Their Frozen Graves: A completely addictive crime thriller and mystery novel

by Choudhary, Ruhi

  “Sorry for showing up unannounced.”

  “Are you having a breakdown?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “No!” she said defensively, then sighed. “I don’t know.”

  He leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

  “I… I shouldn’t.”

  “This has nothing to do with Sterling, does it?”

  She shook her head.

  “What is it?”

  “Can you promise not to tell anyone?”

  “Why? Did you kill someone?” His lips curled in a mocking smile.

  Mackenzie flustered. She grabbed the edge of the counter behind her. Nick’s eyes raked over her. “Mack… what happened?”

  She licked her lips. “My father’s back.”

  The words poured out of her. How her father had returned. How she had spent weeks confirming his story in Dallas and Vegas. How she was going to invite him to live with her. The truth about the last few weeks, built on lies from twenty years ago.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in Nick’s living room. She pressed the cold white wine bottle to her forehead. He turned a glass of bourbon in his hands, catching the light refracting through the sculpted glass.

  “Does he have a bank account?” Nick asked.

  Mackenzie frowned at the strange question. “I don’t think so. He’s using cash.”

  “Under his real name at the motel, though? Not Freddie whatever?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Has he talked to anyone except for you?”

  “Apparently not. Perhaps some other customers at the motel? Why are you asking these questions?”

  “He should continue to stay off the radar. Avoid anything that would require him to produce paperwork.” He scratched his temple. “If he goes to the bank or anything, it would lead to an unnecessary investigation.”

  “So you won’t tell anyone?”

  He looked at her in disbelief. “Of course not! This is personal. You’ve got a lot to figure out. Best do it without any interference. But if anything strange happens, you’ll tell me, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You should get a paternity test.”

  “Paternity test?” She pulled a face. There was no need to. She knew what her father looked like.

  “He has a ridiculous backstory about gambling debts and Mexico—”

  “Which I confirmed. Not all of it. Trail kind of goes cold in Vegas, but it was so long ago.”

  “I know. But we’re now investigating a case with twins. You should confirm it.”

  “That’s bizarre.”

  “As bizarre as your father showing up at your doorstep after twenty years?” he challenged.

  Mackenzie swallowed hard and nodded stiffly. It was a logical suggestion. The next reasonable step to take in a situation like this. As a trained detective, she knew to confirm every piece of information, not to rely on words and memory.

  Then why was she resisting?

  Thirteen

  November 23

  There was a storm coming in two days. Just when the snow had melted enough to reveal the hidden green and brown hues of the town, fresh blankets of snow were on the way to swallow Lakemore up again. As a result, people were beginning to stock up on supplies. Mackenzie climbed out of the car and jogged through the numbing air to the grocery store. It was packed for a Friday morning. She took off her gloves and grabbed a cart, her eyes scanning the customers for her father.

  She hated grocery shopping. It was Sterling’s responsibility. Mackenzie’s job was to keep the house clean, whereas her husband was in charge of the kitchen and anything kitchen-related. She baked, but cooking and grocery shopping weren’t her domain. Now she had to adapt to this new life.

  Absentmindedly, she threw items into her cart, more focused on finding Robert. She spotted him in the meat section. She threaded through the crowd and some glaring customers. Picking up ground beef, she pretended to look engrossed, knowing he would notice her anytime.

  “Micky?” he said.

  She jerked and feigned surprise. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

  Robert shrugged, “What everyone’s doing I guess. How come you’re here? This store is far from your place.”

  “Yeah, I thought I should pick up some stuff on my way to work.”

  The truth was she had followed him, tracking his location through the app. She had wondered if he was meeting someone, but he was by himself.

  “Your mother used to take care of these things,” he reminisced, his fingers twitching, as they walked around together. “I feel very guilty, Micky. Was she better after I left?”

  Mackenzie didn’t know. Robert looked at her, clearly hoping she would say yes. “I-I don’t know. After you left, she sent me to New York to live with my grandmother. Did you never think of contacting her after you left?”

  He stilled. “No. I thought of you and her often. But it was better for me to stay away. To give you the life you deserved.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes stung as she held back tears. Those years in New York had been lonely. Her grandmother had done the best she could, but then she got cancer and was frequently in and out of the hospital. Mackenzie had to grow up and take care of the house. She drifted away from her friends, whose crises around boys and test scores seemed unimportant to her. And then there was Melody.

  Mom, when are you coming to visit?

  I have to cancel again. Sorry. Next time. I promise.

  “Why did Mel send you to New York?” Robert asked. They tiptoed around each other, trying to gather little pieces of each other’s lives.

  “She wanted to keep me away from the ‘circus,’ she said. With the authorities and Lakemore being even smaller than it is now. And New York had better schools.”

  “Good call. She stayed here the entire time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must have missed her terribly.”

  The last conversation she had with her mother was so vivid. Melody had come to see Mackenzie after a year apart. Her mother’s touch had felt so foreign to her.

  “Grandma got cancer and had chemo. And instead of coming here to help, you let the entire responsibility fall on your teenage daughter.”

  “Your father’s cousin turned up. She thought I kept him isolated and that I was abusive. The police got interested, and I had to stick around to make sure that we were safe.”

  “Do you regret it? Do I remind you of what we did? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you feel guilty?”

  Sharing the secret of burying Robert in the woods had driven them further apart. In a twisted way, she’d thought that it would bring them closer together, but it had just made them more distrustful of one another.

  Turns out she was right not to trust Melody. Looking at her father, very much alive, she wondered who her mother had truly been. Had Mackenzie been sent away, not because she was too traumatized to continue living in Lakemore, but because Melody was guarding a secret? The thought made the back of her neck break into a cold sweat.

  She turned to face Robert. “Actually, I was meaning to talk to you later, but might as well do it now. I’d like you to live with me.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  It had struck her how naive he must think she was. Inviting trouble inside her home—a man who did nothing but beat her mother after drinking too much. But she wanted him right under her nose. She straightened and gave him the firm look she had mastered over the years. The sharp gaze and hard face that made people wilt.

  “Yes. That is, if you’re comfortable. There’s a guest room where you can stay. I’ve spoken with my husband as well. We are separated, but he’s still a part of my life.”

  “I see.” He eyed her cautiously. “If you’re sure about this…”

  “I am. You can move in tonight.”

  “I’d like for us to be a family. Thank you.”

  The word family made her queasy, as did the thought
of living with Robert again after years of having his memory taunt her at every turn and remind her what she had done. She left the store, bidding him farewell and praying she wasn’t making a big mistake.

  Mackenzie was never a fan of jigsaw puzzles growing up. In hindsight, it made sense. She liked to solve problems, but she needed more than to simply piece information together. She wanted to know why. She liked stakes.

  The pictures of the tattoos on Jane Doe Two’s body lay in her lap. What odd places for a tattoo, she thought. Not that Mackenzie was particularly au fait with tattoo culture, but she reckoned these locations on the body were uncommon. They weren’t private either, easily exposed if the legs weren’t covered. Why had she got them? Who was this woman?

  “39A” on the back of her left knee.

  “B75C” on the back of her right knee.

  Mackenzie had seen flowers, waves, skulls, and even words like “breathe” inked on skin. She had never come across a random bag of letters and numbers. Sometimes reformed prisoners would get their prison number tattooed, but this wasn’t that. If Jane Doe Two had ever been to prison, her DNA would have shown up on the national index. Her tattoos didn’t correspond to a date, either. But they must be important.

  Hopelessly, she typed the codes into a search engine. The internet yielded nothing useful, as expected.

  Jane Doe Two had been a heavy drug user. What if the codes on her body corresponded to the chemical compound or serial number of some drug? But the codes weren’t structured right. There should be four numbers representing the labeler and product code and the last three digits standing for a package code. Still, Mackenzie checked the NDC Directory.

  Nothing.

  It hit her that the numbers and letters could be jumbled. She noted down the letters and digits on a piece of paper. Why would Jane Doe Two go to so much trouble? If she tattooed these on her body, then they must mean something. It certainly wasn’t for aesthetic purposes.

  A faint sound drew her attention. She turned around to find Finn, another senior detective in the unit, watching the expert analysis on some big football game. He sighed dejectedly and closed the tab. When he left the office, his feet dragged and his shoulders were slumped. Mackenzie knew it had nothing to do with work. She could tell that even the little things not going his way were getting on his nerves. He wasn’t the only one feeling that way; she felt it too.

  “Detective Price.” Lieutenant Rivera appeared by her side. Mackenzie almost shot up but Rivera gestured for her to remain seated. “Sully discussed the case with me yesterday. Any new updates?”

  “Jane Doe One is Katy’s twin, but Katy didn’t know about her.”

  “You’re going to talk to her parents?”

  “Yeah. Today.”

  “In Nelson Heights?” Rivera placed her elbow on the cubicle wall separating Mackenzie and Troy’s spaces.

  “Yep.” Mackenzie restrained a smile. Sully was right. Her working style was a lot different from the former lieutenant’s. “We also talked to their neighbor yesterday. She thinks the husband is having an affair.”

  Rivera raised her eyebrows. “That’s not a shocker.”

  Mackenzie felt the back of her neck warm. Rivera’s eyes swept over her.

  “Keep me apprised,” Rivera said after a heartbeat.

  Mackenzie gave her a grudging smile. She knew that her boss had caught her moment of vulnerability. Rivera was good at reading people; it was a job requirement. But it flustered Mackenzie that she had become easy to read. That was unacceptable to her.

  “The suicide from sixteen years ago. Where are you on that?”

  “We have Carrie Breslow’s address, but she and her husband are on vacation. She was the person Jane Doe Three’s face was modeled on.”

  “What do you think?” She tipped her chin.

  “It’s too early to form any conclusions. Katy said she hasn’t heard that name before.”

  “We have Jane Doe Three’s DNA on file and our Jane Doe’s. Tell Becky to run a familial DNA test. The victims could be related.”

  Fourteen

  Nelson Heights was a gated community on the edge of Lakemore. It was a short drive from this side of the town to Olympia, and the neighborhood attracted old people and families with special needs who needed easy access to the vastly better hospitals and services in the larger city. It housed the only two retirement homes in town and had apartment complexes as opposed to houses—to encourage interactions and activities.

  A few years ago, Mackenzie had moved her grandmother, Eleanor, from New York to a retirement home here. The last time she had been here was after they’d called to tell her Eleanor had passed away in her sleep.

  Katy’s mother, Charlotte Harris, reminded Mackenzie a lot of her grandmother. Not only did they both have a strapping physique, but also a firm calmness on their face.

  Charlotte’s husband, Frank, was quiet, bored, and grumpy. Occasionally, he looked out the window through his horn-rimmed glasses, searching for something interesting. Then his eyes trailed back around his apartment with the same monotony. Mackenzie couldn’t tell if he didn’t want to talk to them or to anyone.

  “Cole told us what happened,” Charlotte said in her throaty voice. “Please have some cucumber sandwiches.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Nick picked up two and stuffed them into his mouth.

  “Have you talked to Katy?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Briefly. She wasn’t feeling well again, so we decided not to impose on Thanksgiving and did something with our friends instead. Difficult pregnancies run in the family.” Charlotte held her husband’s hand. “You said that one of the bodies was entirely identical to Katy?”

  “Yes. She looks exactly like her.”

  Her words pulled Frank into the conversation. His face was ashen. “Oh my God.”

  Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

  “What happened?” Mackenzie asked.

  Frank looked at Charlotte almost helplessly. Like he was used to her taking charge. When she looked up at Mackenzie and Nick, her eyes were bloodshot. “I… that was Kim. Katy’s twin. We gave her up a very long time ago.”

  “Why?”

  “She was always different.” Charlotte took out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Even when she was just two years old, she had this temper. She would smear her dirty diapers over furniture and bang her head against the wall. Her outbursts became more aggressive, and when she was three years old, I took her to a doctor.” Her eyes turned ghostly. “At first, it was ADHD and then she was bipolar and then borderline personality disorder and then split personality disorder.”

  “At the age of three?” Nick asked.

  “It happens. Katy was badly affected by all this. Most of the time, Kim’s anger was directed at her. She would scratch Katy hard enough to draw blood, punch her, kick her…”

  “And then cry inconsolably out of guilt,” Frank added.

  “We tried everything.” Charlotte’s nostrils flared. “When the twins were four years old, I became pregnant again. Kim didn’t improve with age or medication. One day, she threw a tantrum and pushed me down the stairs. On purpose. I was eight months pregnant. I lost my son.”

  Mackenzie had never dealt with a sociopathic child in her career, but she found it hard to believe a four-year-old could hurt someone like that on purpose.

  “I’m the only one who knew what she was,” Charlotte said, noticing Mackenzie’s look of disbelief. “She was becoming impossible to deal with and dangerous to Katy. We had to keep Kim away from her. My brother and his wife didn’t have children of their own and desperately wanted one. We were honest about Kim’s condition to them, but my sister-in-law was a psychiatrist. She convinced us that perhaps a change in environment would help her.”

  “We agreed,” Frank pitched in. “It gave me some relief that her sister-in-law was qualified, and that Kim would still stay in the family.”

  Charlotte continued, “We used to vis
it her when she was living with them. We never took Katy. It was best not to confuse her, especially since Kim wasn’t ready to come back into our lives. But when Kim turned nine and still showed no signs of improvement, my sister-in-law suggested the best course of action was to get her admitted to a treatment center. She was too much for them to handle. I’m surprised and grateful that they cared for her for five years. My sister-in-law’s training helped. Unfortunately, when Kim was fourteen years old, she ran away.”

  “From the treatment center?” Nick asked.

  “Yes. She could be very charming if she wanted to be. Probably sweet-talked the security guard,” Charlotte scowled. “We never found her. We didn’t know what happened to her… until now.”

  “Katy doesn’t remember her at all?”

  “We used to discourage their interaction to protect Katy. And when Kim went away, it was easier to lie to Katy that Kim was her imaginary friend. She’s a good girl. She doesn’t deserve to live with this burden. Though she always said that she felt like something was missing from her life.”

  Frank had checked out of the conversation again and stared outside. His hand went limp in Charlotte’s. Mackenzie wondered if that was his way of coping. It couldn’t have been an easy decision to part with a child. And then that child disappeared. Did he feel guilty for what became of her?

  “You never told anyone about Kim?” Mackenzie asked.

  “No. A year after Kim was admitted, we packed our bags and moved from Oklahoma to Washington to prevent Katy finding out about her from someone else. The center kept us informed; they had to. But her treatment was going nowhere. We gave up hope.”

  “Did you visit her at the center?”

  “Not after we moved.” Charlotte blinked away her tears. “I know it seems heartless to you, Detective. But you have no idea how painful it was to realize that we had to let go.”

  Charlotte and Frank gave the name of the treatment facility in Oklahoma City where they’d admitted Kim. They also said that Katy’s behavior hadn’t been entirely unusual, just that her phone calls had been more sporadic in the last few days.