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.