Mackenzie and Jenna didn’t always see eye to eye, which Mackenzie felt like a waste considering they were the only two female detectives in the unit. But Jenna had an attitude problem everyone was aware of. She didn’t like learning or being challenged in any way.
As soon as Jenna left, Nick let out a breathy chuckle. “It’s always fun to watch you and Jenna. So much tension.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why she has that sour-lemon face.”
“Sour lemon?”
“That’s what Troy calls it. She makes that face like she’s sucking on a sour lemon when she talks to me.”
“If it helps, she makes that face whenever she talks to any woman.”
“It doesn’t.” Mackenzie gave him a tight smile and checked her phone. There was a message from Justin.
Carrie Breslow and her husband came back last night.
“The Breslows are in the city again. Ready to go?”
Seventeen
Carrie Breslow’s house looked like the perfect picture of happiness. The front yard was blanketed with a thin sheet of snow. Two children ran around, throwing snowballs at each other. Even from inside the car, Mackenzie could hear the chirping of their laughter and innocent giggles. The Breslow house wasn’t lavish. But it looked like it was enough. Gray clouds bowled into the sky, casting a shroud over their fun. The front door opened, and a woman with dirty blonde hair called the children inside.
The first observation Mackenzie made about Carrie Breslow was that she looked nothing like Katy Becker. While she had already known this from the pictures of the dead woman from years ago, Mackenzie had wondered if in person their similarities would magnify. But she couldn’t look more different to Katy—her face was squarer, her forehead bigger.
“That’s Carrie Breslow,” Nick confirmed.
“This suicide victim, she must have already looked like Carrie. Cosmetic procedures can’t change the face entirely. Whoever she was, she looked like her a little bit and then enhanced herself to look more like her. Just like our Jane Doe.”
“The question is why?”
Questions clamored in Mackenzie’s brain. She looked at the house again. The children rushed to Carrie and wrapped their little arms around her legs. She ushered them inside. “Maybe she wanted Carrie’s life. She saw Carrie had stability and accomplishments, and she envied that.”
They climbed out of the car to be met by howling wind, casting small flecks of snow adrift. Carrie saw them approach before she closed the door and stepped outside.
She stuffed her hands inside her coat. “Can I help you?” When they flashed their badges, a frown marred her face.
“We just have some questions for you,” Nick said. “Around sixteen years ago—”
“Oh! God. Not that again,” she groaned. “Of course. Why else would the cops come to me?”
“You remember what happened?” Mackenzie asked.
“How can I forget?” she scoffed half-heartedly. “I was only thirty years old, and the cops showed up to tell my husband that I might have jumped off a bridge.”
Mackenzie’s eyes jerked to Nick. “And what happened?”
“A lot of questioning. I had no idea who that woman was or why she looked so much like me.”
When they fell silent, her face creased in wariness. “Why do you care after all these years? Did you find out who she was?”
“No.” Nick licked his lips. “It happened again.”
Carrie’s eyes went wide like saucers. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah, so if you know anything…”
She rubbed her chest and mulled. “I’m thinking. But—”
The door to her house swung open. A man with a wizened neck and a cowlick marched toward them wearing a friendly smile. “Carrie! When is Sue coming to pick them up? They’re causing a ruckus!” He paused, looking at Mackenzie and Nick. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hello, I’m Owen.”
“Honey, these detectives are from Lakemore PD,” Carrie said.
“Oh, dear. What did she do?” He laughed.
“It’s about that suicide.” She pressed him with a look.
Owen’s mouth parted—understanding crossing his face. “I see. That was awful.”
“We just wanted to know if Mrs. Breslow has any more information,” Mackenzie explained.
“I’m sorry; it was so long ago. I didn’t know anything back then, and I don’t know anything now.”
“Was anyone following you? Any ex-boyfriend threatening you?”
Carrie shrugged. “No. Life was normal.”
“Were any of your belongings missing?”
If Katy’s dress was taken, then maybe something of Carrie’s was missing too. But Katy’s dress was found on Kim, not on Jane Doe. Which is why, when Carrie shook her head, Mackenzie wasn’t very surprised.
“Did you reopen the case?” Owen asked. “I thought it was ruled a suicide.”
“It was. But it’s happened again. Another woman is dead, and she’d had work done to her face to look like someone else. Not Carrie this time.”
“You don’t say!” He gasped and turned to Carrie. “Think that creep is back in town?”
“What creep?” Mackenzie asked, alert. Maybe he knew something.
“I don’t think that was anything, Owen.” Carrie flicked her hand.
“The police questioned this one guy—” Owen said.
“They just interviewed him, but nothing came out of it,” Carrie interrupted. “He was a bit strange. I’d see him around a little too often. He stared a lot, you know. Word spread.”
“That’s Lakemore,” Owen shrugged and slung an arm around Carrie’s shoulders. “Gossip and crime spread faster than the speed of light. And rain,” he added when the first fat drop landed on the tip of his nose. He gestured at them to take cover under the porch. The gray skies dimmed into a darker shade. Thick droplets splattered on the ground. “Strangest winter in all my years here.”
“What was his name?” Nick asked.
“Steven something… Boyle! Steven Boyle,” Owen replied.
“Does he still live around here?”
“Oh, no. I don’t know where he went.” Carrie clicked her tongue. “I heard the rumors ruined his career. That he was fired from his job and socially exiled.”
“The police suspected that he became obsessed with Carrie,” Owen chipped in. “Happens more often than you think, they said.” His eyebrows formed a knot as he pulled his wife closer. “I wish I was around more during the investigation, but I was dividing my time between here and Henderson.”
“Not your fault, Owen. Work is work.” She patted his chest like they had had the same argument several times.
“Why did the police question him?”
“He worked at Lakemore General Hospital,” Owen said. “Carrie had gone to him a bunch of times to get a childhood scar removed. He was a cosmetic surgeon.”
Eighteen
On their way back to work, Mackenzie looked up Steven Boyle on her phone, ignoring Nick’s protests about her motion sickness.
“He studied in Seattle at the University of Washington and also taught there for a few years before moving to Lakemore,” Mackenzie read aloud.
“He didn’t make the news for the suicide?” Nick asked.
“No. Why would he? No one was arrested.” She opened the case file in her lap.
“I don’t remember coming across his name.”
Mackenzie skimmed through the notes of the detective in charge at the time. “Me neither. Because it’s in the footnotes, easy to miss.” She found Steve Boyle’s name scribbled at the bottom. “He was never a suspect, since it was just a suicide. They interviewed him, trying to find out the identity of their Jane Doe, not because they accused him of foul play. But that went nowhere.”
Mackenzie found a picture of him on a website that listed his publications in medical journals. “Wow.”
“What?”
“He has good citations. Did a lot of research. The last article he
published was twenty years ago though.”
“What kind of research?”
Mackenzie skimmed over the list of articles and noticed two words popping up frequently. “‘Hyaluronic acid’ is a popular topic with him.” She clicked on one article. “It’s some molecule that’s good for the skin. Some articles on facial reconstruction methods, injections, and reviews on topics like psychology behind body perfection and ugliness.”
“We should talk to him.”
By the time they reached the station, the rain had died just as suddenly as it had started. The asphalt was glistening. As she climbed out of the car, she noticed the perimeter of the lot had been barricaded. No doubt after the unfortunate incident of the squad car being set on fire. She wondered if they’d caught who was responsible for that. She spotted Becky standing behind a hedge. Mackenzie grabbed the plastic bags from the glove box and jogged toward her.
“I’ll catch up with you,” she shot at Nick. He looked at the plastic bag and nodded, before walking away.
Becky stood with her back pressed against a concrete wall, sucking on a cigarette.
“You started smoking too?” Mackenzie asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Save the judgment, Mack. Not in the mood.”
“Jeez. Sorry.” She raised her hands.
“What’s that in your hand?”
“I needed a favor, but not if you’re in an asshole mood.”
A throaty laugh ripped out of her and soon became a cough. She bent down, clutching her chest.
Mackenzie patted her back. “I told you.” She took the cigarette from her hand and crushed it under her boot. “You’ve been working long hours in the lab.”
“You’re a workaholic too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not usual for you. Did your meeting with Sully tank or something?”
Becky crossed her arms. “I’m thinking of leaving Garrett.”
As soon as Becky said the words, a brief moment of satisfaction surged through Mackenzie. She hated herself for it, but she found solace in the fact that her marriage wasn’t the only one that was on thin ice. “How did you know that you should leave him?”
Becky narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you’re asking me? Not ‘why?’ or ‘what happened?’, but how I knew?”
“Sorry.” Mackenzie flushed. “Bad wording. I meant why.”
“Nothing happened,” she sighed. “We’ve just been fighting a lot. And then he accused me of working too much when he has twelve-hour shifts at the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Does Sterling ever complain that you work too much?”
He hadn’t. Not once. He teased her about it from time to time, but they never criticized or discouraged each other’s careers. She shook her head gingerly.
“He’s a good husband. What favor did you want?”
“This is off the books. Would you do it?”
Becky smirked. “Ballsy. Sure.”
“Can you run a paternity test on these?” She handed her the bag. “The glass and fork have the same DNA and that Q-tip has the other one.”
“Paternity test? What’s going on?”
“I can’t say yet. Will you do it?” When Becky continued staring at her, she added, “It’s for a friend. He has suspicions about his kid.”
“Do you want me to run it through any database?”
“No. Just a paternity test is enough. When could you have the results by?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Working all night again?”
“Just proving him right.”
Lakemore’s weather was more familiar now.
Wet and not snowy.
It was a welcome reprieve in between the two storms. The late afternoon was glum, with gloomy skies and rapid rain. As the patches of snow shrunk, the town bore more greenery.
Mackenzie pulled up in front of a rickety one-story house with a tin roof. The front yard had drying ropes with clothes getting drenched. An overweight woman tottered out of the house carrying a bucket. She began removing the clothes.
Mackenzie cast her eyes over the yard as she approached. The garden was modest. Neatly cut grass, no trees, but clusters of cosmos grew around the perimeter.
The woman was new to gardening.
“Maria?” Mackenzie offered her the cover of her umbrella. “I’m Detective Price. From Lakemore PD. I called ahead.”
Maria scowled. “Yeah… yeah. Just let me finish this.”
The way her hands moved told Mackenzie that she was a robust worker. Even with a round belly and rounder hips, she was muscled and strong. She also clearly didn’t like being disturbed. Embracing the bucket in her arms, she gestured for Mackenzie to follow her to the rusty walls and sharp edges of the porch.
Maria patted her neck dry with a towel. “Mrs. Becker called me and told me what happened.”
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t leave your pots of cosmos outside during the rain. They don’t like excess water.”
“I see.” Maria frowned, with a gleam of approval in her eyes. “Thanks for the tip. I don’t know how to help you.”
“Have you noticed anything unusual with the Beckers?”
“Unusual how?”
“Anything out of the ordinary.”
“I don’t want to lose my job. Mrs. Becker pays me generously.”
“This conversation is confidential, Maria.” Mackenzie shivered against the cold breeze. “You won’t get in any trouble.”
“I don’t know who to trust in this town anymore.” Her face was hard as stone.
“What do you mean?”
A muscle in her jaw ticked. “My husband was laid off.” When Mackenzie didn’t speak, she continued, “We used to have good jobs and good healthcare plans. Now, my husband and most of his friends are out of work. Do you see that house over there? With the pink fence?”
Mackenzie followed her gaze to another downtrodden house.
“Our friend, Enzo, lives there. He’s a single father. He burned his hand by accident when baking his little girl a birthday cake. Days later, it got infected. He went to the emergency room. One tube of an antibiotic cream and a five-minute consultation with the nurse is going to cost him a thousand dollars. He doesn’t have insurance because he lost his job too—through no fault of his. He worked for Samuel Perez. You think whoever takes over Perez’s companies is going to stick around? In this town? That means even fewer jobs to go around.”
Her stomach clenched at Maria’s cutting words. Perez had been the local boy made good, a hugely successful businessman, until Mackenzie had exposed his past during the Lakemore Sharks case. “I’m sorry. But we have to do the right thing.”
“You didn’t have to take down the entire town in the process.”
“Lakemore will recover,” she said earnestly. “I’m sorry you’re suffering, but the government is working on several welfare programs and with time—”
“The government does nothing,” she shot back. “The rich walk away with probation and community service for the same crimes that the poor end up spending decades in prison for.”
Her eyes glided over Mackenzie’s appearance. And Mackenzie knew what she saw. A woman with expensive-looking clothes, conditioned hair, painted lips, and mascaraed lashes. A woman who didn’t belong in this debilitated neighborhood, even though she’d grown up in a house only three streets away.
Maria’s scorching gaze could burn a hole through her. “Optimism and morality are luxuries the poor can’t afford too easily. We just want to feed and educate our children. But I don’t expect you to understand.”
Maria turned to go inside. Mackenzie knew she had lost her. She tried a different approach to reel her back in. “Katy’s life is in danger.”
“What?”
She nodded. Maria cared about her employer. It was evident from her parted lips and the knot between her eyebrows. “Someone’s after her. So if you know anything. If you care about her…”
&n
bsp; She did. Mackenzie could see it. But she didn’t push. Maria’s shoulders fell. “Wednesday last week, I went there at three in the afternoon. Mrs. Becker opened the door, but she looked very upset. She was almost shaking.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She told me to go home and that she didn’t need me to clean that day.”
“Has she ever done that before?”
“No. Never. She looked frightened. She kept looking over her shoulder and was blocking the view. I thought there was someone else inside with her. She didn’t want me to see who it was. I asked her if she was okay. She was acting so agitated, but she put cash in my hands and shooed me away. Is she really in danger?”
Mackenzie didn’t know. While she strongly suspected that Katy was, there was no proof. Still, she found herself nodding. “How’s Cole? Any fights between them?”
“A few times.”
“Anything catch your attention?”
She grunted. “I’m a cleaner. People are wary around me. In case I steal or gossip.”
“Thank you, Maria. Please let me know if you think of anything else.” She handed over her contact information.
Maria nodded stiffly and went back inside the house. Back in the car, Mackenzie glanced at the house with the pink fence. The collateral damage from bringing justice.
Everything in this town came at a price.
Nineteen
November 25
The Detectives Unit handled all the missing persons cases in Lakemore, so gaining access to first incident reports of any woman reported missing was straightforward. Mackenzie had gone back six months. Of course, maybe Jane Doe Two wasn’t reported missing. Maybe she was never missing. There were no signs that the victims were held captive. No ligature marks.
Did Jane Doe Two want to look like Katy? Or had this been forced upon her?
But why would she want to look like Katy? Was she trying to impress someone with a perverse obsession? Or maybe she was the one who was obsessed?
Mackenzie picked up Katy’s picture: a candid shot from a fundraiser she had organized. She was smiling at an old lady. Her cheeks had more color. She was dolled-up, wearing a silk green dress and pearl earrings.
Their Frozen Graves: A completely addictive crime thriller and mystery novel Page 10