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

by Choudhary, Ruhi

  Mackenzie went over the reports. There were four women reported missing in the last six months who matched Jane Doe Two’s description. But none of these women had any tattoos. Jane Doe Two could have gotten the tattoos after she disappeared. However, going over the descriptions of the missing women, it was clear that none of them was the one she was looking for.

  Mackenzie growled. Too many unknowns.

  “You sound like a demon when you growl,” Troy quipped from her side.

  She chucked an eraser at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Going over witness statements. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she sulked. “Three women with the same face. Unexplained medical procedures. A sixteen-year-old suicide. Run-of-the-mill stuff.”

  “Is that why you forgot to clip your nails?”

  She frowned and looked at her nails; they were long and uneven. Her stomach flipped. She always took care of her nails. She even oiled them. The first signs of coming apart were always small and subtle. What else wasn’t she paying attention to?

  “Relax, Mack. I’m pulling your leg. Normal people sometimes let their nails grow out.”

  “Yeah.” She felt her face redden and went back to reading the reports.

  Two out of the four missing women were in abusive relationships—according to statements from neighbors and friends and families—and showed signs of abuse. Healing bruises on their bodies. One even had a sling on. Mackenzie crossed them out. Jane Doe Two displayed no signs of torture or abuse of any sort.

  Then there was one woman who was a natural redhead. Unlike Jane Doe Two, a natural blonde, who dyed her hair black.

  The last woman was a blonde who disappeared three months ago. She lived in Lakemore but was last seen driving to Olympia, so the police there had taken over. She was generally flighty, didn’t use drugs, according to her husband, and had left two children behind.

  Mackenzie stared at the picture. Could she be their second Jane Doe? Jane Doe Two had stopped using drugs at least three months ago and had damaged veins. Surely, this missing woman’s husband would know what her legs looked like? Maybe he didn’t tell the police because he didn’t want her to get into trouble. Or maybe he himself was a heroin user too and didn’t want to lose his kids to social services.

  But then she read that the missing woman had a chipped tooth. This wasn’t their Jane Doe.

  “Troy, you have a tattoo, right?”

  Troy flashed her a charming smile and rolled up his sleeve. A spider web with flowers covered his bicep. “I would have made it bigger. But, oh, the stigma.”

  She showed him the pictures of Jane Doe’s tattoos. “Do these mean anything to you? In your tattoo world?”

  “Tattoo world?” He grinned. “No. Haven’t seen anything like it. Is this some kind of code?”

  “Apparently. How many tattoo parlors are there in the city?”

  He bobbed his head and tallied them. “Six legal ones, I think. There’ll always be some guys inking people from their basements without a license.”

  Nick walked into the office with pink cheeks.

  “Did you let your daughter put makeup on you again?” Troy whistled.

  Nick playfully slapped the back of Troy’s head with a file. “It’s cold, you jackass. If I liked harsh winters, I would have lived on the east coast. What the hell’s going on this year?”

  “Bet Mad Mack feels right at home. Was New York worse than this?”

  “Yes. Your nuts would have fallen off,” she deadpanned.

  Nick laughed, and Troy shook his head, amused. “Speaking of nuts, Finn and I have a suspect to tail. Catch you guys later.”

  “Did you get anything useful from Cole’s colleagues?” Mackenzie asked Nick when they were left alone.

  “His partners are a couple. Neither of them has seen Cole with anyone else. There’s also an assistant and receptionist. They all said that Cole has been acting normally.”

  “Nothing stuck out?” She was disappointed.

  “Well…” Nick trailed off before finding his voice. “Cole works strictly from nine to four on weekdays. His assistant showed me his calendar. He goes to the gym on the weekend, in the mornings. At most he’ll do phone consultations with clients out of hours.”

  She remembered Delilah’s statement. “So where has he been going in the evenings when Katy works late?”

  “Not to work. What did Maria say?”

  Mackenzie repeated Maria’s story about Katy’s suspicious behavior on Wednesday. “It could be unrelated to the murder?”

  Nick’s face was pensive. “Or the Beckers are lying to us.”

  Her computer chimed with a notification. It was an email from Becky. Working Sundays too, Becky? Her breath lodged in her throat, wondering if it was the results of the paternity test. But it was the familial DNA test she’d requested to compare Jane Doe Two and Kim’s DNA against the suicide victim’s DNA already on file.

  “It’s not a match.” Mackenzie sighed.

  “The victims aren’t related?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why them?” Nick wondered aloud. Mackenzie’s eyes drifted to Katy and Carrie’s pictures as the same question blared in her mind like a siren.

  Justin walked into the office, tipping his head. “Ma’am. Sir.”

  “Yes, Justin?” Mackenzie sighed, exasperated at his unnecessary salutes. “Got anything?”

  “I tracked down that doctor, Steven Boyle. He changed his name to Steven Brennan after the suicide, which is why we couldn’t find him through the DMV records. He’s in a nursing home in Olympia. We could drive there now.”

  “I have Luna for a couple of hours. Keep me updated?” Nick said.

  Mackenzie picked up her keys, ready to brave the worsening weather. “Will do.”

  Twenty

  The nursing home in Olympia wasn’t too far from Nelson Heights, where Katy Becker’s parents lived.

  Mackenzie and Justin approached a cream-colored reception desk, behind which stood a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. When they showed their credentials, his lips parted. “Oh, um. Yes. What is this regarding?”

  Justin looked at Mackenzie expectantly, but she gave him an encouraging nod and let him take the lead. She was almost certain she saw him smile briefly under his bushy mustache. “We need to speak with Steven Brennan.”

  A woman in blue medical scrubs overheard him. “Steven has dementia. I’m Shanice. One of the nurses here.”

  “I understand, but it’s important.” Justin adjusted his belt buckle.

  “Sure. Come along.”

  They followed her into a wide hallway with French windows overlooking a plush green courtyard on one side. The other wall was lined with posters giving information on the importance of elderly mental health and the various activities the home organized for its residents.

  “Thanks for that,” Justin muttered gruffly.

  “You’re going to be leading the big cases very soon.”

  Shanice led them into an airy room bathed in yellow light with bookshelves set into the walls. Two residents sat on couches, playing chess. There was one man in a wheelchair, facing the window. His shoulders were hunched, his bald head partially covered by strings of white hair. His shriveled cheeks hung low, as if trying to drag his eyes down too.

  “Steven?” Shanice crouched next to him and placed her hand on his. “These are detectives from Lakemore PD. They want to talk to you. Is that okay?”

  He made a gurgling sound, which apparently translated to approval.

  “Dr. Brennan?” Justin asked. But Steven didn’t respond. Shanice shrugged helplessly. “Dr. Boyle?”

  Steven’s hands twitched like he had been electrocuted. He swiveled his head to look at Justin worriedly. “Did you not get my check? Should I write you another one?”

  Justin looked at Mackenzie. “I did.”

  Steven turned to Mackenzie with a scowl. “Oh. It’s you again, Sofia. Always crying. Or sleeping.”

  It was
clear that Steven wasn’t going to be of much help. When Mackenzie realized her presence was agitating him, she moved out of his vision and closer to Shanice. “Is he always like this?”

  “Yes. He’s one of our worst patients.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Seventy-one. But he looks a lot older. His dementia started early and progressed rapidly.”

  Justin showed him a picture of Carrie Breslow. Mackenzie paid closer attention. When a rambling Steven saw the screen, a dark look crossed his face. “Do you recognize her, sir?”

  “Carrie.”

  He remembered her. Her face had the power to wrench him out of his state. Mackenzie wasn’t surprised; it had been a significant event in his life. Enough for him to leave town and change his name.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Justin prodded.

  Steven ran his fingers over the face in the photo. But it didn’t seem like a romantic gesture. More like adulation. “Role model. Good woman. Ideal.”

  “Do you remember that suicide?”

  He sucked air through his teeth. “Bad day. There were floods, you know. So many people died. All I wanted was to live in peace. But the flood killed them all.”

  Justin shook his head at Mackenzie. This was a lost cause. Steven went back to mumbling to himself. Chasing down leads related to a sixteen-year-old suicide had grim prospects already.

  “I told you he wouldn’t be able to help,” Shanice whispered.

  “Does he have any family?” Justin inquired.

  “No. He’s what we call an elderly orphan.”

  “Are there any moments he’s lucid?” Justin pressed. “Has he ever said anything then? Does he talk about a particular person, maybe?”

  “Just his wife, Sofia. She died many years ago. He talks about how she was weak, addicted to drugs, and a hermit, and all he wanted was for her to be perfect. It’s a little odd.”

  “Has anyone ever visited him?”

  “Never…” Shanice’s eyes narrowed like she was trying to remember something. “But I think around a year ago, someone sent him a gift.”

  “A gift?” Mackenzie repeated.

  “Yes. It was just dropped off at the door with ‘For Steven B’ scribbled on the wrapper. There was no stamp or sender’s information on it.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “It’s in his room. I’ll be right back.” Shanice gestured for them to wait, before slipping away.

  “Strange way to drop off a gift,” Mackenzie said to Justin. “Just leaving it at the door without any information.”

  Shanice returned, holding a thick pen. “This is it. Sorry, we threw away the wrapping paper.”

  Mackenzie took the pen from her. It looked expensive—painted in gleaming red and silver. There were two symbols on it. One consisted of a golden snake winding around a staff. On the other side lines had been engraved into the pen—artfully, if slightly messy.

  “Looks like fine craftsmanship.” Mackenzie twirled it in her fingers.

  Justin nodded. “Someone went to a lot of trouble, but then didn’t bother to visit?”

  “Happens more than you’d think,” Shanice said sadly. “People feel guilty for not showing up, so they send gifts.”

  A gift that Steven was unlikely to be able to use, in his state. Mackenzie regarded the frail, bony man staring vacantly out of the window, the answers they needed locked away deep in his brain.

  Twenty-One

  Back at the station, Mackenzie shivered, climbing out of the car. The brewing cold was seeping into her bones. The weather seemed to have taken a complete turn from Olympia to Lakemore, even though they shared a border. While Olympia had been cool and rainy, Lakemore was dry and chilly. This winter it felt like Lakemore was in a bubble.

  “Ma’am?” Justin said gruffly at her side, looking at his phone. “The psychiatric center and social services will send over Kim’s files. I was able to track the detective in Oklahoma PD who was in charge of finding Kim.”

  “What did they say?”

  “He said that it’s considered a cold case. They don’t have any active lines of inquiry and all the leads have dried up. They… they assumed that she was probably dead somewhere, he says, being so mentally unstable.”

  “I see.” She suppressed a sigh. Their line of work had hardened them. It was so common to see the ugliness of human nature that it was nearly impossible not to become a little crass. “Can you do one more thing?” She forwarded him pictures of the tattoos.

  “These were found on Jane Doe Two.” Justin glared at the picture, like his intensity would cause the tattoos to reveal their mystery. “These numbers and letters don’t make sense to me. But can you check with the tattoo parlors in the city? Maybe we’ll get a hit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When they got inside, Mackenzie heard an angry female voice.

  “Absolutely not! I call every day and no one’s taking me seriously!”

  “Please calm down, ma’am.” A uniformed cop was trying to placate her.

  The woman was much older than Mackenzie, with dirty blonde hair that looked unkempt and rough. Her face was aged, lines running down her puffy cheeks and crinkly neck. However, she dressed young. A ratty T-shirt, hot-pink yoga pants and cheap jewelry around her neck and fingers. She glared at the officer with her raccoon-like eyes. “They’re right about the cops in this town. It’s been a week since I’ve heard from you!”

  The officer tried to maintain his cool, despite growing uncomfortable from the attention the woman was attracting. Everyone at the station watched them. “The detective will be right with you, ma’am.”

  “May I help you?” Mackenzie asked.

  The woman’s eyes landed on Mackenzie but before she could reply, Finn darted right past her. “Michelle, I’m here to help you. Come upstairs with me.”

  “You’ve been doing nothing. Where is my daughter? Why are you here and not out there looking for her?”

  Since Finn had her handled, Mackenzie walked past them, flashing him a sympathetic look. He guided the woman away, pressing his lips in a hard line. She realized how she and her colleagues had hardened too. It was the only way to survive. She’d learned from Sully. Too much empathy made a detective unfit for the job.

  In her cubicle, she stared out the window. It wasn’t too bad yet, but tonight they were expecting a confetti of snow.

  What was Robert doing?

  The dinner on Friday night with Sterling had been awkward. After Sterling left, Robert had retreated to his room and hit the sack early. He said he hadn’t slept on a comfortable bed in a long time. It left Mackenzie wondering what his endgame was. Was he biding his time and earning her trust before doing something drastic? But what could he possibly want from her?

  She took out the pen that was gifted to Steven at the nursing home and placed it on her desk.

  The golden symbol of the snake and rod was clearly an original part of the pen. It was the Rod of Asclepius—adopted as the symbol of medicine and healing.

  But the strange lines on the other side looked like someone had carved them into the pen with a blade. They were rough and jagged. They didn’t particularly look like anything. There were two squares interconnected by two lines with little lines extending out of the points of the squares, like branches.

  She looked up the pen online, entering its basic description, and found several stores that sold it. It was expensive, worth a hundred dollars. Since it was easily available, it would be impossible to track who purchased it.

  Her phone rang. Nick.

  “How’s Luna?”

  Nick snorted. “Too full of ice cream.” Luna shrieked her protest in the background. “What happened with Boyle?”

  She updated him on their visit. “Interesting. Who sent the pen to him?”

  “No clue.” She picked it up. “It’s readily available online. It would be damn near impossible to track down the sender.”

  “Too bad. Could be nothing. Let’s wait on the K
im files. Her life has been a question mark—she could have been involved in something. Maybe that’s where the answer lies.”

  Twenty-Two

  Mackenzie had never seen Sully act this civilized in a bar. Not that Sully was a disruptive and unruly drunk, just that her sergeant was a sloppy drinker. He’d sit quietly in a corner, slurring, and grinning cheek to cheek even if no one had said anything remotely funny. His bushy mustache would often drip with beer.

  Now, he looked more dignified and responsive. Mackenzie realized that it was because he had stopped after his first glass of beer. Their new lieutenant sitting next to him seemed to be the reason.

  The bar was relatively empty, even for a Sunday. There was a group of construction workers by the pool table, and couples sat at tables scattered throughout. But the noise levels didn’t match the number of people. The construction guys were contemplative and spoke in whispers. The television played an NBA game that no one was really watching. Eyes would mindlessly drift to the screen and stayed glued. But there was no spark in them. No interest. They would just as easily look away.

  “Who was that woman at the station today?” Mackenzie asked Finn. “Looked pretty intense.”

  He shook his head. “Her thirty-year-old daughter left a letter saying that she’s going away. But she doesn’t believe it.”

  “Oh.” Unfortunately, at least half of the missing persons in Lakemore were runaways; it was a town to escape. And understandably, families had a tough time buying it. “What did she look like?”

  “According to the picture, she has short black hair, around one-seventy centimeters…”

  “Okay.” Not their Jane Doe, then.

  “I told forensics to do a handwriting analysis on the letter for the mom’s peace of mind, but my hands are tied. There are only so many resources I can waste, given the evidence.”

  “I get it. Hopefully, it will be a match, and she’ll come around.”

  Finn smiled gratefully then changed the subject, jutting his thumb at his partner. “Mack, do you know that Troy doesn’t know how to parallel park?”