Free Justice for Mackenzie by Susan Stoker Page B

someone in the cab, but I couldn’t see him at all. The windows were tinted and it was so far away.”
    “What time was it?”
    “It was around three in the afternoon. I remember because I had a hair appointment at three thirty and I didn’t want to be late.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. You’ve been a big help.” And she had. They knew the killer used a yellow tractor and the time he buried his victim. Dax would check with the cemetery staff and see if it was theirs. If they were lucky, it wasn’t, and they could do a check of the Department of Motor Vehicles on anyone that owned a yellow tractor. He’d also be sure to tell Cruz to alert the caretakers of the local cemeteries to be on the lookout for any unusual activity in their areas. The local police agencies could also increase patrols around the rural cemeteries as well. It wasn’t full-proof, after all they hadn’t been able to catch this guy yet, but it was something. The killer hadn’t called in to brag about this victim until apparently a week after he’d put the coffin in the ground. The timeline fit what Conor had said about time of death.
    “Do you think you’ll catch him? What a terrible man, to do those things.”
    “Yes, ma’am. We’ll catch him. We’re doing everything possible to catch him sooner rather than later.”
    “Well, thank you for what you do, young man. The world needs more people like you in it.”
    Dax helped the woman out of the chair and to the door. “I advise you to keep your visits to Harold at a minimum, at least until we catch whoever this is. If you need to visit, don’t go alone.”
    “I can do that. I’ll have my son, David, come with me next time.”
    “You do that. Thanks again, Mrs. Sutton.” Dax nodded at the woman as she left his office. He sighed and sat back down in his chair and looked over the pictures strewn in front of him. Dax had heard back from Cruz. The FBI analysts hadn’t found anything useful on the note the killer had sent. There weren’t any usable fingerprints and the only trace evidence that had been on the note was a single hair, which seemed to have come from a cat.
    So Dax had a lot of information, but it was all disjointed. Their killer was a man who owned, or had come into contact with, a cat, he either owned a yellow tractor or had the know-how to hotwire one. The coffins were a dead end because they were homemade. They could try to track the hardware used to assemble them, but that was a long shot. Fuck. They had information, but it still seemed like they were still at square one.
    The phone on his desk rang; it was Quint from the San Antonio Police Department.
    “Hey, Dax. Got time for lunch today?”
    “Actually, Mack is supposed to come to my office today for a quick lunch, want to join us? I can ask her to pick up an extra sandwich on her way in.”
    “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
    “Yeah, I’ve actually been wanting you to meet her anyway. I know it’s soon, but I really like her.”
    “You seem serious about this one. How long have you been seeing her?”
    “I am serious about her. It’s been about two weeks.”
    “Great, what time then?”
    “How about twelve fifteen?”
    “See you then.”
    Dax put the phone back in its cradle and leaned back with his arms behind his head. He knew Quint probably wanted to talk about the Reaper investigation, but Dax needed some Mack time before he’d be able to dive back into the horror that was the case. Burying women alive was some sick shit and Mack helped him keep everything in perspective.
    The two weeks since they’d been dating had been great. They’d met up several times for dinner and had advanced their kissing at her door to kissing in his car, and even once on her couch while they were watching a movie.
    Dax was trying to take things slow, but the more time he spent with Mack, the more he knew in his gut she was the woman for him. He’d been instantly attracted to her, but it wasn’t just that he wanted her