The Acadia Killer

Chapter 22

I typed up as much of my two-thousand-word article as I could muster before deciding I had to put a pause on it until I could talk to Blake. I just hoped he would get back to talk to me before it was time to email Krista. I knew she was strict about the six o'clock deadline and I didn't want to take the chance on being late.

While I proofread the words I had so far, an idea came to mind. I texted Michelle asking for the name of the man who was serving prison time for the murder of Michael Henry's mistress, and she quickly texted me back the answer.

Typing in my search bar "murder, David MacAfee, Portland, Maine," a few articles popped up with the full story. My blood ran cold when I read that the woman had been stabbed to death – just like the Acadia Killer's method of choice. After reading about a jury trial being set and MacAfee changing his plea to guilty only two days later, I decided I needed to talk to David MacAfee. The second article I read said he'd been sentenced to forty-five years in a Massachusetts prison. I looked up the phone number for that prison and asked to be put on his visitor list as soon as possible, using the excuse that I was a journalist writing an article about his story. They told me journalists could be verified quicker than the average visitor and that they would reach back out to me later in the day.

I hoped I was doing the right thing. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I felt like the only way to get to the truth was to talk to the potentially innocent convict who was serving most of his life in prison for a crime I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Michael Henry had committed. I just needed to know.

No longer was I traveling the country in attempts to write an amazing article about our national park system. This had now become a criminal investigative journalism piece, only featuring one national park due to the location of the murders and having nothing to do with the luster of the park itself. A part of me felt like I had wasted half a year traveling when I wasn't even going to be able to write about all the amazing places I'd been in the parks. Had I gone on grueling hikes to take those photos of Half Dome and Delicate Arch for nothing? I didn't want to be an investigative journalist. I wanted to be a travel photographer who wrote amazing pieces about the places I journeyed to. I wanted to take photos that blew readers' minds when they saw how gorgeous our parks are. I didn't want to be writing about murders and murderers.

Deciding I needed to brush up on all the case information before speaking to David MacAfee, I spent the next two hours researching both the MacAfee case and the Henry case, jotting down a hoard of bullet point notes for my interview, if in fact I was granted one. Seemingly just at the right time as I was finishing up my last set of notes, a call came in from Massachusetts – the call.

"Hello?"

"This is Randy Holloway calling from the Massachusetts Department of Corrections for a miss Mackenzie Vega, please," a man introduced himself.

I cleared my throat, anxious to hear whether or not I'd been approved. "That's me."

"Miss Vega, I'm calling to let you know your request to speak with Mr. David MacAfee has been granted. When would you like to conduct your interview?" he asked in a gruff tone, as if he was tired of talking to reporters.

"As soon as possible, really," I replied, nervously twiddling my pen between my thumb and forefinger.

"That's fine. Should I put you down for tomorrow?" the man questioned with the same lackluster voice.

"Tomorrow would be great."

"I'll make a note in the system that you will be arriving sometime tomorrow then. When you arrive, you'll have to go through a security checkpoint and show your identification before you can proceed. Also be aware that the inmate you're wanting to see does have the right to refuse to speak with you, in which case you will be asked to conclude your visit. Any questions?"