Before He Lapses. Блейк Пирс
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to want them dead?”
“Nothing at all,” she said. “It doesn’t make any sense. Christine was very focused and drama free. It was all about school and trying to get an early start on her career. I didn’t know Jo enough to really make a judgment there, though.”
“Well, thank you for your time,” Mackenzie said.
As they left the office and Bethany readied to leave for the day, Mackenzie tried to imagine these two dead women crossing paths in the hallways and concourses of the university. Maybe they passed by one another as one left their advisor’s office while the other was walking toward an appointment. The idea of it was a little creepy but she knew far too well that things like this tended to happen quite often in murder cases where there was more than one victim.
“University offices are still closed for the holiday break,” Ellington pointed out as they got back into the car. “Pretty sure they reopen tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I’d assume there’s some sort of employee directory on the website. Based on some of the books I saw in Christine’s apartment and some political literature in her bedroom, I think it’s safe to assume she’s a political science major. We could narrow it down that way.”
Before Ellington was able to tell her what a good idea this was, Mackenzie was already on her cell phone. She opened up her web browser and started scrolling. She was able to find a directory, but, as she had assumed, there were no direct or personal numbers; they were all numbers to the advisors’ offices. Still, she located the two different advisors that were assigned specifically to the political science department and left messages for each one, asking them to call her back as soon as they got the message.
As soon as she was done with that, she scrolled a bit more, this time through her contacts list.
“What now?” Ellington asked.
“There are only two of them,” she said. “Might as well see if we can get some sort of a background check running on them—see if there are some red flags.”
Ellington nodded, smiling at her quick train of thought. He listened to her as she placed the information request. Mackenzie could feel his eyes flitting over to her every now and then, a caring and watchful sort of stare.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She knew what he meant, that he was veering away from the case and asking about the baby. She shrugged, seeing no point in lying to him. “All of the books say that the nausea should be coming to an end soon, but I’m not believing it. I felt it a few times today. And, if I’m being honest, I’m pretty tired.”
“So maybe you need to go back home,” he said. “I hate to sound like that domineering husband type, but…well, I’d really rather you or my baby not get hurt.”
“I know. But this is a series of murders on a college campus. I doubt it’s going to get dangerous. It’s probably just a testosterone-laced guy that gets his rocks off on killing women.”
“Fair enough,” Ellington said. “But will you be honest with me and tell me if you start to feel weak or just out of sorts?”
“Yes. I will.”
He eyed her suspiciously, yet playfully, as if he wasn’t sure if he should trust her. He then reached out and took her hand as he headed back toward the center of town to find a hotel for the night.
They’d barely had enough time to settle into their room when Mackenzie’s phone rang. Ignoring the unfamiliar number, she answered it right away. She could feel the ticking clock McGrath had placed on them, ticking away second by second. She knew that if this thing wasn’t solved by the time classes started next week—in just five days, in fact—it would be increasingly harder to wrap up with all of the students back in the area.
“This is Agent White,” she said, answering the call.
“Agent White, this is Charles McMahon, an academic advisor over at Queen Nash University. I’m returning a message you left for me.”
“Great, and thanks for the promptness. Are you at the college right now?”
“No. I have a bit of a heavy workload right now, so I had all of my voicemail from the office rerouted to my personal phone.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I was wondering if you might be able to answer a few questions about a recent murder.”
“I assume it’s about Jo Haley?”
“No, actually. There’s been another murder, two days ago. Another Queen Nash student. A young woman named Christine Lynch.”
“That’s terrible,” he said, sounding genuinely shocked. “Is it…well, with two women in such a short amount of time…do you think it’s a trend? A serial?”
“We don’t know quite yet,” Mackenzie said. “We were hoping you might be able to fill in the pieces. I saw on the college website that there are only two academic advisors for the political science department, and that you’re one of them. I also happen to know that both Jo Haley and Christine Lynch shared the same advisor. Would that happen to be you?”
There was a tense nervous chuckle from McMahon’s end of the phone. “No. And actually, this is one of the primary reasons I have such a heavy workload right now. The other academic advisor within our department, William Holland, quit his job about three days before winter break. I got the majority of his students…and I’ll likely be handling that load until they find a replacement. We have an assistant that is helping where I need it, but I’ve been swamped.”
“Do you have any idea why Holland quit?”
“Well, there were rumblings that he had gotten involved with a student. As far as I know, there was never any evidence to support this, so I thought it was just a rumor. But when he just simply quit like that, out of nowhere, it made me wonder.”
Yeah, that makes me wonder, too, Mackenzie thought.
“As far as you know, did he ever do anything else that might have been shady? Was he the type of man where news like this shocked you?”
“I can’t answer with any certainty. I mean…I knew him only because we worked together. But I didn’t know him much outside of work.”
“So I’m going to assume you have no idea where he might live?”
“Sorry, no.”
“While I have you on…Mr. McMahon, when was the last time you spoke with either Jo or Christine?”
“I never did. I was assigned them both when I was handed Holland’s students, but the most I ever communicated with them was a mass email that was sent to all of the affected students.” He paused here and added: “You know, given the nature of all that’s happened, I could probably get Holland’s address for you. I just need to make a few calls.”
“I appreciate that,” Mackenzie said. “But there’s no need. I can get that information as well. But thank you very much for your time.”
With that, she ended the call. Ellington, sitting on the edge of the bed with one shoe off and the other on, had been listening the entire time.
“Who is Holland?” he asked.
“William Holland.” She filled Ellington in on all she had learned via her brief conversation with McMahon. As she did, she also sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t realize just how tired she truly was until her feet were off of the floor.
“I’ll make a call to get his information,” he said. “If he works at the college, the chances are pretty good he lives around here somewhere.”
“And if he is our guy,” Mackenzie said, “my calling and leaving a message has probably freaked him out.”
“Then I guess we need to act fast, then.”
She nodded and realized that she had once again placed her hand on her stomach. It was almost habitual now, like someone chewing on their nails or nervously popping their knuckles.
There’s