Блейк Пирс - Before He Longs

“You think she bled out first?”

“I do. And quite frankly, that would have been a blessing for her.”

“Based on what you’ve seen with the body, do you believe she was alive when she was placed in the storage unit?”

“Oh, without a doubt. And I’d say it was against her will as well.” Amanda stepped forward and pointed to the abrasions on Locke’s right hand. “Looks like she put up a fight of some kind and then tried her best to escape at some point.”

Mackenzie saw the cuts and noted that one of them looked rather ragged. It could have easily been placed there by the grooved runner that the unit door ran within. She also saw the fingernail that had been torn.

“There’s also bruising along the back of her head,” Amanda said. She used a comb-like tool to move Claire’s hair aside. She did so with a loving sort of respect and care. When she did this, Mackenzie was able to see an angry purple bruise along the upper base of her neck where her skull joined it.

“Any signs that she was drugged?” Mackenzie asked.

“None. I still have one chemical analysis I’m waiting on, but based on everything else I’ve seen, I’m not expecting anything from it.”

Mackenzie assumed the bruise to the back of the head along with the ball gag found in her mouth was more than enough reason for Claire Locke to not have raised any fuss or alarm when she was carried into the storage unit. She thought about the video footage again, certain that the driver of one of the cars was responsible for her murder—and the death of the other person found last week, according to the reports.

Mackenzie looked back down at the body with a frown. It was a natural reaction to always feel some sort of remorse for anyone who had been murdered. But Mackenzie was feeling a stronger sense of sadness with Claire Locke. Maybe it was because she could picture her all alone in that dark storage unit, unable to properly move or call out for help.

“Thanks for the information,” Mackenzie said. “My partner and I will be in town for a few days. Let me know if anything shows up in that last chemical report.”

She left the morgue and headed back up to the main floor. On her way back to the little office she and Ellington were working out of, she stopped by the dispatch desk and requested a copy of the current file on Claire Locke. She had it in her hands two minutes later and carried it back to the office.

She found Ellington staring at the monitor, reclined back in his chair.

“Anything so far?” she asked.

“Nothing concrete. I’ve watched seven more vehicles come and go. One stayed for about six hours before leaving. I want to check with the PD to see which of these people they have already spoken with. For Claire Locke to end up in that storage unit, someone on this footage had to have driven her there.”

Mackenzie nodded in agreement as she started looking through the file. Locke had no criminal record at all and the personal details didn’t offer much. She was twenty-five years old, graduated from UCLA two years ago, and had been working as a digital artist with a local marketing firm. Divorced parents, the father living in Hawaii and the mother somewhere in Canada. No husband, no kids, but there was a note along the bottom of the personal details sheet that stated her boyfriend had been informed of her death. He’d been called yesterday at three in the afternoon.

“How much time do you have left on that?” she asked.

Ellington shrugged. “Three more days, it looks like.”

“You good here while I head out to speak to Claire Locke’s boyfriend?”

“I guess,” he said with a comical sigh. “Married life is coming up. Better get used to seeing me sitting in front of a screen all the time. Especially during football season.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “As long as you’re fine with me heading out and doing my own thing while you’re doing it.”

And to show him what she meant, she headed back out. She called over her shoulder: “Give me a few hours.”

“Sure thing. But don’t expect dinner to be ready when you get back.”

The banter between them made her incredibly happy that McGrath had allowed them to work this case together. Between the gloom and rain outside and her peculiar sadness toward Claire Locke, she didn’t know if she would have been able to properly handle this case on her own. But with Ellington here, she felt that she had a piece of home with her—somewhere to return in the event the case got too overwhelming.

She headed back outside. Night had fallen and although the rain had once again settled down to a lazy drizzle, Mackenzie couldn’t help but feel that it was an omen of sorts.

Mackenzie knew nothing about the boyfriend, as there was nothing about him in the notes. All she knew was that his name was Barry Channing and that he lived at 376 Rose Street, Apartment 7. When she knocked on the door of Apartment 7, it was answered by a woman who looked to be in her late fifties or so. She looked tired and saddened—and clearly not happy to have a visitor after nine o’clock on a rainy Sunday night.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

Mackenzie nearly double-checked the number on the door but instead stated, “I’m looking for Barry Channing.”

“I’m his mother. Who are you?”

Mackenzie showed her ID. “Mackenzie White, with the FBI. I was hoping to ask him some questions about Claire.”

“He’s really in no state to talk to anyone,” the mother said. “In fact, he—”

“My God, Mom,” a male voice said, coming toward the door. “I’m okay.”

The mother stepped aside, making room for her son to stand in the doorway. Barry Channing was rather tall and had close-cropped blond hair. Like his mother, he looked low on sleep and it was clear that he had been crying.

“You said you’re with the FBI?” Barry said.

“Yes. Do you have a few minutes?”

Barry looked at his mother with a small frown and then sighed. “Yes, I have some time. Come in, please.”

Barry led Mackenzie into the apartment, down a thin hallway, and into a generic-looking kitchen. His mother, meanwhile, sulked on further down the hallway and out of sight. As Barry settled into a chair at the kitchen table, Mackenzie heard a door close rather forcefully from somewhere else in the apartment.

“Sorry about that,” Barry said. “I’m starting to think my mother was closer to Claire than I was. And that’s saying a lot, seeing as how I purchased an engagement ring two weeks ago.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Mackenzie said.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot,” Barry said, looking at the tabletop. “It was unexpected and while I did cry like a baby when the police told me yesterday, I’m managing to keep it together. Mom came over to stay with me to help me get through the funeral and I’m thankful for her help, but she’s a little overprotective. Once she’s gone, I’ll probably let all the grief out, you know?”

“I’m going to ask what might seem like a dumb question,” Mackenzie said. “But do you know of anyone that might have any reason to do this to Claire?”

“No. The police asked the same thing. She didn’t have any enemies, you know? She and her mother didn’t get along, but it wasn’t nearly to the level that would cause this. Claire was a sort of private person, you know? No close friends or anything…just acquaintances. That sort of thing.”

“When did you see her last?” Mackenzie asked.

“Eight days ago. She came by here to see if I had anything I needed to put in her storage unit. We had a laugh over it. She didn’t know I had the ring. But we both knew we were going to get married. We started making plans for it. Her asking if I had anything to put in her unit was just another way of reinforcing it, you know?”