“I have Callie.”
“Of course you do, but now you have McKenzie.”
“I appreciate that but we can handle it.”
“I have no doubts. I am just tripling our efforts in light of the recent discovery. The sooner we have answers, the better. The mayor and media are all over this. Rumors of a serial killer in our midst are already being tossed around. That kind of talk, well, it gets everyone a little antsy.”
“I understand, but—”
“Let’s not forget, Noah. State is working with us and local PD, not the other way around this time. With all due respect, this isn’t the murder of your brother, and so, I want the best working on this.”
“And that’s McKenzie?”
The Scotsman looked over at him through narrowed eyes as he tried to eavesdrop on the conversation. He already had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“I should remind you that Thorne isn’t a detective. Maybe one day, but for now, she’s just one of our deputies.”
“And a damn fine one at that,” Noah shot back.
“I don’t dispute that but McKenzie brings two decades’ worth of experience from the big city.”
“City policing is very different.”
“It doesn’t take away his experience, Noah. Now I’ve made my decision. Run with it or I’ll call State and have them assign someone else.”
“Understood.” He hung up.
“So?” McKenzie said in his brash tone.
Noah turned and got in the driver’s side before he had a chance to argue. “She’s cleared you to work with me… but not to drive. Something to do with your eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“What?”
“They dropped you off here, yes?”
“Aye.”
“Exactly. Read between the lines. Sucks, but hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” He slammed the door closed and through his open window thumbed over his shoulder. “Get in. You’re riding shotgun.”
Noah stifled a laugh as McKenzie mumbled a few choice words and skirted around the rear to the passenger side.
The Sawyer Groupoperated out of a warehouse just off Old Military Road. It was located just across from High Peaks Self Storage. It stood out, abandoned and forgotten. The outer walls, once painted in a bright shade of blue, had faded to a dull grey over the years.
Reaching it was a headache in and of itself, not only because McKenzie wanted to be brought up to speed, but because a section of the roadway had been closed off for repaving in the months prior and still hadn’t been opened, causing a detour through the town and traffic headaches.
“And you say this lad is a journalist?” McKenzie stifled a laugh. “What does he write about — the homeless?” He chuckled and glanced at Noah who said nothing. After parking, they got out and headed over to a large steel gate that blocked off the entrance and required a code for entry. There were twocameras angled down. The owners of the establishment certainly looked as if they were taking security seriously. A large sign on the gate read: WARNING: KEEP OUT! GUARD DOGS ON PATROL.
Beyond the gate, Noah could see activity. The property was used by multiple businesses, none of which were related to each other. The sound of machinery could be heard coming from an auto repair shop — sanders in operation and the steady clang of wrenches and steel. Several doors down were an out-of-business printing company, beside that a clothing manufacturer, and finally a coffee roastery that also didn’t look as if it was open. If the Sawyer Group was operating out of one of the offices, he couldn’t see a sign.
Noah reached out of the driver’s side window and hit the button. The speakers squawked. “Can I help you?”
“Here to speak with Nate Sawyer.”
There was no answer.
Noah gave it a second or two before he pressed the button again. This time no one answered. McKenzie’s impatience bubbled up to the surface. He got out. “Aye, let me handle this.” He went over to the gate and gave it a shake to see if it was open. The clatter brought an angry Rottweiler out from underneath a stack of metal on a stand.
It came barreling toward the gate, barking furiously.