“Would you happen to know this cop’s name?” she asked.

  “I don’t. But I’m pretty sure he signed some paperwork at some point. Maybe if you can get your hands on the original case files?”

  “Maybe,” Mackenzie said.

  He’s telling the truth and he feels sorry for me, Mackenzie thought. Nothing else to be had here…except maybe learning some taxidermy skills.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Waggoner,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said, escorting her back upstairs. “I truly do hope you can wrap this one up. I always thought there was something off about the case. And even though I didn’t know your father all that well, I always heard nothing but good things.”

  “I appreciate that,” Mackenzie said.

  With a final thanks, Mackenzie headed back outside with Jack at her side. She gave a wave to Bernice, back to the weeds in the flower garden, and got into her car. It was three in the afternoon but she felt like it was much later. She guessed the flight from DC to Nebraska, followed almost right away by a six-hour drive, was catching up to her.

  It was too early to call it a day, though. She figured she could end her day by visiting the one place she figured she’d always end up, yet had never stepped foot in before: the Belton police station.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Belton police station reminded her far too much of the station she had spent so much time in during her time as an officer and detective in southern Nebraska before the bureau had come calling. It was smaller but seemed to have that same sort of suffocating feel to it. It was literally like taking one big step back into her past.

  After being buzzed through into the main area by a woman at a check-in kiosk, Mackenzie walked to a small room in the back of the building. A placard by the side of the door read RECORDS. It was almost appalling how lackadaisical the process was. She had shown her badge to the woman at the front kiosk. She made a call, got clearance, and then buzzed her through.

  And that was it. On her way to the records room, two officers walking the hallways nodded to her and gave her strange looks but that was it. No one stopped her and no one asked what she was up to. Honestly, that was fine with her. The fewer distractions, the quicker she could get out of there.

  The records room consisted of a small oak table in the center of the room, bookended by two chairs. The rest of the room was wall-to-wall filing cabinets, some of which looked old and beaten up, others much newer. She was surprised at how organized the files were, the older cabinets holding files from as far back as 1951. For the sake of curiosity and her appreciation for well-maintained records and files, she pulled one of these drawers open and peeked inside. Well-worn pages, folders, and other materials rested neatly inside, though it was clear from the smell of old paper and the wafting of dust that they had not been viewed in a very long time.

  She closed the drawer and then scanned the labels on the front of the other cabinets until she found the one she needed. She pulled the drawer open and started to sift through the files. The good thing about being a police officer in such a small town was that there usually weren’t many cases worth recording. When she’d started doing the digging into her father’s case, she discovered that on the year he’d died, there had only been two homicides in all of Belton.

  Because of this, it was very easy for her to find her father’s file. She pulled it out, frowning at how thin the folder was. She even looked back into the drawer to see if there was another file that she had missed, but there was nothing else.

  Resigned to the single thin folder, Mackenzie sat down at the little table in the center of the room and started to look through the folder. There were several photographs of the crime scene, all of which she had seen. She also read over the notes on the case. She’d seen these, too; she even had photocopies of them in her own collection of records on the case. But to see the original documents—to hold them in her hands—seemed to make it more real somehow.

  There were a few documents in the file that she did not have personal copies of. Among them was a copy of the coroner’s report, complete with Jack Waggoner’s name signed at the bottom. She looked it over, found the work and notes satisfactory, and carried on to the next page. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but there was nothing new to see. However, when she got to the back of the file, she came across page two of the final report, where a note maintained that the case was unresolved.

  At the bottom, there were two scrawled signatures, along with each officer’s printed name. One was Dan Smith. The other was Reggie Thompson.

  Mackenzie flipped back to the coroner’s report to see the names of the officers that had signed off there as well. There was only one name there: Reggie Thompson. Thompson’s name on both of the documents was a good indicator that he was the officer who seemed to have been hovering over the case, even at the coroner’s office.

  She flipped through the files one more time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. As she had suspected, there was nothing. She put the file back in the cabinet and left the room. When she walked back out into the hallway, she took her time. She looked at the placards on the walls by the each doorway. Most of the doors were open, with no one occupying the desks inside. It wasn’t until she got to the end of the hall, nearly back to the small bullpen area and the check-in kiosk beyond, that she found an occupied office.

  She knocked on the partially open door and got a cheerful “Come in” in response.

  Mackenzie stepped inside the office and was greeted by a plump woman sitting behind a desk. She was typing something into her computer, not coming to a stop even when she looked up at Mackenzie.

  “Can I help you?” the lady asked.

  “I’m looking for an Officer Reggie Thompson,” Mackenzie said.

  This seemed to get the woman’s attention. She stopped typing and looked up at Mackenzie with a frown. Knowing what was coming, Mackenzie showed the lady her badge and gave her name.

  “Oh, I see,” the lady said. “In that case, I’m sorry to say that Officer Thompson retired last year. He hung in there as long as he could, but he had to stop eventually. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer. From what I hear, he’s beating it but it’s taken a toll on him.”

  “Do you know if he’s up for visitors? I was hoping to ask him some questions about a case he was working a while back.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’d love that, actually. He calls here at least once a week just to catch up…to see what kind of cases he’s missing. But if I were you, I’d wait until tomorrow. From what his wife tells me, he overdoes himself in the mornings and early afternoons, so he’s wiped out by two or three in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll wait until tomorrow, then,” Mackenzie said. “Thanks for your help.”

  Mackenzie left the station with the same lack of activity she had experienced in coming in. All told, she’d spent about half an hour there and while she still had a small chunk of the afternoon at her disposal, she was feeling tired. And since Reggie Thompson preferred to do his business in the morning, that left her with no options.

  She left the station and headed back for the motel. On the way, her phone rang and she was happy to see that it was Ellington. While they weren’t technically in the midst of a fight, it was still strange to be at odds with him.

  He’s doing what’s right, she told herself. Give the man a break.

  She answered the call with a quick: “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “I’ve spoken to at least a dozen different vagrants today. I have a whole new appreciation for what they go through but I have also come to the conclusion that they are not the most reliable of sources. How about you?”

  “Making progress,” she said, though it felt like a lie. “I spoke to a few locals that gave me some insights into the case—small-town gossip really, but there are usually kernels of truth on those grapevines. Spoke to the coroner that handled Dad’s body and then stopped by the local PD to check the files. Got the name of an officer who seemed to be attached to the case and I’m speaking with him tomorrow.”

  “You sure as hell got more done than I did,” he said. “How much longer do you think you’ll be there?”

  “I don’t know. It depends on what tomorrow brings—both here and in Omaha. What’s the general mood down there?”

  Ellington hesitated before answering. “If I’m being honest, it’s tense. Penbrook is pissed that you so casually took a trip out west. He’s being as helpful as he can be, but he’s letting me know in no uncertain terms that he’s not happy.”

  “And you?”

  “The same as last night. I wish I was there with you…or that you were still here. But dividing and conquering was the best choice. I think even Penbrook realizes it. But if I’m being honest, the general consensus here in Omaha is that you’re using this as a hometown tour to revisit the past.”

  “That consensus is stupid,” she said. She hated that the comeback sounded so juvenile.

  “You have to understand what it looks like,” he argued. “You were here for less than a day and then hauled ass off to Morrill County, all by yourself. That’s how they’re seeing it anyway.”

  “This is not a hometown tour. I am not getting any sort of pleasure out of this.”

  “I know that. But Penbrook and his cronies don’t know you as well as I do. They get that it’s personal, but they don’t understand it.” He paused here and then added: “Don’t bullshit me, Mac. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m tired and I’m anxious and quite frankly, I wish some arsonist had burned my childhood home to the ground a long time ago.”

  “If you light the match, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Don’t tempt me. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She ended the call, let out a shaky sigh, and tossed her phone into the passenger seat. She drove through Belton, recalling what it had been like to be a typical angsty teenager, mad at her mother, her sister, the police for not finding her father’s killer—the whole world, it seemed.

  And while she had grown up significantly since then, there was a part of her that understood how a place like Belton could cause that sort of teenage angst to grow and fester. There were only churches, bars, and grocery stores. Oh, and trees, corn, and wide expanses of land that seemed to have no end.

  Mackenzie was starting to feel that angst again as she pulled into the parking lot of the motel. And the sad thing was that she missed it. Whether it was the town, being so close to her father’s case again, or a combination of both, Mackenzie felt herself growing angry for no particular reason and allowing herself to embrace it.

  And that was fine. Because for the time being, it felt pretty damned good.

  ***

  There were times when she lay down to sleep that she knew there would be a nightmare. It was almost like an alarm in her head, alerting her to the fact. She knew she’d have one that night but was drifting off before she had time to really even worry about it.

  This one started in a surreal way; it made her feel like she was watching a 3D movie with a grainy set of glasses. She was watching it all through someone else’s eyes, like an art-house point-of-view film.

  He takes the first step up onto the small porch and, as expected, finds the door unlocked. He hesitates before opening it, savoring the peaceful night all around him. He then places his hand on the doorknob and turns it. It opens easily enough and he walks into the home of Ben and Patricia White.

  Patricia White is asleep on the couch. There’s a bottle of red wine on the floor, along with an empty wine glass. The television is on but the volume is muted so low that he can barely hear the dialogue from the news program. He looks at the sleeping woman and thinks about the things he could do to her. He could kill her, too. Or do what he came here to do and then come back and rape her. It wasn’t in the plan, but there was always time for a little unscripted fun.

  He passes the couch and leaves the living room. He passes through the kitchen without a single look around. The shapes of the fridge and the small kitchen table are murky in the weak light. He then makes his way down the hallway. He opens the first door and sees a girl of about six or seven. Very small, very cute. Stephanie White. She’s sleeping with her back to him.

  He studies the little girl for just a moment before leaving her be, closing the door quietly behind him. He then tries the next room and sees another little girl. This one is older…maybe ten or so. She’s sleeping on her back, her mouth a little agape as tiny snores escape. He studies her the same way he studied the other girl, only taking more time to appreciate the curves that were almost appearing on her body.

  He leaves her alone, again quietly closing the door behind him. The next door along the hallway is the bathroom. It’s in disarray, a crumpled towel on the floor and someone’s dirty clothes from the day thrown at the hamper but not making it in.

  He leaves the bathroom, checks back down the hall to make sure he hasn’t stirred the wife or the daughters, and then enters the bedroom.

  Benjamin White is lying there, just like he’s supposed to. The other side of the bed is empty, his wife passed out on the couch.

  He approaches the bed and pulls the gun from his pocket. It’s a Beretta 92, fairly light and somewhat common. He cocks it as if he has done it a thousand times before. The next three seconds are fluid and effortless.

  He places the gun to the back of Benjamin White’s head at an upward tilt and pulls the trigger. The blast is not muffled but still surprisingly quiet.

  Blood splatters everywhere as Benjamin White’s body jerks a single time. Blood on the walls, on the sheets, on the carpet, on his shirt, blood everywhere and—

  Mackenzie woke up with a gasp.

  She’d seen it through the killer’s eyes. That was certainly new. She’d dreamed about the room and that particular scene hundreds of times but had never seen it like that. It made her feel a little sick to her stomach.

  She looked at the clock and saw that it was 4:56. She’d slept for about seven hours—plenty of sleep as far as she was concerned. Not bothering to try for another hour or so, she rolled out of bed. While in the shower, she focused on the scene from her dream where the killer had looked in on her. It had been surreal and even now, she felt like there was someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, watching her.

  Of course, when she was out of the shower, there was no one there. She dried off and got dressed, checking her phone for any messages she might have missed while in the shower. There was nothing at all.

  She looked herself over in the mirror, deciding to hit up the same diner from yesterday for breakfast. After that, she’d visit Reggie Thompson, whom she had discovered via a phone request through Harrison lived right there in Belton.

  The possibility of visiting her mother was still there, too. It would simply not leave her head and continued to rattle around like an empty aluminum can.

  Maybe later, she thought. It had always been her internal response to any thought of reaching out to her mother. Maybe later.

  She left the motel room and stepped out into the early morning. All was quiet, all was still. And she found that with that familiar angst she’d experienced yesterday came another familiar feeling from her teenage years: to get the hell out of Belton as soon as she could.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Reggie Thompson lived in a modest house tucked away on one of the secondary roads behind Main Street. It was a quaint house, surrounded by a well-maintained lawn with numerous towering trees. As Mackenzie walked up to his doorstep, she watched as two squirrels ran precariously along the branches of one tree while making their way to the next.

  She knocked on the door, instantly feeling like an intruder. The poor man was suffering from cancer. She’d like to think that if the woman at the station yesterday had not told her that he would love to have her visit, she would have stayed away because of his situation. But she knew that wasn’t true. Not only was he a reliable source of information she was looking for, but the case was slowly getting her obsessed.

  The door was answered by a woman who looked to be in her early sixties. She carried a cup of tea in one hand, the smell of which perked Mackenzie up. She eyed Mackenzie curiously and said simply: “Hello?”

  “Hi,” Mackenzie said, going through her routine. She showed the lady her badge and gave her name. “I’m looking for Reggie Thompson. I understand he’s been through a hard time lately, but someone I spoke with at the police station yesterday seemed to think he’d appreciate the visit.”

  “Is it about a case?” the woman asked.

  “It is…about an older case from nearly twenty years ago.”

  “In that case, let’s get you inside. I’m Mary, by the way. I’m the one that has to hear his old stories and listen to him grumble about how much he misses it. Did they tell you that he calls the station at least once a week to get details on new cases?”

  “It might have been mentioned,” Mackenzie said as she was welcomed into the house.

  Mary led Mackenzie to the back of the house, taking her through a small but gorgeous kitchen and a small mudroom. Off of the mudroom, there was a sun porch. Reggie Thompson was sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book as the morning sun filled the space. He looked up as the two women came out onto the porch. He smiled, but had a curious look about him.

  “You have a visitor,” Mary said with a mocking tone, as if she was playing the part of a secretary.

 

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