Mackenzie had always loved the smell of freshly cut wood. It went back to Christmas holidays spent with her grandparents after her father had died. Her grandfather had heated his house with an old wood stove and the back end of the house had always smelled of cedar and the not entirely unpleasant smell of fresh ash.
She was reminded of that old wood stove as she stepped out of the car and into the gravel lot of Palmer's Lumber Yard. To her left, a saw mill was set up, running a huge tree down a belt and toward a saw that was roughly the size of the car she had just stepped out of. Beyond that, several piles of freshly downed lumber waited its turn for the saw.
She took a moment to watch the process. A loader that looked to be a mix of a small crane and a toy-grabbing machine lifted the logs and deposited them onto an archaic-looking machine that pushed them into a belt. From there, the logs were led directly to a saw which she assumed was adjusted for each log by a mechanism or control panel that she could not see from where she sat. As she turned away from this, she saw a truck going out of the lumber yard's exit with a trailer of crudely cut timber stacked about twelve feet high.
Oddly enough, she thought of Zack as she watched it all. He had applied to work at a place like this on the other end of town right around the time he'd landed the job at the textile mill; when he'd discovered the rotating shifts available at the mill, he'd taken it, hoping for more time off. She thought he might have been good working with lumber; he'd always had a knack for building things.
"Looks like hard work," Ellington said.
"Ours is pretty rough, too," she said, happy to have the thoughts of Zack out of her head.
"That it is," Ellington agreed.
In front of them, a basic concrete building was identified only by black stenciled letters over the front door reading OFFICE. She walked alongside Ellington to the front door and was once again taken aback when Ellington opened the door for her. She didn't think she'd ever been shown such a display of chivalry or respect from anyone on the force since the first day she'd carried a badge.
Inside, the noise from outside was muffled to a dull roar. The office consisted of a large counter with rows of filing cabinets behind it. The smell of cut wood permeated the place and there seemed to be dust everywhere. A single man stood behind the counter, writing something in a ledger as they entered. When he regarded them, it was clear that he was a bit confused-probably by Ellington's suit and Mackenzie's business-casual attire.
"Hey there," the man behind the counter said. "Can I help you?"
Ellington took the lead, which Mackenzie was fine with. He'd shown her the utmost respect and had more experience than she did. It made her wonder where Porter was. Had Nelson kept him back at the office to go over the photos? Or was he on interview detail, maybe speaking with Hailey Lizbrook's co-workers?
"I'm Agent Ellington, and this is Detective White," Ellington said. "We'd like to speak with you for a moment about a case we're trying to wrap up."
"Um, sure," the man said, clearly still confused. "Are you sure you have the right place?"
"Yes, sir," Ellington said. "While we can't reveal the full details of the case, what I can tell you is that a pole has been found at each of the scenes. We took a sample from the wood and our forensics team led us here."
"Poles?" the man asked, looking surprised. "Are you talking about the Scarecrow Killer?"
Mackenzie frowned, not liking the fact that this case was already becoming a staple of public conversation. If a lonely man in a lumber yard office had heard about it, the chances were good that news of the case was spreading like wildfire. And among it all, her face was plastered to newspapers featuring the story.
Indeed, he looked her over, and she thought she could see recognition in his face.
"Yes," Ellington said. "Have you had anyone out of the ordinary come by to purchase these poles?"
"I'd be happy to help you," the man behind the counter said. "But I'm afraid it's going to be something of a rabbit trail for you. See, I only receive and sell lumber from companies or smaller wood yards. Anything that leaves here is usually going to another lumber yard or to a company of some sort."
"What sort of companies?" Mackenzie asked.
"It depends on what kind of wood we're talking about," he said. "The majority of my wood goes to construction companies. But I also have a few clients that are into wood crafting for things like furniture."
"How many clients run through here in the course of a month?" Ellington asked.
"Seventy or so on a good month," he said. "But the last few months have been pretty slow. So it might be easier to find what you're looking for."
"One more thing," Mackenzie said. "Do you place any sort of markings on lumber that goes out of here?"
"For larger orders, I'll sometimes place a stamp on one piece per load."
"A stamp?"
"Yeah. It's done by a small press I have outside. It puts the date and the name of my lumber yard on the piece."
"But nothing engraved or carved?"
"No, nothing like that," the man said.
"Would you be able to pull up the records on which clients have brought pre-cut cedar poles?" Ellington asked.
"Yes, I can do that. Do you know what size?"
"One moment," Ellington said, reaching for his phone, presumably to pull up the information.
"Nine feet," Mackenzie said, pulling the figure from memory.
Ellington looked over to her and gave her a smile.
"One foot underground," Mackenzie said, "and eight feet above the surface."
"The poles were also rather old," Ellington said. "The wood was not fresh. Our tests indicate it had never seen any sort of treatment, either."
"That makes it a little easier," the man said. "If it came from here, older wood would have come out of my scrap stock. Give me a few minutes and I can get you that information. How far back do you need to go?"
"Let's go three months, just to be safe," Ellington said.
The man nodded and went to one of the ancient-looking filing cabinets sitting behind him. As they waited, Mackenzie's cell phone started to ring. When she answered it, she was deathly afraid that it might be Zack calling to request some sort of reconciliation. She was relieved to find that it was Porter.
"Hello?" she said, answering the call.
"Mackenzie, where are you right now?" Porter asked.
"I'm with Ellington at Palmer's Lumber Yard checking on the test results from the chip we took from the pole."
"Any results?"
"It looks like another lead to several other leads."
"Well shit," Porter said. "I hate to tell you, but it doesn't get any better." He hesitated for a minute and she heard a shaky sigh on the other end before he added:
"We've got another body."
