Блейк Пирс - Before He Feels

“Agent White, please come on in,” Talbot said.

Mackenzie did as she was asked, taking the single seat that sat on the opposite side of the small and cluttered desk.

“I’m going to assume that this is about Kenneth Able’s murder?” Talbot asked.

“Yes ma’am, it is,” Mackenzie said. “We have another murder in a town about two and a half hours south of here. Another blind person – a member of a home for the blind.”

“Two and a half hours away?” Talbot asked. “That’s got to be the Wakeman Home for the Blind, right?”

“It is. And the manner in which this victim was killed seemed to be identical to Kenneth Able. I was hoping you could show me around the home, including the closet where his body was found.”

“Absolutely,” Talbot said. “Come with me.”

Talbot led her back out into the hall and then through the double doors Mackenzie had spotted on her way to Talbot’s office. They entered a large open space that emptied into what appeared to be a sort of common room. Within the open space, Mackenzie counted eight rooms.

“These,” Talbot said, “are the rooms the residents stay in. Unlike Wakeman, we don’t have ritzy up-to-date accommodations.”

She did not say this apologetically. In fact, Mackenzie thought she heard some venom in Talbot’s voice.

“This one,” Talbot said, leading Mackenzie to the second door on the right, “was Kenneth’s room.”

Talbot unlocked the door and they stepped inside. The room smelled of dust and some sort of chemical cleaner that seemed far too strong. Mackenzie did her best not to seem taken aback by the state of the room in comparison to what she had seen at Wakeman. She observed the bed, the small writing desk, the bureau, and the closet door. Everything looked aged, dulled and from another time.

She walked to the closet and opened it. As she looked into the empty space inside, she asked Talbot: “Can you walk me through how the body was discovered?”

“There’s another resident here, Margaret Dunwoody,” Talbot said. “She and Kenneth joked that they were dating – which is hilarious because Kenneth was thirty-eight and Margaret is pushing sixty. They were always together, having conversations in the common room, eating meals together, and things like that. Anyway, she came to his room in the afternoon to see if he wanted to step out for a bite to eat at McDonald’s. When he didn’t answer the door, she came inside. She said she knew something was wrong right away. She said the room felt too still. She was freaked out, so she went to the security guard that was here that night – a young guy named Tyrell Price. Tyrell found Kenneth in the closet, dead.”

“Strangled, with contusions around his eyes, correct?” Mackenzie asked.

“That’s right,” Talbot said.

Mackenzie looked into the closet, taking the small Maglite from her belt and shining it inside. She felt around the carpet and the doorframe but found no signs that the killer had left intentional clues. The only thing to be found in the closet was a stray coat hanger, dangling from the tension rod near the top of the frame.

This is a lot more daring than what happened to Ellis Ridgeway, she thought. Someone actually came into the room to kill him. Which meant someone let him inside. Did they know who he was? Did Kenneth Able know who it was?

“What’s the security like here?” Mackenzie asked.

“Not much to speak of,” Talbot said. “There’s a single camera outside that films the parking lot, but it’s been broken for the last month or so. We have two security guards that rotate shifts on the weekdays. And that’s about it.”

“Any plans to get that camera fixed?” Mackenzie asked, a little upset.

“Oh yeah. But as you can see, we’re not exactly the shining example that Wakeman is. Our budget is a joke and getting that camera fixed will cost upwards of three hundred bucks.”

“Is there someone here at all hours of the day?” Mackenzie asked, deciding to let the camera issue go for now.

“Yes. Between myself, two caretakers, the two security guards, and, on occasion, Tori out front, there is always someone here.”

“Would there be any way to see who came in and out of the building on the day Kenneth died?”

“No,” Talbot said regrettably. “Again…we don’t get much money for what we do here. We don’t have the good fortune of having generous donors like they have down at Wakeman.”

This is the sort of home people are sent to in order to be forgotten,

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