Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce Page A

that was the last thing a man like
Clive Traylor wanted.
    “Yeah, come on in,” Traylor finally
said, clearly not pleased with the situation. Still, he opened the door and led
them into a house that looked like a college dorm room.
    There were books stacked everywhere,
empty beer cans strewn here and there, and piles of clothes sporadically placed
on any available surface. The place smelled like Traylor had recently burned
something on the stove.
    He led them into his small living room,
and Mackenzie took it all in, analyzing everything at rapid speed to determine
if this were the house of a killer. There were more clothes bundled up on the
couch and the coffee table was littered with dirty dishes and a laptop. Seeing
such disarray made Mackenzie realize that maybe Zack’s living habits weren’t as
bad as she had thought. Traylor did not ask them to have a seat—which was good,
because there was no way Mackenzie was going to sit anywhere in this house.
    “Thanks for your time,” Porter said. “As
I said, there was a crime committed two nights ago—a murder. We’re here because
you have a rather shaky past with the victim.”
    “Who was it?” Traylor asked.
    Mackenzie watched him closely, studying
his facial expressions and posture, hoping she’d find some clues there. So far,
all she could tell was that he was very uncomfortable having police inside his
house.
    “A woman named Hailey Lizbrook.”
    Traylor seemed to think about this for a
second and then shook his head.
    “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
    “Are you sure?” Porter asked. “We have
proof that she placed a restraining order against you last year.”
    Realization dawned over him and he
rolled his eyes.
    “Oh. Her. I never knew her name.”
    “But you knew where she lived?” Mackenzie
asked.
    “I did,” Traylor said. “Yeah, I followed
her home from the Runway a few times. I had policemen come to my house and talk
to me about that. But I haven’t gone against that order. I swear it.”
    “So you don’t deny that you stalked her
at some point?” Porter asked.
    Mackenzie saw the embarrassment flush
over Traylor and her heart dropped. She was pretty certain this was not their
man.
    “No. I’ll admit that. But after that
restraining order, I stayed away. I even stopped going to that strip club.”
    “Okay,” Porter said. “Can you tell me
where you were two nights ago?”
    “Well, I worked until nine o’clock and
then I came home. I watched some TV and went to bed around midnight.”
    “Do you have proof of that?” Porter
asked.
    Traylor looked taken off guard, trying
to come up with a suitable answer. “Hell, I don’t know. I logged into my bank
account online. Can you use that?”
    “We can,” Porter said, pointing to the
laptop on the coffee table. “Show us.”
    Traylor started wrestling with something
in that moment. He slowly reached for the computer but then hesitated. “That’s,
well, that’s a breach of my privacy. Come back with a warrant and I’ll—”
    “This isn’t my first rodeo,” Porter
said. “We’ve got more officers outside and I can have them in here within
thirty seconds. We already have a warrant. So make this as easy as possible and
show me your browsing history.”
    Traylor was practically sweating now. Mackenzie
was pretty sure he was not the murderer, but he was certainly hiding something.
    “What’s the problem?” Mackenzie asked.
    “You’ll have to get that information
directly from my bank,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “Because there’s no trace of my history
on this computer.”
    Porter stepped forward and repeated his
earlier command. “Show us.”
    Mackenzie and Porter stood around
Traylor, one on each side. Mackenzie watched closely, noticing that Traylor
pulled up his browser very quickly. Still, Mackenzie had seen his home screen
and was pretty sure she had seen enough.
    She stepped away from Traylor as he
showed Porter that his search history was at zero. She also