dealers, so the assumption was an easy one to make.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “No. Believe what you want, but I honestly don’t pry too much. I hate gossip. I wish I had more to tell you.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks, Mr. Atkins.”

  “You know,” he said, “you might want to talk to Amy Lucas. Do you remember her?”

  Mackenzie tried to jog her memory but nothing came to mind. “The name rings a very small bell, but no…I don’t remember her.”

  “She lives out on Dublin Road…the white house with the old Cadillac up on blocks in the driveway. The damn thing has been there forever.”

  Sadly enough, that was all the reminder Mackenzie needed. While she did not personally know Amy Lucas, she did remember the house. The Cadillac in question was from the ’60s. It had been up on blocks for God only knew how long. Mackenzie could remember seeing it from her time in Belton.

  “What about her?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Her and your mother were as thick as thieves at one point. Amy lost her husband to cancer three years ago. She hasn’t really been a fixture in town like she used to be since then. But I remember her and your mother, always hanging out together. They were always out at the bar, or playing cards on Amy’s front porch.”

  As if Mr. Atkins had hit a switch somewhere, Mackenzie suddenly remembered more than she had before. She could just barely see Amy Lucas’s face, highlighted by a cigarette poking out from between her lips. She’s the friend Mom and Dad got into so many arguments about, Mackenzie thought. On the nights Mom came home drunk or just wasn’t around on a Saturday, she was with Amy. I was too young to even think twice about any of it.

  “Do you know where she works?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Nowhere. I bet you anything she’s in her house right now. When her husband died, she got left with a nice little nest egg. She just sits in her house and mopes all day. But please…if you go see her, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t let her know I sent you that way.”

  “I won’t. Thanks again, Mr. Atkins.”

  “Sure. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  “Me, too.”

  She stepped back outside and walked to her car. She looked up and down the quiet stretch of Main Street and started to wonder: What, exactly, am I looking for?

  She got into her car and started for Dublin Road, hoping she’d find some semblance of an answer there.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dublin Road was a two-lane stretch of blacktop that wound through the forest. Towering trees to both sides of the road escorted Mackenzie to Amy Lucas’s residence. She felt like she was being transported through time, especially when she came to the house and saw that old Cadillac, sitting up on blocks at the far end of the gravel driveway.

  She parked behind the only other car in the driveway, a much more current Honda, and got out. As she stepped up onto the porch, she thought of Mr. Atkins telling her about her mother and Amy playing cards in this very space. The knowledge of her mother having at one time occupied the porch sent a small shiver through her.

  Mackenzie knocked on the door and it was answered right away. The woman who stood on the other side was a ghost of the memory Mackenzie had. Amy Lucas appeared to be in her early fifties and had the sort of eyes that always seemed to be suspicious of someone. Most of her brown hair had already gone gray. It was pulled back tight to reveal a forehead pocked with old acne scars. She had a cigarette between the fingers of her right hand, the smoke drifting back into the house.

  “Mrs. Lucas?” Mackenzie asked. “Amy Lucas?”

  “That’s me,” she said. “Who are you?”

  Mackenzie flashed her badge and went through the same old routine. “Mackenzie White, with the FBI. I was hoping to ask—”

  “Mac! Holy shit! What are you doing in town?”

  The fact that this woman apparently remembered her well threw Mackenzie off a bit but she managed to keep her composure. “I’m actually working on a case and I was hoping you could be of some help.”

  “Me?” She then laughed the kind of laugh that had long ago become the sound of countless cigarettes working against her lungs.

  “Well, it’s about my dad’s case. And quite frankly, Mom and I aren’t on the best terms anymore. I was hoping you could maybe help shed some light on a few things.”

  Those suspicious eyes narrowed for a moment before Amy nodded her head and stepped aside. “Come on in,” she said.

  Mackenzie stepped inside and was smacked in the face by the stench of cigarette smoke. It was almost like a visible cloud hanging in the house. Amy led her through a small foyer and into the living room, where she took a seat in an old tattered armchair.

  As Mackenzie sat down on the edge of a couch on the far wall, she did her best to cover up the fact that she was trying not to cough from all the cigarette smoke.

  “I heard about your husband,” Mackenzie said. “My condolences.”

  “Yeah, it was a sad day, but we knew it was coming. Cancer can be a bitch. But…he was ready to go. The pain was so bad there near the end.”

  There was no easy transition and, since Mackenzie had never considered the art of conversation her strong point, she did her best to get to the point without seeming rude.

  “So, I’ve come back into town to try to find more details on my father’s murder. The case was cold for the longest time but another series of murders elsewhere in the state have us looking back into it. I wanted to come to you because you seem to have been close with my mother. I was wondering if there’s anything you can tell me about the state she might have been in during the days just before and just after my father’s death.”

  Amy took a drag from her cigarette and sat back in her chair. She no longer looked suspicious, but now quite sad.

  “Damn, I miss your mother. How is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Mackenzie said. “We haven’t spoken in over a year. There are some unresolved issues there, as you might imagine.”

  Amy nodded. “Did she ever make it out of that…home?”

  She means the psych ward, Mackenzie thought. “Yes. And then she got an apartment somewhere and lived her own life. She sort of left Stephanie and I behind.”

  “When your father died, it was so hard on her,” Amy said. “The fact that she was right there, on the couch, when it happened—it messed her up.”

  Yeah, it fucked me up pretty bad, too, Mackenzie thought. “Yeah, we were all there. Did Mom ever say anything to you about that night? Maybe things she saw or heard?”

  “Not that I can remember. I do know that she was haunted by the idea that the door must have been unlocked—that the person that came in and killed your father just walked right into the house. It freaked her out that it could have been you or your sister.”

  “And that’s just it,” Mackenzie said. “Everyone else was left safe and sound. The killer only wanted my father. Did Mom ever share things with you about my father that you thought were strange? Maybe reasons someone might want him dead?”

  “Honestly, your mom only ever talked about how hot he was in that police uniform. He was a detective near the end, though, right?”

  “Right. So…did Mom like the fact that he was a cop or did that make her uneasy?”

  “A bit of both, I think. She was very proud of him but she was always worried. It’s why she drank so much. She was always worried he was going to get hurt and the drinking was her way of handling the stress.”

  “I see…”

  “Look, I know some of the gossip around town may not be so nice, but your mother did love your father. She loved him very much. He went out of his way to support her. When he first became a cop and they could barely meet the bills, he even got a loan and bought this tiny little apartment building outside of town. He tried to be a landlord for about two years and it just wasn’t for him. The income was enough to keep them afloat, though.”

  “When was this?” she asked.

  “Before you came along, for sure,” Amy said. “We were all so young back then. God, I can’t believe I forget about some of it so easily…”

  Mackenzie couldn’t help but smile. Just like that, she’d learned something new about her father. Sure, maybe he and his mother had mentioned his little landlord endeavor in passing but if they had, she had never picked up on it.

  “Amy, when was the last time you spoke with my mother?”

  “The day before she left to go off to that home. Not to rub it in, but even then I think she was upset with you. But she never gave any good reason why.”

  “And did she say anything about my father?”

  “She said it happened like a nightmare. She said it was her fault and she should have been able to stop it. I figured it was just guilt from having been asleep and not waking up when someone apparently came into the house with a gun.”

  “Anything else you can think of?” Mackenzie asked.

  Even as Amy gave this some thought, Mackenzie had latched on to one thing Amy had said. She should have been able to stop it.

  Seems like a strange thing to say in light of what happened.

  She knows something. She always has and I’ve been too damned scared to ask…

  Shit. I have to call her.

  Amy finally answered with: “No, nothing that I can remember. But you’ve jogged my memory on the past now. If I think of anything else, I’ll certainly let you know.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Mackenzie said, handing Amy one of her business cards.

  She left the house, blessedly glad to be able to breathe in the fresh air. She headed back to her car, aware the she reeked of cigarette smoke, but still pondering the new bit of information she’d learned about her father.

  A landlord, she thought. I can’t see that at all! I wonder if Stephanie knew…

  But on the heels of that was another thought.

  I’m going to have to visit my mother. I can’t get around it any longer.

  This knowledge made her instantly nervous. As she pulled back out onto Dublin Road, the mere thought of seeing her mother set her on edge. It felt like a weight was settling in her stomach as she headed back into town, trying to think of anything she could do to put off the inevitable visit with her mother.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She did have one more legitimate task to carry out before she tormented herself with further thoughts of her mother. She looked into the case files and pulled up the information on her father’s autopsy. She found the name of the coroner who had written the original report and set about finding him.

  It was fairly easy. While the coroner in question had retired two years ago, Morrill County was the type of place that felt like a black hole. It was impossible to escape it. That’s why there were so many familiar faces she saw on the streets. No one had thought to leave, to go elsewhere into the world to see what life had for them.

  She’d placed a call to Agent Harrison back in DC to get the address of Jack Waggoner, the coroner who had worked on her father. She had the address within just a few minutes and found herself driving to another small town called Denbrough. Denbrough sat forty miles south of Belton, two little blips on the map that was Morrill County.

  Jack Waggoner lived in a house that sat next door to a large meadow. Old ruined fence posts and barbed wire indicated there had once been horses or cattle there. When she parked her car in the driveway of a beautiful two-story Colonial-style house, she saw a woman pulling weeds out of a flower garden that traced the entire porch.

  The woman eyed her from the moment Mackenzie turned the car in until she had parked it and got out.

  “Hello,” Mackenzie said, wanting to interact with the woman as soon as possible before the staring started to irritate her.

  “Hey yourself,” the woman said. “Who might you be?”

  Mackenzie took out her badge and introduced herself as pleasantly as she could. Right away, the woman’s eyes lit up, and she no longer looked at her suspiciously.

  “And what brings the FBI out to Denbrough?” the woman asked.

  “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Waggoner,” she said. “Jack Waggoner. Is he home?”

  “He is,” the woman said. “I’m Bernice, by the way. His wife of thirty-one years. He gets calls from the government sometimes, always about dead folks he’s seen in the past.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’ve come by. Could you get him for me?”

  “I’ll take you to him,” Bernice said. “He’s in the middle of a project.”

  Bernice led Mackenzie into the house. It was clean and sparsely decorated, making it seem much larger than it actually was. The makeup of the place again made her think that the huge field outside had once held cattle—cattle that had helped pay for such a house.

  Bernice led her down into a finished basement. When they came to the bottom of the stairs, the first thing Mackenzie saw was a deer head on the wall. Then, as they turned the corner, she saw a small stuffed dog—a real dog that had been stuffed after death. It was perched in the corner on a strange sort of platform.

  In the far corner of the basement, a man sat hunched over a worktable. A desk lamp was shining on something that he was working on, the something hidden by the man’s hunched back and shoulders.

  “Jack?” Bernice said. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Jack Waggoner turned around and took in Mackenzie with a pair of thick glasses on. He removed them, blinked his eyes almost comically, and slowly got out of his chair. When he moved, Mackenzie could see what he was working on. She saw the body of what looked to be a small bobcat.

  Taxidermy, she thought. He just couldn’t get away from dead bodies after retirement, it seems.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jack said.

  “We haven’t,” she said. “I’m Mackenzie White with the FBI. I was hoping to speak with you about a body you profiled and assisted with about seventeen years ago.”

  Jack whistled and shrugged. “Hell, I can barely remember the bodies I saw during my last year—and that was just two years ago. Seventeen years might be pushing it.”

  “It was a pretty high-profile case,” she said. A policeman…a detective, actually. A man named Benjamin White. He was my father. He was shot point—”

  “Point-blank in the back of the head,” Jack said. “With a Beretta 92, if memory serves correct.”

  “It does.”

  “Yeah, that one I do remember. And…well, I suppose it’s nice to meet you. Sorry about your father, of course.”

  Bernice sighed and started toward the stairs. She gave an apologetic little smile and wave to Mackenzie as she excused herself.

  Jack smiled at his wife as she headed up the stairs. When her footfalls had faded, Jack looked back to the work table. “I’d shake your hand but…well, I don’t know if you want to.”

  “Taxidermy seems like a fitting hobby for a man with your work history,” Mackenzie said.

  “It passes the time. And the supplemental income doesn’t hurt, either. Anyway…I digress. What can I answer for you about Ben White’s case?”

  “Honestly, I’m just looking for anything out of the ordinary. I’ve read the case reports more than fifty times, I’m sure. I know it front and back. But I’m also well aware that there are often tiny details only noticed by one or two people—details that don’t seem like they are worth including at the time—that don’t go in the official report. I’m looking for things like that.”

  Jack took a moment to think about it but Mackenzie could tell by the disappointed look in his eyes that he wasn’t coming up with anything. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Sorry. But in terms of the body itself, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Obviously, the means of death was clear. Other than that, though, his body had been in good shape.”

  “So then why do you remember it so well?”

  “Because of the nature of the case itself. It always struck me as fishy as hell. Your father was a well-respected cop. Someone came into your house, shot him in the back of the head, and managed to get out without anyone seeing who did it. A Beretta 92 isn’t incredibly loud, but it’s loud enough to wake up a household.”

  “It woke me up,” Mackenzie said. “My room was directly next to his. I heard it but wasn’t sure what it was. Then I heard footsteps as someone walked by my room. My bedroom door was closed, something I never did as a kid. I always left a crack. But someone had closed it. The same someone, I assume, that shot my father.”

  “That’s right. You found him, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “And it couldn’t have been any more than two or three minutes after the gunshot. It took me that long to figure out that something was wrong. That’s when I got out of bed and went to my parents’ room to check.”

  “I tell you…I wish I had more for you. And please forgive me for saying so, but something about the official story just doesn’t add up. Have you spoken to your mother about any of it?”

  “No. Not at length. We aren’t exactly the best of friends.”

  “She was a wreck in the days leading up to the funeral. No one could say a word to her. She went from inconsolable weeping to fits of rage in the blink of an eye.”

  Mackenzie nodded but said nothing. She could intimately remember her mother’s fits of rage. It was one of the key factors in having her admitted to a psych ward later on.

  “Was there any sort of secrecy involved when the body arrived at the morgue?” she asked.

  “Not that I can remember. No shady business as far as I know. It was just another routine body being delivered. But you know…I do remember one policeman that was always around. He was with them when the body was delivered and he stayed around the medical office for a while, like he was waiting on something. Pretty sure I spied him at the funeral, too. I mean, Benjamin White was a well-respected guy…especially by other officers on the force. But this officer…he was there all of the time. If memory serves correct, he sort of hung back at the funeral, like he needed time alone to process or something. But this was forever ago, mind you. Seventeen years is a long time. Memories sort of start to slip away when you get to be my age.”

 

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