Murder had not been at all what he had expected. He had thought there would be some degree of what have I done? Maybe a moment of life-defining guilt or a sense that he had somehow altered the entire course of a family’s life. But there had been none of that. The only thing he had felt after the murders—after killing both of his victims—was an overwhelming sense of paranoia.
And, if he was being honest, joy.
Perhaps he had been stupid to go about it so casually. He had been surprised by just how normal it had felt. He’d been terrified about the idea until he actually put his hands to their necks—until he squeezed down and robbed the life right out of their beautiful bodies. The best part had been watching the light go out in their eyes. It had been unexpectedly erotic—the most vulnerable thing he had ever seen.
The paranoia, though, was worse than he could have ever imagined. He had not been able to sleep for three days after he’d killed the first one. He had prepared for such an obstacle after the second, though. A few glasses of red wine and an Ambien directly after the murder and he had slept quite well, actually.
The other thing that was bothering him was how hard it had been to leave the scene of the crime the second time around. The way she had fallen, the way the life had gone out of her eyes in an instant…it had made him want to stay there, to stare into those freshly dead eyes to see what secrets might be in there. He’d never felt such a craving before, though to be fair, he would have never dreamed of killing anyone up until about a year or so ago. So apparently, much like taste buds, a person’s morals were apt to change from time to time.
He thought about this as he sat in front of his fireplace. His entire house was quiet, so eerily still that he could hear the sound of his fingers moving against the stem of his wine glass. He watched the fire burn and pop as he drank from a glass of dark red wine.
This is your life now, he told himself. You have killed not one but two people. Sure, they were necessary. You had to do it or your life might very well have been over. While neither of those girls technically deserved to die, it was all out of necessity.
He told himself this over and over again. It was one of the reasons the guilt he had been expecting had not yet crippled him. It might also be why there was so much room for that paranoia to creep in and take root.
He was waiting for a knock at his door at any moment, with a police officer standing on the other side. Or maybe a SWAT team, complete with a battering ram. And the hell of it was that he knew he deserved it. He had no illusion about getting away with this. He figured that some day, the truth would be revealed. That’s just the way the world worked now. There was no such thing as privacy, no such thing as living your own life.
So when the time came, he thought he’d be able to take whatever justice was dealt to him standing up like a man. The only question that remained was how many more would he have to kill? A small part of him begged him to stop, trying to convince him that his work was done now and that no one else had to die.
But he was pretty certain that was not true.
And worst of all, the prospect of having to go out and do it again stirred an excitement within him that shimmered and burned just like the fire in front of him.
She was very much aware that it was really only a change of setting that had done it, but sex in the Icelandic wilderness, right under the majestic swirl of the northern lights, was phenomenal. On the first night, when she and Ellington had wrapped up their festivities, Mackenzie slept better than she had in a very long time. She fell asleep happy, physically satisfied, and with the sensation of life growing inside of her.
They woke up the following morning and had very bitter coffee over a small fire at their campsite. They were in the northeastern part of the country, camping about eight miles away from Lake Mývatn, and she felt like they were the only people on the face of the planet.
“What would you say about fish for breakfast?” Ellington asked her out of the blue.
“I think I’m okay with the oatmeal and coffee,” she said.
“The lake is only eight miles away. I can pluck a few fish out and have ourselves a real camping meal.”
“You fish?” she asked, surprised.
“I used to do it a lot,” he said. He got a faraway look in his eyes, one that she had long since learned meant that whatever he was talking about was a part of his past and likely tied to his first marriage.
“This I have to see,” she said.
“Do I hear skepticism in your voice?”
She didn’t say another word as she got to her feet and headed over to their rented four-by-four. “Fish sounds great,” she said.
They piled into the four-by-four and made their way to the lake. Mackenzie enjoyed the open lands and the fjords, the countryside looking at times like something out of a fairytale. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle she was growing accustomed to in DC. She looked over to Ellington as he drove them toward Lake Mývatn. He looked ruggedly handsome, his hair still slightly tousled from a night in the tent. And while they had plans to check into a small motel for the night, mainly just to get showers before returning to camp, she had to admit that there was something alluring about seeing him a little grimy, a little rough around the edges. Seeing him like this somehow made it much easier to fathom the idea of spending the rest of her life with him.
They were at the lake twenty minutes later, Ellington sitting on a rickety old dock with a rented fishing pole in his hands. Mackenzie only watched him, the two of them sharing nothing more than small talk. She was enjoying the moment of seeing him doing something that she had not even thought he would enjoy. It only clued her in to the fact that there was so much more about him that she had to learn—a sobering thought while looking at the man she had married only two days ago.
When he brought in his first fish, she was very surprised. And by the time he had three on the dock, tossed in a small bucket, she was equally surprised in herself and the fact that she was rather attracted to this side of him. She wondered what other outdoorsy-type activities Ellington was good at that he had been hiding from her.
They rode back to the campsite, the Jeep smelling of the three fish that would be their breakfast. Back at the site, she saw that his fishing expertise stopped at taking them out of the water. He was a little clumsy in scaling and gutting them; although they did end up having some delicious fish over a campfire, it was in ragged, small morsels.
They made plans for the day, plans that included horseback riding, a waterfall tour, and a journey to the small motel outside of Reykjavík to shower and get a proper meal before driving back out through the gorgeous countryside to the campground as night fell. And after eating their breakfast of fresh fish, they carried that plan out step by step.
It was all very dreamlike and, at the same time, a very vivid way to start their life together. There were moments, holding him or kissing him amidst this incredible scenery, that she knew she would remember all throughout her life, perhaps down to her final breaths. She had never felt more content in her life.
They returned to their campsite, where they restoked the campfire. Then, freshly showered and with a good, full meal in their stomachs, they retired to the tent and made a very long night of it.
With just two days remaining in their honeymoon, they went on a private glacier tour along Iceland’s Golden Circle. It was the only day of the trip where Mackenzie had been stricken with morning sickness and, as a result, opted out of their chance to go glacier climbing. She watched as Ellington took part, though. She enjoyed watching him tackle the task like an overeager child. It was a side of him she had seen here and there, but never to this extent. It then dawned on her that this was the most time they had ever spent together outside of work. It had been like some sporadic paradise and had opened her eyes to just how much she loved him.
As Ellington and the instructor started their descent down the glacier, Mackenzie felt her cell phone vibrating in her coat pocket. They had turned all sound off as they had gotten on their plane to start the honeymoon but, given their careers, had not allowed themselves to kill the phones completely. To occupy herself while Ellington came down from the glacier, she pulled the phone out and checked it.
When she saw McGrath’s name on the display, her heart dropped. She’d been on an emotional high these last few days. Seeing his name made her believe that it was going to come to a pretty quick end.
“This is Agent White,” she said. She then thought: Damn…missed my first chance to refer to myself as Agent Ellington.
“It’s McGrath. How’s Iceland?”
“It’s nice,” she said. And then, not caring that she was being a little too vulnerable with him, corrected herself. “It’s amazing. Really beautiful.”
“Well, then, you’re going to hate me for calling, I’m sure.”
He then told her why he was calling, and he was right. When she ended the call, she was quite upset with him.
Her hunch had been correct. Just like that, their honeymoon was over.
The transition had been easy enough. The hurrying and rushing for their flight and then having to catch a red-eye back to DC made the magic of their honeymoon slowly dissolve back into the boundaries of real life. Mackenzie was quite pleased to feel some of that magic still existing between them, primarily in realizing that even here, back in the States and surrounded by their jobs, they were still married. Iceland had been magical, sure, but it had not been the only thing bonding them over those few days.
What she had not been expecting was just how prominent her wedding ring felt on her finger as she and Ellington walked into McGrath’s office just fourteen hours after he had interrupted their honeymoon. She was not so naïve as to feel like it made her a new person, but she did see it as a sign that she had changed—that she was capable of growing. And if that was true in her personal life, then why not her professional life?
Maybe it will start once you tell your superior that you’re currently fifteen weeks pregnant, she thought.
With that thought lodged in her head, she also realized that the case they had been called in for would likely be the last one before she had to come clean about her pregnancy—though the thought of trying to track down murderers with a baby belly did make her grin.
“I appreciate you two coming in early on this,” McGrath said. “And I also want to congratulate you on your marriage. Of course, I don’t like the idea of a married couple working together. But I want this one wrapped up very quickly, as there could be the potential for mass panic on a college campus if we don’t get it wrapped very soon. And you two undeniably work well together, so here we are.”
Ellington looked over at her and smiled at the last comment. Mackenzie was nearly disarmed at how strongly she felt for him. It was a beautiful thing but also made her a bit uncomfortable as well.
“The latest victim is a sophomore at Queen Nash University in Baltimore. Christine Lynch. She was killed in her kitchen very late at night. Her shirt had been removed and was found on the floor. She was very obviously strangled. From what I understand, there were no prints on her neck, indicating the killer was wearing gloves.”
“So the murder was premeditated and not situational,” Mackenzie said.
McGrath nodded and slid over three photos of the crime scene. Christine Lynch was a very pretty blonde and in the pictures, her face was turned to the right. She was wearing makeup and, as McGrath had said, her shirt had been removed. She had a small tattoo on her shoulder. A sparrow, Mackenzie thought. The sparrow seemed to be looking up toward the area where the bruising around her neck started; the bruising on her neck was obvious even in the photos.
“The first,” McGrath said, opening up another folder, “was a twenty-one-year-old named Jo Haley. Also a Queen Nash student. She was found in her bedroom, in bed and completely naked. The body had been there for at least three days before her mother called to report suspicious activity. There were signs of strangulation but not quite as vicious as what we see on Christine Lynch. CSI found evidence of sexual activity just prior to her death, including an empty condom wrapper.”
He slid the crime scene photos over to them. There were more pictures of Jo Haley, primarily the bruising around her neck from where someone had apparently strangled her. She, like Christine Lynch, was fairly attractive. She was also very thin, almost to the point of being waifish.
“So the only real lead we have is that two pretty girls from Queen Nash have been killed, probably during or just prior to sex?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yes,” McGrath said. “Given the coroner’s estimated time of death for Jo Haley, they were killed no more than five days apart.”
“Do we have estimated times of the night they were killed?” Mackenzie asked.
“No. Nothing concrete, but we do know that Christine Lynch had been seen at her boyfriend’s apartment up until about one in the morning on Wednesday. Her body was discovered by her boyfriend the following day when he went to her apartment.”
Ellington studied the last of the pictures and slid them back to McGrath. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m a married man now. I can’t just go approaching pretty young women on college campuses anymore.”
McGrath rolled his eyes and looked at Mackenzie. “I wish you the best of luck with this,” he said, nodding toward Ellington. “In all seriousness…I want this wrapped as soon as possible. Winter break is over next week and I don’t want panic on campus as all of these students are returning from home.”
As if swapping personalities at the flip of a switch, Ellington became all business. “I’ll grab the case files and we’ll get started right away.”
“Thank you. And seriously…enjoy this case together. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to be working together now that you’re married. Consider this case my wedding gift to the two of you.”
“Really, sir,” Mackenzie said, unable to help herself, “I would have much preferred a coffee maker.”
She could barely believe it when the flicker of a smile spread across McGrath’s lips. He bit it back right away as Mackenzie and Ellington headed out of his office with their first case as husband and wife and, subsequently, their final case as a team.
Per Mackenzie’s usual approach, they began with the scene of the most recent crime. It was the equivalent to looking over a warm body—the warm body much more prone to giving up clues or indications more so than a body that had been cold for a while. On the drive up to Maryland, Mackenzie had essentially read the case files out loud while Ellington drove.
When they arrived at Christine’s apartment in Baltimore, they were met by a deputy from the local police department. He was an older gentleman, probably on his last year or two with the force and given clean-up on cases like this one.
“Good to meet you,” he said, shaking their hands with the kind of good cheer that made him almost obnoxious. “Deputy Wheeler. I’ve been sort of overseeing this one.”
“Agents White and Ellington,” Mackenzie said, again realizing she still wasn’t quite sure how to address herself. It was not something she and Ellington had discussed yet, although their marriage certificate did refer to her as Mackenzie Ellington.
“What can you tell us from your perspective?” Ellington asked as they stepped into Christine Lynch’s apartment.
“Well, we got here, my partner and me, and met with the boyfriend and went in. She was right there, on the kitchen floor. Had her shirt off, laying on her side. Her eyes were still open. She was very clearly strangled and there were no signs of a struggle or anything like that.”
“It was snowing on the night it happened,” Ellington said. “Were there no wet footprints in the hallway?”
“No. From what we can gather, the boyfriend didn’t come in until the following afternoon. Anywhere between ten and sixteen hours could have passed between the last time he saw her and the moment she was killed.”
“So it was a clean scene, then?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yeah. No clues, no snowy or wet footprints. Nothing of any interest.”
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