miracle on that kid.
You’re sharper than I give you credit for. I’ll admit that. But the
disrespect…”
He trailed off here, as if he wasn’t
sure how to finish the statement. Mackenzie said nothing in response. She
simply looked ahead and tried to digest the fact that she had just received
what could almost be considered compliments from two very unlikely sources in
the last fifteen minutes.
She suddenly felt that this could be a
very good day. Hopefully, by the end of the day, they’d bring in the man
responsible for the death of Hailey Lizbrook and several other unresolved
murders over the last twenty years. If that was the reward, she could certainly
tolerate Porter’s sour mood.
*
Mackenzie looked out and felt depressed
as she watched the neighborhoods change before her eyes as Porter drove into
the more derelict suburbs of Omaha. Well-to-do subdivisions gave way to
low-rent apartment complexes which then faded away into seedier neighborhoods.
Soon enough they reached Clive Traylor’s
neighborhood, consisting of lower-income houses sitting in mostly dead lawns,
punctuated with crooked mailboxes along the street. The rows and rows of houses
never seemed to end, each one looking less cared for than the next. She did not
know what was more depressing to her: their neglected state, or the numbing
monotony.
Clive’s block was quiet, and as they
turned down it, Mackenzie felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. She sat up
involuntarily, readying herself to confront a murderer.
According to the surveillance team who
had been watching over the property since 3 AM, Traylor was still at home. He
was not due to clock in at work until one o’clock.
Porter slowed their car as he drove
further up the street and parked directly in front of Traylor’s house. He then
looked to Mackenzie for the first time that morning. He looked a little on
edge. She realized she must have looked the same. And yet, despite their
differences, Mackenzie still felt safe walking into potential danger with him.
Sexist hard-ass or not, the man had a seasoned record and knew what he was
doing most of the time.
“You ready?” Porter asked her.
She nodded and pulled the mic from the
dashboard radio unit.
“This is White,” she said into the mic.
“We’re ready to head in on your word.”
“Go,” came Nelson’s simple reply.
Mackenzie and Porter got out of the car
slowly, not wanting to give Traylor any cause for alarm if he happened to look
out the window to see two strangers walking up his lawn. Porter took the lead
as they walked up the rickety porch steps. The porch was covered in flaked
white paint and the shells of countless dead insects. Mackenzie felt herself
tensing up, preparing. What would she do when she saw the face of the man who
had murdered those women?
Porter pulled open the flimsy screen
door and knocked on the front door.
Mackenzie stood beside him, waiting,
heart pounding. She could feel her palms begin to sweat.
A few seconds passed before she heard
approaching footsteps. There came the clicking of a lock being disengaged, the
door opened a little more than a crack, and Clive Traylor looked out at them.
He looked confused—and then very alarmed.
“Can I help you?” Traylor asked.
“Mr. Traylor,” Porter said, “I’m
Detective Porter and this is Detective White. If you have a moment, we’d like
to speak with you.”
“In regards to what?” Traylor asked,
instantly defensive.
“About a crime that was committed two
nights ago,” Porter said. “We just have a few questions and as long as you
answer honestly, we’ll be out of your hair in five or ten minutes.”
Traylor seemed to consider this for a
moment. Mackenzie was pretty sure she knew the train of logic that was chugging
through his head. He was a registered sex offender, and any resistance to help
the police when they asked for it would raise alarms and maybe even further
investigation into Traylor’s current activities.
And
You’re sharper than I give you credit for. I’ll admit that. But the
disrespect…”
He trailed off here, as if he wasn’t
sure how to finish the statement. Mackenzie said nothing in response. She
simply looked ahead and tried to digest the fact that she had just received
what could almost be considered compliments from two very unlikely sources in
the last fifteen minutes.
She suddenly felt that this could be a
very good day. Hopefully, by the end of the day, they’d bring in the man
responsible for the death of Hailey Lizbrook and several other unresolved
murders over the last twenty years. If that was the reward, she could certainly
tolerate Porter’s sour mood.
*
Mackenzie looked out and felt depressed
as she watched the neighborhoods change before her eyes as Porter drove into
the more derelict suburbs of Omaha. Well-to-do subdivisions gave way to
low-rent apartment complexes which then faded away into seedier neighborhoods.
Soon enough they reached Clive Traylor’s
neighborhood, consisting of lower-income houses sitting in mostly dead lawns,
punctuated with crooked mailboxes along the street. The rows and rows of houses
never seemed to end, each one looking less cared for than the next. She did not
know what was more depressing to her: their neglected state, or the numbing
monotony.
Clive’s block was quiet, and as they
turned down it, Mackenzie felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. She sat up
involuntarily, readying herself to confront a murderer.
According to the surveillance team who
had been watching over the property since 3 AM, Traylor was still at home. He
was not due to clock in at work until one o’clock.
Porter slowed their car as he drove
further up the street and parked directly in front of Traylor’s house. He then
looked to Mackenzie for the first time that morning. He looked a little on
edge. She realized she must have looked the same. And yet, despite their
differences, Mackenzie still felt safe walking into potential danger with him.
Sexist hard-ass or not, the man had a seasoned record and knew what he was
doing most of the time.
“You ready?” Porter asked her.
She nodded and pulled the mic from the
dashboard radio unit.
“This is White,” she said into the mic.
“We’re ready to head in on your word.”
“Go,” came Nelson’s simple reply.
Mackenzie and Porter got out of the car
slowly, not wanting to give Traylor any cause for alarm if he happened to look
out the window to see two strangers walking up his lawn. Porter took the lead
as they walked up the rickety porch steps. The porch was covered in flaked
white paint and the shells of countless dead insects. Mackenzie felt herself
tensing up, preparing. What would she do when she saw the face of the man who
had murdered those women?
Porter pulled open the flimsy screen
door and knocked on the front door.
Mackenzie stood beside him, waiting,
heart pounding. She could feel her palms begin to sweat.
A few seconds passed before she heard
approaching footsteps. There came the clicking of a lock being disengaged, the
door opened a little more than a crack, and Clive Traylor looked out at them.
He looked confused—and then very alarmed.
“Can I help you?” Traylor asked.
“Mr. Traylor,” Porter said, “I’m
Detective Porter and this is Detective White. If you have a moment, we’d like
to speak with you.”
“In regards to what?” Traylor asked,
instantly defensive.
“About a crime that was committed two
nights ago,” Porter said. “We just have a few questions and as long as you
answer honestly, we’ll be out of your hair in five or ten minutes.”
Traylor seemed to consider this for a
moment. Mackenzie was pretty sure she knew the train of logic that was chugging
through his head. He was a registered sex offender, and any resistance to help
the police when they asked for it would raise alarms and maybe even further
investigation into Traylor’s current activities.
And
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