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Before He Feels
CHAPTER TWO
Mackenzie felt a chill pass through her as Ellington guided them down State Route 47, deeper into the heart of rural Virginia. A few cornfields popped up here and there, breaking the monotony of sprawling fields and forests. The number of cornfields was no match for what she was used to in Nebraska, but the sight of them still made her a bit uneasy.
Luckily, the closer they got to the town of Stateton, the fewer cornfields she saw. They were replaced by freshly leveled acres of land that had been torn up by local lumber companies. In doing research on the area on the four-and-a-half-hour drive down, she’d seen where there was a fairly large lumber distributor in a neighboring town. As for the town of Stateton, though, it was the Wakeman Home for the Blind, a few antique stores, and very little else.
“Anything those case files tell you that I’m not privy to yet? It’s hard to read the constant flow of emails from over here in the driver’s seat.”
“Nothing, really,” she said. “It looks like we’ll need to go through the same procedures as always. Visiting the families, the home for the blind, things like that.”
“Visiting the families…should be easy in an inbred little town like this, huh?”
She was shocked at first but then let it pass. She had learned after a few weeks together as what she supposed could be considered “a couple” that Ellington had a relatively active sense of humor; it could be dry at times, though.
“You ever spend much time in a place like this?” Mackenzie asked.
“Summer camp,” Ellington said. “It’s a chunk of my teenage years I’d really like to forget. You? Was it ever this bad out in Nebraska?”
“Not quite like this, but it was desolate sometimes. There are times when I think I prefer the quiet out here, in places like this, more than I enjoy the packed traffic and people in places like DC.”
“Yeah, I think I could see that.”
It was fun for Mackenzie to be able to get to know Ellington better without the trappings of a traditional dating relationship. Rather than learning about one another over fancy dinners or long walks in a park, they had gotten to know one another over car rides and time spent in FBI offices or conferences rooms. And she’d enjoyed every minute of it. Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever get tired of getting to know him.
So far, she wasn’t sure it would be possible.
Up ahead, a small sign along the side of the road welcomed them to Stateton, Virginia. A simple two-lane road led them through more trees. A few houses and their lawns broke the monotony of the forest for about a mile or so before any real signs of a town took over. They passed by a greasy spoon–type diner, a barbershop, two antique stores, a farm supply store, two mini-marts, a post office, and then, about two miles beyond all of that, a perfectly square brick building just off the main road. A very military-style sign out front read Staunton County Police Department and Correctional Facility
“Ever seen that before?” Ellington asked. “A police department and the county jail in one building?”
“A few times in Nebraska,” she said. “I think it’s pretty common in places like these. The closest actual prison to Stateton is in Petersburg, and that’s about eighty miles away, I think.”
“Jesus, this place is small. We should have this wrapped up pretty quickly.”
Mackenzie nodded as Ellington turned into the driveway and into the parking lot of the large brick building that looked as if it sat literally in the middle of nowhere.
What she was thinking but did not say was: I hope you didn’t just jinx us.
***
Mackenzie smelled dark coffee and something like Febreeze when they stepped into the small lobby at the front of the building. It looked quite nice inside, but it was an old building. Its age could be seen in the ceiling cracks and the obvious need for new carpet in the lobby. An enormous desk sat along the far wall and while it also looked as old as the rest of the building, it looked well-kept.
An older woman sat behind the desk, sorting through a large binder. When she heard Mackenzie and Ellington enter, she looked up with a huge smile. It was a beautiful smile but it also showed her age. Mackenzie guessed her to be reaching seventy.
“You the agents with the FBI?” the aging lady asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Mackenzie said. “I’m Agent White and this is my partner, Agent Ellington. Is the sheriff around?”
“He is,” she said. “In fact, he’s asked me to direct you straight to his office. He’s quite busy fielding calls about this latest horrible death. Just head down to the corridor to your left. His office is the last door on the right.”
They followed her directions and as they headed down the long corridor that led to the back of the building, Mackenzie was taken aback by the silence of the place. In the midst of a murder case, she’d expected the place to be abuzz with activity, even if it was the middle of nowhere.
As they headed for the back of the corridor, Mackenzie noticed a few signs that had been posted on the walls. One said: Prison Access Requires Keycard. Another read: All Prison Visits Must Be Cleared by County Officials! Approval Must Be Presented At Time of Visit!
Her mind started to race with thoughts of the maintenance and regulations that must have to be in place for a prison and a police department to share the same space. It was quite fascinating to her. But before her mind could get going any further, they reached the office at the back of the corridor.
Gold letters had been painted on the upper glass portion of the door, reading Sheriff Clarke. The door was partially open, so Mackenzie slowly opened it to the sound of a man’s burly voice. When she peeked inside, she saw a heavyset man behind a desk, speaking loudly into his desk phone. Another man was sitting in a chair in the corner, furiously texting something on his cell phone.
The man behind the desk – Sheriff Clarke, Mackenzie presumed – interrupted himself on the phone as she opened the door.
“One minute, Randall,” he said. He then covered the mouthpiece and looked back and forth between Mackenzie and Ellington.
“You with the bureau?” he asked.
“We are,” Ellington said.
“Thank God,” he sighed. “Give me a second.” He then uncapped the mouthpiece and continued with his other conversation. “Look, Randall, the cavalry just arrived. Will you be available in fifteen minutes? Yeah? Okay, good. See you then.”
The heavyset man hung up the phone and came around the desk. He offered a meaty hand to them, approaching Ellington first. “Good to meet you,” he said. “I’m Sheriff Robert Clarke. This,” he said, nodding toward the man sitting in the corner, “is Officer Keith Lambert. My deputy is out patrolling the streets right now, doing his best to find some sort of lead on this rapidly growing clusterfuck.”
He nearly forgot about Mackenzie when he was done shaking Ellington’s hand, offering another handshake to her almost as an afterthought. When she shook it, she did the intros, hoping it would clue him in to the fact that she was just as capable of leading this investigation as the men in the room. Instantly, old ghosts from Nebraska started rattling the chains in her head.
“Sheriff Clarke, I’m Agent White and this is Agent Ellington. Will you be our liaison here in Stateton?”
“Sweetie, I’ll be just about your everything while you’re here,” he said. “The police force for the entire county numbers a whopping twelve people. Thirteen if you count Frances out there at the front desk and dispatch. With this murder spree going on, we’re spread just a little thin.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do to lighten your load,” Mackenzie said.
“I wish it was that easy,” he said. “Even if we solve this fucking thing today, I’m going to have half the board of supervisors for the county up my ass.”
“Why is that?” Ellington asked.
“Well, the local papers just got wind of who the victim was. Ellis Ridgeway. The mother of an up-and-coming scum-sucking douchebag politician. Some say he might make the senate within another five years.”
“And who is that?” Mackenzie asked.
“Langston Ridgeway. Twenty-eight years old and thinks he’s John Fucking Kennedy.”
“Is that so?” Mackenzie said, a little shocked that had not been included in the reports.
“Yeah. How the local paper got that information is beyond me. The morons can’t spell right half the time, but this they get.”
“I saw signs for the Wakeman Home for the Blind on our way in,” Mackenzie said. “It’s only six miles from here, is that correct?”
“On the money,” Clarke said. “I was just talking to Randall Jones, the manager over there. That’s who I was on the phone with when you came in. He’s over there right now to answer any questions you have. And the sooner the better. He’s got the press and some county bigwigs calling him and bugging the shit out of him.”
“Well, let’s head over there,” Mackenzie said. “Will you be coming with us?”
“No way, sweetie. I’m swamped as it is here. But please do come back by when you’re done with Randall. I’ll help you however I can but really…I’d love for you two to take this ball and run with it.”
“No problem,” Mackenzie said. She wasn’t quite sure how to handle Clarke. He was up front and bluntly honest, which was good. He also seemed to really love dropping curse words. She also thought that when he called her sweetie, he wasn’t being insulting. It was that weird sort of southern charm.
Also, the man was stressed beyond his means.
“We’ll come right back here when we’re done at the home,” Mackenzie said. “Please call us if you hear anything new between now and then.”
“Of course,” Clarke said.
In the corner, still texting on his phone, Officer Lambert grunted in agreement.
Having spent less than three minutes in Sheriff Clarke’s office, Mackenzie and Ellington walked back down the corridor and exited through the lobby. The older woman, whom Mackenzie assumed was the Frances that Clarke had mentioned, waved at them briskly as they made their exit.
“Well, that was…interesting,” Ellington said.
“The man is in over his head,” she said. “Give him a break.”
“You just like him because he calls you sweetie,” Ellington said.
“And?” she said with a smile.
“Hey, I can start calling you sweetie.”
“Please don’t,” she said as they got into the car.
Ellington drove them half a mile down Highway 47 and then took a left onto a back road. Right away, they saw a sign for the Wakeman Home for the Blind. As they got closer to the property, Mackenzie started to wonder why someone would have chosen such a random and isolated location for a home for the blind. Surely there was some sort of psychological meaning behind it. Perhaps being located in the middle of nowhere helped them to relax, removed from the constant droning noises of a larger city.
All she knew for sure was that as the trees grew thicker around them, she started to feel more choked off from the rest of the world. And for the first time in a very long time, she almost yearned for the familiar sights of those cornfields of her youth.
CHAPTER THREE
The Wakeman Home for the Blind did not look at all like Mackenzie was expecting. In contrast to the Staunton County Police Department and Correctional Facility, the Wakeman Home for the Blind looked like a marvel of modern design and construction – and that was a view Mackenzie arrived at before they even stepped foot inside.
The front of the place was made of large glass windows that seemed to make up the majority of the walls. Halfway down the sidewalk toward the entrance, Mackenzie could already see inside. She saw a large lobby that looked like something straight out of some sort of spa. It was friendly looking and inviting.
It was a feeling that only intensified once they stepped inside. Everything was very clean and looked new. In the research she had done on the way to Stateton, she’d discovered that the Wakeman Home for the Blind had only just been built in 2007. When it had been built, there had been a slight hurrah within Staunton County, as it brought in new jobs and commerce. Now, however, while it was still one of the more prominent buildings in the county, the excitement had died down and the home seemed to have gotten swallowed up by its rural surroundings.
A young woman sat behind a curved counter along the back wall. She greeted them with a smile, though it was clear that she was troubled. Mackenzie and Ellington approached her, introduced themselves, and were promptly asked to take a seat in the waiting area while Randall Jones came out to meet them.
As it turned out, Randall Jones was very anxious to meet with them. Mackenzie had been sitting for no more than ten seconds before a set of double doors leading to the back of the building opened up on the other side of the waiting room. A tall man wearing a button-down shirt and khakis stepped through. He tried on a smile as he introduced himself, but, just like the receptionist, he could not hide the fact that he was tired and very troubled.
“I’m glad you’re here so soon,” Jones said. “The sooner we can get this wrapped up, the better. The small-town grapevine is on fire with this one.”
“We’d like to get it knocked out as soon as possible as well,” Mackenzie said. “Do you know exactly where the body was found?”
“Yes. It’s a rose garden about half a mile from here. It was originally going to be the site for Wakeman but some weird county zoning regulations messed it all up.”
“Could you take us there?” Mackenzie asked.
“Of course. Anything you need. Come with me.”
Jones led them through the double doors he had come through. On the other side, there was a very small alcove that led directly into the home. The first few doors they passed were offices and storage spaces. These were separated from the residents’ rooms by an open office area where one man and one woman sat behind a counter space much like a hospital wing.
As they passed by the rooms, Mackenzie peeked inside one that was open. The rooms were quite spacious and decked out with nice furniture. She also saw laptops and smartpads in a few of the rooms.
Despite being located in the middle of nowhere, there apparently isn’t a shortage of funds to keep the placing going, she thought.
“How many residents live here?” Mackenzie asked.
“Twenty-six,” he said. “And they come from all over. We have one older man who came all the way from California because of the exceptional service and quality of life we can offer.”
“Forgive me if it’s an ignorant question,” Mackenzie said, “but what sort of things do they do?”
“Well, we have classes that cover a wide variety of interests. Most have to be specialized to cater to their needs, of course. We have cooking classes, exercise programs, a board game club, trivia clubs, gardening classes, crafts, things like that. Also, a few times out of the year, we organize outings to allow them to hike or swim. We even have two brave souls who have taken to canoeing whenever we go out.”
Hearing all of this made Mackenzie feel both insensitive, yet happy as well. She had no idea that people who were completely blind could become adept at things like canoeing or swimming.
Near the end of the hallway, Jones brought them to an elevator. When they stepped inside and headed down, Jones leaned against the wall, clearly exhausted.
“Mr. Jones,” Mackenzie said, “do you have any idea how the local papers would have already learned about the murder?”
“No idea,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I’m so tired. I’ve been extensively questioning my staff. But everyone checks out. There’s certainly a leak but I have no idea where it’s coming from.”
Mackenzie nodded. Not really much of a concern there, she thought. A leak in a little town like this is almost a certainty. It shouldn’t get in the way of the investigation, though.
The elevator came to a stop and let them out at a small finished basement of sorts. A few chairs were spread out here and there but Jones led them to a door straight ahead of them. They stepped outside and Mackenzie found herself behind the building, facing an employee parking lot.
Randall led them to his car and when they got in, he wasted no time blasting the air conditioning. The inside of the car was like a furnace, but the air started its work right away.
“How did Mrs. Ridgeway get to the garden?” Ellington asked.
“Well, being that we’re in the middle of nowhere, we do allow our residents a certain amount of freedom. We have a curfew of nine o’clock during the summer – which drops to six o’ clock in the fall and winter when it gets dark earlier. The rose garden we’re headed to is a spot some of the residents go just to get out. As you’ll see, it’s a quick walk without any hazards.”
Randall backed them out of the lot and turned onto the road. He was headed in the opposite direction of the police department, revealing a new stretch of the road to Mackenzie and Ellington.
The road was a straight stretch that veered farther back into the woods. But within thirty seconds, Mackenzie could see the small cast-iron gates that bordered the rose garden. Randall pulled into a thin strip of a parking lot where there were only three other cars parked, one of which was an unattended police car.
“Sheriff Clarke and his men have been out here most of last night and early this morning,” Randall said. “When he heard you guys were coming, he had it abandoned. He really doesn’t want to get in the way, you know?”
“We certainly appreciate that,” Mackenzie said, stepping out of the car and back into the stifling heat.
“We know for a fact that this was the last place Ellis Ridgeway visited,” Randall said. “She passed two other residents on her way out, as well as me. Further proof of this can be seen on the security cameras at the home. She’s very obviously heading in this direction – and everyone in the home knows she liked to take late evening walks here. She did it at least four or five times on most weeks.”
“And no one else was here with her?” Mackenzie asked.
“Not anyone from the home. Honestly, not many people come out here in the dead center of summer. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re in the middle of a pretty rough hot spell.”
As they came to the east side of the garden, Mackenzie was almost overwhelmed with the smells. She caught whiffs of roses, hydrangeas, and what she thought might be lavender. She supposed it must be a nice getaway for the blind – a way to truly enjoy their other senses.
When they reached a bend in the trail that curved farther back to the east, Jones turned and pointed back behind them. “If you look through that break in the trees on the other side of the road, you can see the backside of Wakeman,” he said sadly. “She was this close to us when she died.”
He then stepped off of the walkway and squeezed past two large flowerpots containing red roses. Mackenzie and Ellington followed him. They reached a back gate that had been mostly hidden by all of the flowers, trees, and vegetation. There was a space of about four feet that was empty, save for some stray grass.
As they walked through, she could instantly see how it might seem like a perfect place for a patient killer to strike. Randall Jones had said it himself – no one came out here much when it got so hot. The killer certainly knew about this and used it to his advantage.
“This is where I found her,” Jones said, pointing to the empty space between the larger pots and the black cast-iron gates. “She was lying face down and bent into a sort of U shape.”
“You found her?” Ellington asked.
“Yes. At about nine forty-five last night. When she didn’t make it back for curfew, I started to worry. After half an hour, I figured I should come check to see if she’d fallen or panicked or something.”
“Were all of her clothes in place?” Mackenzie asked.
“As far as I could tell,” Randall said, clearly surprised by the question. “In the moment, I wasn’t really thinking in such a way.”
“And there’s absolutely no one else on that video footage at the home?” Ellington asked. “No one following her?”
“No one. You’re welcome to look at the footage for yourself when we get back.”
As they headed back through the garden, Ellington brought up a question that had been brewing on Mackenzie’s mind. “It seems very quiet today in the home. What gives?”
“I guess you’d call it mourning. We have a very tight-knit community at Wakeman and Ellis was so loved. Very few of our residents have come out of their rooms all day. We also made an announcement over the PA that we’d have agents from DC coming to look into Ellis’s murder. Ever since then, hardly anyone has come out of their room. I guess they’re freaked out…scared.”
That, plus no one following her out of the home rules out the murderer being a resident, Mackenzie thought. The meager file on the first victim stated that the murder occurred between eleven o’clock and midnight…and a pretty good distance away from Stateton.
“Would it be at all possible for us to speak to some of your residents?” Mackenzie asked.
“It’s absolutely fine with me,” Jones said. “Of course, if they’re uncomfortable with it I’ll have to ask you to stop.”
“Of course. I think I could – ”
She was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She checked it and saw an unfamiliar number in the display.
“One second,” she said, taking the call. She turned away from Jones and answered: “This is Agent White.”
“Agent White, it’s Sheriff Clarke. Look, I know you just left here but I’d really appreciate it if you could hustle back down as soon as you can.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“It’s been better,” he said. “I’ve just got this jerk-off waste of space Langston Ridgeway down here. He’s demanding to speak with you about his mother’s case and he’s starting to cause a bit of a scene.”
Even in the sticks, you can’t escape politics, Mackenzie thought.
Irritated, she did her best to respond in a professional manner. “Give us about ten minutes,” she said and killed the call.
“Mr. Jones, we’re going to have to head back to the sheriff for now,” she said. “Could you have that security footage cued up for us when we come back?”
“Of course,” Randall said, leading them back to his car.
“And in the meantime,” Mackenzie added, “I want a list of anyone you have even the slightest suspicions about. I’m talking employees and other residents. People that would know the reach of the security camera in the garden.”
Jones nodded somberly. The look on his face told Mackenzie that this was something he had considered himself but had not dared put much belief into. With that same expression on his face, he started the car and took them back to Wakeman. Along the way, Mackenzie again noticed the silence of the little town – not tranquil, but more like the calm before a storm.
