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Per Mackenzie’s usual approach, they began with the scene of the most recent crime. It was the equivalent to looking over a warm body—the warm body much more prone to giving up clues or indications more so than a body that had been cold for a while. On the drive up to Maryland, Mackenzie had essentially read the case files out loud while Ellington drove.

When they arrived at Christine’s apartment in Baltimore, they were met by a deputy from the local police department. He was an older gentleman, probably on his last year or two with the force and given clean-up on cases like this one.

“Good to meet you,” he said, shaking their hands with the kind of good cheer that made him almost obnoxious. “Deputy Wheeler. I’ve been sort of overseeing this one.”

“Agents White and Ellington,” Mackenzie said, again realizing she still wasn’t quite sure how to address herself. It was not something she and Ellington had discussed yet, although their marriage certificate did refer to her as Mackenzie Ellington.

“What can you tell us from your perspective?” Ellington asked as they stepped into Christine Lynch’s apartment.

“Well, we got here, my partner and me, and met with the boyfriend and went in. She was right there, on the kitchen floor. Had her shirt off, laying on her side. Her eyes were still open. She was very clearly strangled and there were no signs of a struggle or anything like that.”

“It was snowing on the night it happened,” Ellington said. “Were there no wet footprints in the hallway?”

“No. From what we can gather, the boyfriend didn’t come in until the following afternoon. Anywhere between ten and sixteen hours could have passed between the last time he saw her and the moment she was killed.”

“So it was a clean scene, then?” Mackenzie asked.

“Yeah. No clues, no snowy or wet footprints. Nothing of any interest.”

Mackenzie thought back over what she had read in the case files—particularly of a rather personal note the coroner had added to the file no more than six hours ago. In preparing the body for examination, they had found evidence of sexual arousal when removing Christine’s underwear. This, of course, could have been the result of time spent with the boyfriend. But if she had been found here, with her shirt removed and in her kitchen…well, it pointed to the fact that maybe someone had met her here after she’d left her boyfriend’s apartment. And maybe they hadn’t wanted to take the time to make it to the bedroom.

“Did local PD ask to see security tapes?” Mackenzie asked. “I noticed at least two on the sides of the building when we were coming in.”

“We’ve got someone working on that right now,” Wheeler said. “Last I heard, which was about two hours ago, there’s nothing of note on the footage. You’re welcome to check it out for yourself, though.”

“We may take you up on that,” Mackenzie said as she left the kitchen and stepped into the living area.

Christine had lived a very neat life. Her small bookcase on the right side of the living room was neatly stacked and the titles, many of which were biographies and old political science textbooks, were alphabetized. There were a few pictures placed here and there on the two end tables and the walls. Most of them were of Christine and a woman who was clearly her mother.

She then moved to the bedroom and looked around. The bed was made and the rest of the room was just as proper as the living room. The few items that were displaced on her bedside table and desk revealed very little: pens, pocket change, an iPhone charger, a pamphlet for a local politician, a glass with just a swallow of water remaining in it. It was evident that nothing of a physical nature had occurred in this room on the night Christine had died.

It opened up many questions and conclusions, all of which Mackenzie sorted out in her head as she made her way back out into the kitchen.

Someone met her here when she returned from her boyfriend’s apartment. Was she expecting them or did they surprise her?

The fact that her body was discovered inside the apartment and her shirt was off likely means that, expected or a surprise, she invited the killer in. Did she invite him in having absolutely no idea that she was in danger?

When she got back into the kitchen, Ellington was taking down notes as he spoke to Deputy Wheeler. She and Ellington exchanged a look and a nod. It was one of the many ways they had learned to fall into sync with one another on the job—a non-verbal language that saved many interruptions and awkward moments.

“Well, Deputy Wheeler, I think we’re good here,” Ellington said. “By chance, were you also placed on the Jo Haley murder from a few days ago?”

“No. But I know enough about the case to help if you need it.”

“Great. We’ll call on you if it comes to that.”

Wheeler seemed pleased with this, smiling to them both as they left Christine Lynch’s apartment. Outside, Mackenzie looked to the sidewalk, where there were only sparse indications that it had snowed at all. She smiled thinly as she realized that she and Ellington had likely been about to get married when this poor girl had died.

Christine Lynch won’t ever have the privilege of a wedding or a husband, Mackenzie thought. It made her feel a pang of sorrow for the woman—a sorrow that deepened when she realized that there was another rite of womanhood that she would also never feel.

Wrapped in that sadness, Mackenzie placed a hand on her barely bulging stomach, as if protecting what was inside.

***

After a call to the bureau, Mackenzie and Ellington discovered that Christine’s boyfriend was a twenty-two-year-old fellow Queen Nash student. He worked part-time with a public health office to get his feet wet for whatever career awaited him after graduating with his public health degree. They found him not at work, but at his apartment, apparently having taken the loss of Christine much harder than a typical boyfriend.

When they arrived at his apartment, Clark Manners was habitually cleaning what already looked to be a sparkling clean apartment. It was clear that he had not slept well recently; his eyes were glazed over and he walked as if some unseen force was having to push him along. Still, he seemed enthusiastic when he invited them into his apartment, eagerly wanting to get to the bottom of what had happened.

“Look, I’m not stupid,” he said as they sat down in his immaculately cleaned living room. “Whoever killed her…they were going to rape her, right? That’s why her shirt was off, right?”

Mackenzie had wondered this herself, but the crime scene photos told a different story. When Christine had fallen to the floor, she’d landed on the shirt. That seemed to indicate it had come off rather easily and had been discarded on the floor. If Mackenzie had to wager a bet, she’d bet that Christine had taken it off herself, likely for whomever she had invited in—whoever had ended up killing her. Plus…Mackenzie wasn’t so sure the murderer had intended to rape Christine. If he’d wanted to, he could have. No…Mackenzie thought he had come by to kill her and that was all.

But this poor guy didn’t need to know that.

“It’s just too early to tell,” Mackenzie said. “There are several different ways it could have gone down. And we were hoping you could maybe provide some insights to help us figure it all out.”

“Sure, sure,” Clark said, clearly in need of a long nap and less coffee. “Anything I can do, I’ll do.”

“Can you describe the nature of your relationship with Christine?” Ellington asked.

“We’d been dating for about seven months. She was the first real relationship I’ve ever had—first one that lasted more than two or three months. I loved her…I knew that after about a month.”

“Had it reached a physical level yet?” Mackenzie asked.

With a faraway look in his eyes, Clark nodded. “Yeah. It got there pretty quickly.”

“And on the night she was killed,” Mackenzie said, “I understand that she had just come from here, from this apartment. Did she stay over often?”

“Yeah, once or twice a week. I’d stay over there sometimes, too. She gave me a key to just come and crash whenever a few weeks ago. That’s how I was able to get into her place…that’s how I found her…”

“Why did she not stay here that night?” Ellington asked. “It was late when she left. Was there an argument between the two of you?”

“No. God, we rarely argued about anything. No…we’d all been drinking and I had far too much. I kissed her goodnight while she was still out here with some of my friends. I went to bed and passed out, feeling a little sick. I was sure she’d eventually join me but when I woke up the next morning, she was gone.”

“Do you think any of your friends might have given her a ride?” Mackenzie asked.

“I asked all of them and they said no. Even if they’d offered, Christine would have said no. I mean, it’s only like three blocks and she likes the cold weather…likes to walk around in it. She’s from California, so the snow is this cool magical thing, you know? I even remember…that night she was excited because there was snow in the forecast. She was joking about taking a walk out in it.”

“How many friends were here with you that night?”

“Including Christine, there were six of us in all. From what I gather, they all left not too long after she did.”

“Can we get their names and contact information?” Ellington asked.

“Sure,” he said, pulling out his phone and starting to locate the information.

“Is it common for you to have that many people over on a weekday night?” Mackenzie asked.

“No. We were just sort of getting together for one last hoorah before winter break came to an end. Classes start next week, you know? And with work schedules and visiting family, it was the only time we could all get together.”

“Did Christine have any friends outside of your group?”

“A few. She was sort of an introvert. There was me and then two of my friends that she hung out with, but that’s about it. She was really close with her mother, too. I think her mom was planning to come out here before the end of the semester—like to move out here for good.”

“Have you spoken with her mother at all since this all happened?”

“I did,” he said. “And it was weird because it was the first time I ever spoke to the woman. I was helping her out with…”

He paused here, his tired eyes showing signs of tears for the first time.

“…with funeral arrangements. She’s having her cremated here in town, I think. She flew in last night and she’s staying at a hotel somewhere out here.”

“Any family with her?” Mackenzie asked.

“I don’t know.” He hunched over and looked at the floor. He was both exhausted and sad, a mixture that looked to have finally devastated him.

“We’ll leave you alone for now,” Mackenzie said. “If you don’t mind, do you have Mrs. Lynch’s hotel information?”

“Yeah,” he said, slowly pulling his phone back out. “Hold on.”

As he pulled up the information, Mackenzie looked over to Ellington. As always, he was being hyperaware, looking around the place to make sure they weren’t missing anything obvious. She also noticed, though, that he was tinkering with his wedding ring as he studied the place, turning it slowly around and around on his finger.

She then looked back at Clark Manners. She was pretty sure they may end up questioning him again—and probably soon. The fact that he was obsessively cleaning his house after his girlfriend’s death made sense from a psychological standpoint but it could also be seen as an attempt to get rid of any evidence.

But she had seen people broken over grief before and she felt deep down in her gut that Clark was likely innocent. No one could fake this sort of grief and inability to get a good night’s sleep. They may need to speak with some of his friends at some point, though.

As Clark found the information, he handed over his phone so Mackenzie could take it down. She also took down the names and numbers that Clark had pulled up for all of the friends that had been at his apartment on the night Christine was killed. As she took the information down, she realized that she had also been fidgeting with her wedding ring. Ellington had noticed her doing it, managing a quick smile at her in spite of the situation. She stopped rotating the ring when she took the phone from Clark.

***

Margaret Lynch was just about the exact opposite of Clark Manners. She was cool and collected, greeting Mackenzie and Ellington with a smile when they met with her in the lobby of the Radisson she was staying in. She led them to a couch near the back of the lobby, though, showing her first sign of weakness.

“If I end up crying, I’d rather not do it in front of everyone,” she remarked, pressing herself into the couch as if she was fairly certain this would indeed happen.

“I’d like to start with asking how well you know Clark Manners,” Mackenzie said.

“Well, I spoke to him for the first time two days ago, after all this had happened. But Christine had mentioned him a few times on the phone. She was quite taken with him, I think.”

“Is there any suspicion on your part?”

“No. Of course, I don’t know the boy but based on what Christine told me about him, I don’t see him being the one who did this.”

Mackenzie noted that Mrs. Lynch was doing everything she could to avoid words like killed or murdered. She figured the woman was able to keep her head because she was doing a good job of distancing herself from it. It was probably made easier by the fact that the two of them had been living on separate ends of the country for a while.

“What can you tell me about Christine’s life here in Baltimore?” Mackenzie asked.

“Well, she started college in San Francisco. She wanted to be a lawyer, but the school and the course load…it wasn’t a good fit. We had a long talk about her applying to Queen Nash University. A long talk. Her father passed away when she was eleven and really, it’s just been Christine and I since then. No uncles, no aunts. It’s always been a small family. She has one surviving grandmother, but she has dementia and is in a home out near Sacramento. I don’t know if you know yet or not, but I’m having her cremated here, in Baltimore. No sense in going through the process of getting her back to California just to have the same thing done. We have no ties to the area, really. And I know she enjoyed it here, so…”

This poor woman is going to be all alone, Mackenzie thought. She was always aware of these sorts of things when interviewing and interrogating people, but this thought seemed to slam into her like a boulder.

“Anyway, she got in and within a single semester, she knew she loved it here. She was always very apologetic, worried that I was this lonely old woman living alone without her. She kept in touch, calling about twice a week. She’d tell me about how classes were going and, like I said, she ended up telling me about Clark.”

“What did she say about him?” Ellington asked.

“Just that he was cute and very funny. She did mention from time to time that he wasn’t very exciting and that he had a tendency to drink too much whenever they were in social situations.”

“But nothing negative?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Please forgive me for asking,” Mackenzie said, “but do you know if they were exclusive? Was there a chance Christine might have also been seeing anyone else?”

Mrs. Lynch thought about this for a moment. She didn’t seem to take offense to the question; she remained just as calm as she had seemed when they had first come into the lobby and met her. Mackenzie wondered at what point the poor woman was going to eventually snap.

“She never mentioned any competition for her heart,” Mrs. Lynch said. “And I think I know why you’re asking. I was told what the scene looked like—her being topless and all. I had just assumed…”

She stopped here and took a moment to collect herself. The words that were coming next caused something to stir inside, but she managed to get it down before the emotions took over. When she resumed, she was still stone-faced.

“I had just assumed it was a rape gone wrong. That maybe the man got frustrated for some reason and wasn’t able to go through with it. But I suppose there’s a chance there was another man in her life. If there was, I just didn’t know about it.”

Mackenzie nodded. The would-be-rapist theory had gone through her head as well, but the way the shirt had been tossed to the floor and then her head haphazardly lying on it…none of it seemed to add up.

“Well, Mrs. Lynch, we don’t want to bother you any more than we absolutely have to,” Mackenzie said. “How long do you intend to stay in town?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe a day or two beyond the service.” At the word service, her voice cracked the tiniest bit.

Ellington handed her one of his business cards as he got to his feet. “If you happen to think of anything or hear anything during the funeral or the services, please let us know.”

“Of course. And thank you for looking into this.” Mrs. Lynch looked forlorn as Mackenzie and Ellington left. I suppose so, Mackenzie thought. She’s all alone in a city she doesn’t know, having come to take care of her deceased daughter.

Mrs. Lynch saw them to the door and waved them off as they walked to their car. It was the first moment in which Mackenzie realized that her hormones were officially all over the place as a result of her pregnancy. She felt for Mrs. Margaret Lynch in a way she might not have before she’d found out she was pregnant. To create life, then raise and nurture it only to have it wrenched away from you in such a brutal fashion…it had to be miserable. Mackenzie felt absolutely wretched for Mrs. Lynch as she and Ellington pulled out into traffic.

And just like that, Mackenzie felt a flush of determination. She’d always had a passion for righting wrongs—for bringing killers and other evil men and women to justice. And whether it was hormones or not, she vowed to find Christine Lynch’s killer, if for no other reason than to bring some closure to Margaret Lynch.