Before He Needs

CHAPTER THREE

Mackenzie followed behind Dagney as she led them to the station. On the way, she noticed that Harrison was jotting notes down in the folder he had practically obsessed over during most of the trip from DC to Miami. In the midst of writing, he paused and looked at her quizzically.

“You’ve already got a theory, don’t you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t have a theory, but I did notice a few things in the images that seemed a little odd to me.”

“Want to share?”

“Not just yet,” Mackenzie said. “If I have to go over it now and then again with the police, I’ll reanalyze myself. Give me some time to sort through it all.”

With a grin, Harrison returned to his notes. He did not complain that she was keeping things from him (which she wasn’t) and he didn’t press any further. He was doing his best to stay obedient and effective at the same time and she appreciated that.

On the ride to the precinct, she started to catch peeks of the ocean through some of the buildings they passed. She had never been enamored with the sea the way some people were but she could understand its draw. Even now, on the hunt for a killer, she could feel the sense of freedom it represented. Punctuated by the towering palm trees and flawless sun of a Miami afternoon made it even more beautiful.

Ten minutes later, Mackenzie followed Dagney into the parking lot of a large police building. Like just about everything else in the city, it had a beachy sort of feel. Several huge palm trees stood along the thin strip of lawn in front of the building. The simple architecture also managed to convey a relaxed yet refined feel. It was a welcoming place, a sensation that held up even after Mackenzie and Harrison were inside.

“There are only going to be three people, including myself, on this,” Dagney said as she led them down a spacious hallway. “Now that you guys are here, my supervisor is going to likely take a very hands-off approach.”

Good, Mackenzie thought. The least amount of rebuttals and arguments, the better.

Dagney led them into a small conference room at the end of the hallway. Inside, two men sat down at a table. One of them was hooking a projector up to a MacBook. The other was typing something furiously into a smart pad.

They both looked up when Dagney led them into the room. When they did, Mackenzie got the usual look…one she was getting tired of yet used to. It was a look that seemed to say: Oh, a rather good-looking woman. I wasn’t expecting that.

Dagney made a quick round of introduction as Mackenzie and Harrison sat down at the table. The man with the smart pad was Police Chief Rodriguez, a grizzled old man with deep lines in his tanned face. The other man was a fairly new guy, Joey Nestler. Nestler, as it turned out, was the officer who had discovered the bodies of the Kurtzes. As he was introduced, he finished successfully hooking the monitor to the laptop. The projector shone a bright white light on a small screen attached to the wall in front of the room.

“Thanks for coming out,” Rodriguez said, setting his pad aside. “Look, I’m not going to be that typical local police dick that gets in the way. You tell me what you need and if it’s within reason, you’ll get it. In return, I just ask that you help wrap it up quickly and not turn the city into a circus while you do it.”

“It sounds like we want the same things, then,” Mackenzie said.

“So, Joey here has all of the existing documents we have on this case,” he said. “The coroner’s reports just came in this morning and told us just what we expected. The Kurtzes were cut up and bled out. No drugs in their system. Totally clean. So far we have no discernable links between the two crimes. So if you have any ideas, I’d like to hear them.”

“Officer Nestler,” Mackenzie said, “do you have all of the crime scene photos from both sites?”

“I do,” he said. He reminded Mackenzie a lot of Harrison – anxious, a little nervous, and visibly seeking to please his superiors and coworkers.

“Could you pull up the full body shots side by side and put them on the screen, please?” Mackenzie asked.

He worked quickly and had the images up on the projector screen, side by side, within ten seconds. Seeing the images in such a bright light in a semi-darkened room was eerie. Not wanting to let those in the room dwell on the severity of the pictures and lose focus, Mackenzie got right to the point.

“I think it’s safe to say that these murders were not the result of a typical break-in or home invasion. Nothing was stolen and, in fact, there is no clear indication of a break-in of any kind. There aren’t even any signs of a struggle. That means that whoever killed them was likely invited in or, at the very least, had a key. And the murders had to have happened quickly. Also, the absence of blood anywhere else within the house makes it appear that the murders happened in the bedroom – that there was no foul play anywhere else within the house.”

Speaking it out loud helped her understand how strange it seemed.

The guy was not only invited in, but apparently invited into the bedroom. That means that the likelihood that he was actually invited is a small one. He had a key. Or knew where a spare one was located.

She went on before she derailed herself with new thoughts and projections.

“I want to look at these pictures because there are two odd things that stand out to me. First…look at how all four of them are lying perfectly flat on their back. Their legs are relaxed and well-postured. It’s almost as if they were staged to look that way. And then there’s one other thing – and if we’re dealing with a serial killer, I think this might be the most important thing to note. Look at Mrs. Kurtz’s right hand.”

She gave the other four people in the room the chance to look. She wondered if Harrison would notice what she was getting at and blurt it out. She gave them three seconds or so and when no one said anything, she carried on.

“Her right hand is resting on her husband’s thigh. It’s the one part of her body that is not perfectly laid out. So either this is a coincidence or the killer did place their bodies in this position, purposefully moving her hand.”

“So what if he did?” Rodriguez asked. “What’s the point?”

“Well, now look at the Sterlings. Look at the husband’s left hand.”

This time she did not make it three seconds. It was Dagney who saw what she was referencing. And when she answered, her voice was thin and on edge.

“He’s reaching out and placing his hand on his wife’s thigh,” she said.

“Exactly,” Mackenzie said. “If it were just one of the couples, I would not even mention it. But that same gesture is present with both of these couples, making it evident that the killer did it with some intention.”

“But for what?” Rodriguez asked.

“Symbolism?” Harrison suggested.

“It could be,” Mackenzie said.

“But that’s not really much to go on, is it?” Nestler asked.

“Not at all,” Mackenzie said. “But at least it’s something. If it’s symbolic to the killer, there’s a reason for it. So here’s where I’d like to start: I’d like to get a list of suspects that have been recently paroled for violent crimes that were linked to home invasions. I still don’t think it was a home invasion per se, but it’s the most plausible place to start.”

“Okay, we can get that for you,” Rodriguez said. “Anything else?”

“Nothing just yet. Our next course of action is to speak with the family, friends, and neighbors of the couples.”

“Yeah, we spoke to the Kurtzes’ next of kin – a brother, sister, and a pair of parents. You’re more than welcome to go back to them, but they didn’t offer up much of anything. The brother of Josh Kurtz said that as far as he knew, they had a great marriage. The only time they fought was during football season when the Seminoles played the Hurricanes.”

“What about the neighbors?” Mackenzie asked.

“We spoke with them, too. But it was brief. Mostly about the noise complaint they filed about the yapping dog.”

“So that’s where we’ll start,” Mackenzie said, looking over to Harrison.

And without another word, they stood and were out the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mackenzie found it a little unsettling to revisit the townhouses. While standing in the beautiful weather as they approached the neighbors’ house, the knowledge that there was a bed in the next townhouse over that was coated in blood seemed surreal. Mackenzie suppressed a shudder and looked away from the Kurtzes’ townhouse.

As she and Harrison made their way up the stairs to the neighbors’ front door, Mackenzie’s phone dinged, letting her know that she had received a text message. She pulled out the phone and saw that the text was from Ellington. She rolled her eyes as she read it.

How’s the rookie working out for you? Miss me yet?

She nearly responded but didn’t want to encourage him. She also didn’t want to seem aloof or distracted in front of Harrison. She knew it was a conceited thing to think, but she was pretty sure he was looking to her as an example of sorts. Given that, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and walked up to the front door. She allowed Harrison to knock and he even did that with great caution and care.

Several seconds later, a flustered-looking woman answered the door. She looked to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in a loose-fitting tank top and a pair of shorts that may as well have been nothing more than panties. She looked like she was probably a regular at the beach, and had obviously been to a plastic surgeon for her nose and possibly her breasts.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Are you Demi Stiller?”

“I am. Why?”

Mackenzie flashed her badge with an expert swiftness that she was getting much better at. “We’re agents White and Harrison with the FBI. We were hoping to speak with you about your neighbors.”

“That’s fine, I guess,” Demi said. “But we already spoke to the police.”

“I know,” Mackenzie said. “I was hoping to go a bit deeper. As I understand it, there was some frustration over the dog next door when they spoke to you.”

“Yeah, there was,” Demi said, ushering them in and closing the door behind them. “Of course, I had no idea that they had been killed when I made that call.”

“Of course,” Mackenzie said. “We’re not here about that, anyway. We were hoping you might be able to give us some insights into their lives. Did you know them at all?”

Demi had led them to the kitchen, where Mackenzie and Harrison took a seat at the bar. The place was laid out just like the Kurtz residence. Mackenzie saw Harrison looking skeptically toward the stairs off of the adjoined living room.

“We weren’t friends, if that’s what you’re asking,” Demi said. “We’d say hi if we saw one another, you know? We grilled out on the back patio with them a few times, but that’s about it.”

“How long were they your neighbors?” Harrison asked.

“A little more than four years, I guess.”

“And would you consider them good neighbors?” Mackenzie followed up.

Demi gave a little shrug. “For the most part. They had some noisy get-togethers here and there during football season but it wasn’t too bad. I honestly almost didn’t even call in the complaint about the stupid dog. The only reason I did is because no one answered the door over there when I knocked.”

“I don’t suppose you know if they ever had any regular guests, do you?”

“I don’t think so,” Demi said. “The cops asked the same sort of thing. My husband and I thought it over and I don’t ever remember seeing any cars parked over there regularly unless it was their own.”

“Well, do you know if they were involved in anything that might get us some people to talk to? Any sort of clubs or weird interests?”

“Not that I know of,” Demi said. As she spoke, she was looking at the wall, as if trying to see through it and into the Kurtzes’ townhouse. She looked a little sad, either for the loss of the Kurtzes or simply to have been dragged into the middle of this.

“You’re certain?” Mackenzie pushed.

“Pretty certain, yeah. I think the husband played racquetball. I saw him going in a few times, just coming back from the gym. As for Julie, I don’t know. I know she liked to draw but that’s only because she showed me some of her stuff one time. But other than that…no. They pretty much stayed to themselves.”

“Is there anything else about them – anything at all —that stands out to you?”

“Well,” Demi said, still looking at the wall, “I know it’s sort of lewd, but it was quite evident to my husband and me that the Kurtzes had quite an active sex life. The walls here are apparently thin – or the Kurtzes were very loud. I can’t even tell you how many times we heard them. Sometimes it wasn’t even just like muffled noises; they would be going at it, you know?”

“Anything violent?” Mackenzie asked.

“No, it never sounded like it,” Demi said, now looking a little embarrassed. “They were just very enthusiastic. It was something we always wanted to complain to them about but never did. It’s sort of embarrassing to bring it up, you know?”

“Sure,” Mackenzie said. “You’ve mentioned your husband a few times. Where is he?”

“At work. He works a nine to five. I stay here and run a part-time editorial service, a work from home deal.”

“Would you please ask him the same things I’ve asked you just to make sure I get all the possible information?” Mackenzie asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Stiller. I may call you a little later if any other questions arise.”

“That’s fine,” Demi said as she led them back toward the front door.

When they were outside and Demi Stiller had closed the door, Harrison looked back to the townhouse that Josh and Julie Kurtz had once called home. “So all we took away from that was the knowledge that they had a great sex life?” he asked.

“Seems like it,” she said. “But that tells us that they had a strong marriage, perhaps. Add that to the statements from the family about their picture-perfect marriage and it makes it more challenging to find a reason for their murders. Or, on the other hand, it could be easier now. If they had a good marriage and stayed out of trouble, finding someone with something against them could prove to be easier. Now…take a look at your notes. Where would you choose to look next?”

Harrison seemed a little surprised that she had asked the question but he dutifully looked down at the notebook he kept his notes and files in. “We need to check out the first crime scene – the Sterling residence. The parents of the husband live six miles from the house, so it may be worth checking in with them.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “You got the addresses?”

She tossed him the car keys and headed for the passenger door. She took a moment to admire the look of surprise and pride on his face at the simple gesture as he caught the keys.

“Then lead the way,” she said.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Sterling residence was eleven miles away from the Kurtzes’ townhouse. Mackenzie couldn’t help but admire the place as Harrison pulled into the long concrete driveway. The house sat about fifty yards off of the main road, lined with a gorgeous flowerbed and tall thin trees. The house itself was very modern, mostly comprised of windows and distressed wooden beams. It looked like an idyllic yet expensive home for a well-to-do couple. The only thing that broke this illusion was the strip of yellow crime scene tape strung along the front door.

When they started walking toward the front door, Mackenzie noted just how quiet the place was. It was blocked off from the other high-priced neighboring houses by a thick grove of trees, a lush wall of green that looked just as well maintained and expensive as the houses along this stretch of the city. While the property was not on the beach, she could hear it murmuring somewhere in the distance.

Mackenzie ducked under the crime scene tape and dug out the spare key that Dagney had provided from the Miami PD’s original investigation. They stepped into a large foyer and Mackenzie was again taken aback by the absolute silence of everything. She took a look around at the layout of the house. A hallway stretched out to their left and ended in a kitchen. The rest of the house was quite open; a living room and large sitting area connected to one another, leading further off and out of sight toward a glassed-in back porch.

“What do we know about what happened here?” Mackenzie asked Harrison. She, of course, already knew. But she wanted to let him display his own smarts and commitment, hoping he would quickly get comfortable before the case really took off.

“Deb and Gerald Sterling,” Harrison said. “He was thirty-six and she was thirty-eight. Killed in their bedroom in the same manner as the Kurtzes, though these murders took place at least three days before the Kurtz murders. Their bodies were discovered by their maid just after eight o’clock in the morning. The coroner’s reports indicate that they had been killed the night before. Initial investigation’s turned up absolutely no evidence of any kind, although forensics is currently analyzing hair fibers found clinging to the front door frame.”

Mackenzie nodded along as he recited the facts. She was studying the downstairs, trying to get a feel for the sort of people the Sterlings were before heading up to the room where they had been killed. She passed by a large built-in bookshelf between the living room and sitting area. Most of the books were fiction, mostly by King, Grisham, Child, and Patterson. There were also a few art-related books. In other words, basic filler books that gave no insights into the personal lives of the Sterlings.

A decorative roll-top desk sat against the wall in the sitting area. Mackenzie lifted the top and looked inside but there was nothing of interest – just pens, paper, a few pictures, and other household debris.

“Let’s go on up,” she said.

Harrison nodded and took a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” Mackenzie said. “The Kurtz house got to me, too. But trust me…these sorts of situations do get easier.”

You know that might not necessarily be a good thing, right? she thought to herself. How many terrible sights have you become desensitized to ever since coming across that first woman on a post in the cornfields of Nebraska?

She shook the thought away as she and Harrison reached the top of the stairs. The upstairs consisted of a long hallway that housed only three rooms. A large office sat to the left. It was tidy to the point of being almost empty, looking out into the grove of trees along the back of the house. The huge bathroom boasted his and hers sinks, a large shower, a tub, and a linen closet that was as large as Mackenzie’s kitchen.

Just like downstairs, there was nothing to paint an accurate picture of the Sterlings or why anyone would want to kill them. Wasting no more time, Mackenzie walked toward the end of the hallway where the bedroom door was standing open. Sunlight came pouring in through a large window on the left side of the room. The light swallowed up the end of the bed, turning the maroon there an alarming shade of red.

It was dizzying in a way, to step into the bedroom of a spotless house to see all of the blood on the bed. The floor was hardwood but Mackenzie could see splatters of blood here and there. There was not as much blood on the walls here as they had seen at the Kurtz residence, but there was some speckled in droplets like some morbid abstract painting.

There was a faint smell like copper in the air, the scent of spilled blood having dried. It was faint but seemed to fill the room. Mackenzie walked around the edge of the bed, looking at the light gray sheets that had been deeply stained in red. She saw a single mark in the top sheet that might have been a puncture wound from the knife. She observed it closer and found that was exactly what she was looking at.

With a single lap around the bed, Mackenzie was sure that there was nothing here that would push the case along any further. She looked elsewhere around the room – the bedside tables, the dresser drawers, and the small entertainment center – looking for even the smallest detail.

She saw a slight indentation in the wall, no larger than a quarter. But there was speck of blood around it. There was more blood beneath it, a slight dribble that had dried on the wall and the smallest little fleck of it on the carpet beneath the indention.

She went to the indentation in the wall and looked at it closely. It was a peculiar shape, and the fact that there was blood centered around it made her think one was the result of the other. She stood up straight and checked the small hole’s alignment with her body. She raised her arm slightly and bent it. In doing so, her elbow aligned with the hole almost perfectly.

“What have you got?” Harrison asked.

“Signs of a struggle, I believe,” she answered.

He joined her and took note of the indentation. “Not much to go on, is it?” he asked.

“No, not really. But the blood makes it notable. That and the fact that this house is in pristine condition. It makes me think the killer did everything he could do hide any signs of a struggle. He almost staged the house, in a way. But this sign of a struggle could not be hidden.”

She looked down at the small blood splotch on the carpet. It was faded and there were even very faint traces of red around it.

“See,” she said, pointing. “Right there, it looks like someone tried cleaning this up. But he was either hurried or this last little bit just would not come up.”

“Maybe we should double-check the Kurtz house then.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, although she felt confident that she had thoroughly looked the place over.

She stepped away from the wall and went to the enormous walk-in closet. She looked inside and saw more tidiness.

She did see the one single thing that could have been considered as messy within the entire house, though. A shirt and a pair of pants were crumpled up, pushed almost against the closet wall. She pulled the shirt away from the pants and saw that they were men’s clothing – perhaps the last clothes that Gerald Sterling had ever worn.

Taking a chance, she reached into each of the front pockets. In one, she found seventeen cents in change. In the other, she found a crumpled receipt. She straightened it out and saw that it was from a grocery store five days ago…the last day of his life. She looked at the receipt and started to think.

How else can we discover what they did on their last days alive? Or the last week, or even month?

“Harrison, in those reports, didn’t the Miami PD state that they had gone through the phones of the deceased to check for any red flags?”

“That’s correct,” Harrison said as he cautiously stepped around the bloody bed. “Contacts, incoming and outgoing calls, emails, downloads, everything.”

“But nothing like Internet search history or anything like that?”

“No, not that I recall.”

Placing the receipt back into the pair of jeans, Mackenzie exited the closet and then the bedroom. She headed back downstairs, aware that Harrison was following behind her.

“What is it?” Harrison asked.

“A hunch,” she said. “A hope, maybe.”

She walked back to the roll-top desk in the sitting area and opened it again. In the back, there was a small basket. A few pens stuck out, as did a basic single-sheet personal checkbook. If they keep a house this tidy, I’d assume their checkbook is in the same condition.

She took the checkbook out and found that she was correct. The figures were kept with meticulous care. Each transaction was written very legibly and with as much detail as possible. Even ATM withdrawals were accounted for. It took her about twenty seconds to realize that this checkbook was for some sort of secondary account and not for the Sterlings’ primary checking. At the time of their death, the account held a little over seven thousand dollars.