Delcroix Correctional Facility was tucked back off of the highway on a patch of land that was bland and featureless. It was the only building on a strip of about five hundred acres of land-not quite a prison per se, but certainly not somewhere a standard person off of the street would want to spend any significant amount of time.
Mackenzie and Ellington were waved through the small security partition at the entrance and directed to park in the employee lot on the back end of the property. From there, they were checked in at the main security check-in and ushered into a small waiting area where there was already a woman waiting for them.
"Agents White and Ellington?" she asked.
Mackenzie shook her hand first as introductions were made. The woman's name was Mel Kellerman. She was fairly short and slightly overweight yet had the demeanor of a woman who had seen hard time and laughed in its face.
As Kellerman led them out of the waiting area, she gave a brief rundown of the place.
"I serve as Security Administrator," she said. "As such, I can tell you that the man you're here to see poses no threat. His name is Bryan Taylor. Fifty years old and a recovering heroin addict. He sometimes has conversations with people that aren't there. His record is minor but he stays on our radar because this is the fourth small-time crime he's committed in the last year. We think it's just to get free room and board."
"And what was his latest crime?" Mackenzie asked.
"He took a piss on the back tire of a city bus in broad daylight."
Ellington chuckled. "Was he drunk?"
"Nope," Kellerman said. "Just said he really needed to take a piss."
She led them down a small hall and then down an even smaller corridor. At the end, they came to a door which Kellerman opened for them. The room contained only a table and five chairs. A disheveled-looking man occupied one of the chairs while a man in a security uniform occupied another. The guard turned as they came in and got up from his seat right away.
"Is Mr. Taylor giving you any problems?" Kellerman asked the guard.
"No. He's on a rant, though. The Russians and Trump again."
"Ah, one of my favorites," Kellerman said. She turned to Mackenzie and Ellington. "I'll be one room over if you need me. But I think you'll be okay."
With that, Kellerman and the other guard exited the room, leaving them with Bryan Taylor.
"Hello, Mr. Taylor," Mackenzie said as she took a seat across the table from him. "Did they tell you why we were coming?"
Taylor nodded his head sadly. "Yeah. You want to know about my brother-how he died."
"That's right," Mackenzie said. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Taylor only shrugged. He was drumming his fingers on the table and looked back and forth between Mackenzie and Ellington.
"Well, I'm Agent White and this is my partner, Agent Ellington," Mackenzie said.
"Yeah, I know. From the FBI." He rolled his eyes when he said this.
"Mr. Taylor…tell me…did your brother have any enemies? Any people that might have something against him?"
Taylor barely even thought about it before answering. "Nope. Just our momma, and she's been dead for seven years now."
"Were you close with your brother?"
"We weren't best friends or anything like that," Taylor said. "But we got along well enough. He hung out with some shady fuckers, though. Illuminati types. I honestly wasn't too surprised to hear he died. Those Illuminati creeps have something against the homeless. The famous, too. You know they killed Kennedy, right?"
"I heard that," Ellington said, barely able to contain his smirk.
Mackenzie stepped on his foot under the table and did her best to forge on.
"Have you had any other friends that were murdered recently?" she asked.
"I don't think so. But I don't really hang with the same crowd very often. On the streets, more friends just means more people to rip you off."
"Just one more question, Mr. Taylor," Mackenzie said. "Have you ever heard of a business called Barker Antiques?"
He didn't think very long about this answer, either. "Nope. Can't say that I have. Never stepped foot into an antiques shop. I don't have cash to be dropping on old dusty relics. Crazy-ass rich people run places like that. Shop there, too."
Mackenzie nodded and let out a little sigh. "Well, thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr. Taylor. I do ask that if you think of anything else about your brother that might help us figure out who might have killed him, please let someone that works here know so they can get the information to us."
"Oh yeah, I will. You know…you might head out to Nevada. I bet there are some answers there."
"Nevada?" Mackenzie asked. "Why's that?"
"Area 51. Groom Lake. It's not the Illuminati, but everyone knows those top secret government places have been nabbing homeless folks for ages. They run experiments and tests on them out there in the desert."
Mackenzie turned away before Taylor could see her hesitant grin. Based on what she knew about him, she knew he couldn't help it-that he was a few bricks short of a load. Ellington, on the other hand, was not able to remain quite as professional.
"Good tip, Mr. Taylor. We'll certainly look into that."
As they reached the exit, Mackenzie nudged him and leaned in close enough to whisper. "That was borderline mean," she said.
"How do you figure? I was just trying to make him feel like he had legitimately contributed to the investigation."
"You're going to hell," she said, smiling.
"Oh, I know. Down with all the Illuminati for sure."
***
As they headed back to their car, Mackenzie had already started to piece together their next step. It felt solid, yet at the same time, she could also understand why it was an avenue that had not been properly explored by the bureau yet.
"You know, Taylor did make one good point," Mackenzie said.
"Yeah?" Ellington asked. "I must have missed it."
"He talked about how some of those homeless communities are pretty tight. I think the bureau has been so concerned with how the vagrants might be connected to one another that they failed to seriously consider how people like Jimmy Scotts and Gabriel Hambry might be connected to them."
They got into the car, Ellington opting to take the driver's seat this time. "Ah, but that's not true. Homeless shelters and soup kitchens were contacted to see if either man had any affiliation with those kinds of places."
"Exactly," Mackenzie said. "It was assumed that they would have been connected to the vagrants in a way that had them over the vagrants. Maybe there's something else there."
"Like what? You think Scotts and Hambry might have been homeless at one point?"
"No idea. But let's say they were. That gives enough of a connection and would tell us that this guy is, for some reason or another, going after vagrants only."
"It's worth considering," Ellington said. "But that leaves one very important question: why?"
"Well, first, let's make sure I'm not getting too far ahead of myself."
"How?"
"From what I read in the reports, Gabriel Hambry has no next of kin. The only family he had left around are a set of grandparents that live in Maine. But Jimmy Scotts has a wife and two kids in Lincoln."
"And you want to head out that way?" Ellington asked.
"Well, considering the place I want to go after that is over six hours away, yeah…I think we should start there."
"Six hours away? Where the hell do you want to go? The other side of the state?"
"Yes, in fact. Morrill County. A little town called Belton."
"What's there?"
Having to suppress a little shiver, Mackenzie answered: "My past."
