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

by Choudhary, Ruhi

“Yes, please.” Mackenzie extended her arm to him. Nick paused. Justin raised his eyebrows.

  “Really?” said Nick.

  She ground her jaw. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” He smirked and gave her his mug.

  The comment made her uneasy. She knew she looked rough; her skin was dry and her eyelids felt swollen. She took a hesitant sip and hated it.

  “Anyway, Cole has been talking to Ana a lot,” Mackenzie said. “Their texts didn’t give anything away. We’ll have to call the company to get her information.”

  Justin took the printout of the call logs from her and headed for the door. “On it.”

  “We still haven’t confirmed Cole’s alibi for when Katy was taken, have we?”

  “Nope,” Nick said.

  “Why don’t we just ask Cole who Ana is?” Jenna shrugged.

  Sully came in carrying a laptop.

  “Uh oh,” Mackenzie muttered under her breath. Sully was pouting and glaring at them. He set the laptop on the table and played a video.

  “Lakemore PD was too focused on harassing me and my wife instead of solving the murders of two women. Now, my wife is missing.” Cole was carrying grocery bags and climbing out of his car.

  “Do the police have any leads? Is it true your wife was pregnant?” A journalist followed him.

  He dismissed her. “Ask the cops. That is if they’re done sitting on their asses.”

  Sully closed the laptop sharply, sending papers on the table flying away. “Why is it that every case you two handle ends up making the news?”

  “You can’t blame us for the Perez case,” Nick argued.

  “Fine. But why can’t you stop this physiotherapist trashing us in the media?”

  “Free speech?” Mackenzie gave him a weak smile.

  Sully crossed his arms. “The FBI is investigating possible corruption in Lakemore. The mayor’s office isn’t their only focus. They’re also looking into Captain Murphy and some retired cops.”

  “Murphy has been here for a very long time. How old is he again?” Nick asked.

  “This is a serious matter, Nick,” Sully reprimanded him. “Not that I have ever given a damn about what people think, but these are critical times. Rivera just blasted me.”

  “She doesn’t know how this town works. Lakemore is small. Our cases end up getting coverage,” Mackenzie said.

  “When you get my job, Mack, feel free to tell the brass off.”

  She raised her hands in surrender.

  “Cole’s lawyered up,” Nick said. “He’s denying us access.”

  “Well, that doesn’t make him look good,” Sully huffed. “Where are we on Katy’s status?”

  “The weather has slowed us down a bit. Still no news.”

  “Her phone hasn’t been switched on?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m in the wrong line of work.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me if anything changes.”

  After he left, Nick turned to Mackenzie. “You were checking her social media accounts, right? Anything there?”

  “Not yet.” Her shoulders slumped. “It took me days to get through her Twitter alone. Now I’m going through her Facebook pictures. Hundreds of pictures.”

  “Yeah…” He eyed her coffee. “You’re not drinking more, are you?”

  “I don’t want to throw up, so no.” She pushed it in his direction.

  Justin knocked on the door and stuck his head in. “I got a name. That number belongs to Anastasia Hunter.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Mackenzie was certain of two things. First, that loyalty was dead; and second, that all the clouds were magically attracted to Lakemore. She drummed her fidgety fingers on the steering wheel and blew out a breath. Her head felt heavy. Her sleep had been disjointed these last few days.

  “What are you annoyed at?” Nick asked.

  “Cheating husbands,” she muttered, and bit her tongue.

  To her surprise, Nick snorted. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be honest.”

  She turned her eyes to Cole, sitting in the cafe by the window. Mackenzie and Nick were parked on the other side of the street. Delilah Pine had informed them that Cole was leaving home on Thursday afternoons or evenings. This time, Mackenzie and Nick had been ready to follow him.

  “Anastasia Hunter has a clean record. A Stepford wife, apparently,” Nick said, and then paused. “Mack? Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that you know that your dad is your dad, how’s it going?”

  “I think I’ll order sushi for dinner.”

  “Is that your way of changing the topic?” Nick gorged on a donut. Crumbs fell into his lap and he brushed them off.

  “Please don’t dirty up my car. There are napkins in the glove box.”

  He opened it and took some out. “Who puts napkins in the glove box?”

  “Someone who spends a lot of time with you.” She scowled at the tidbits on the floor.

  “Maybe he’s just drinking coffee alone?”

  “She’ll show up,” Mackenzie asserted, and turned down the heater.

  “The holiday party is coming up,” Nick reminded her. “Are you bringing your dad?”

  She had forgotten about that. “I… I don’t know. Should I? You said he should keep a low profile.”

  “Yeah, I meant officially. Avoid banks and anything that would require him to produce paperwork. Easy enough when he’s like, what? Late sixties? Seventy?”

  She hadn’t told him that her father had found a part-time job at one of Blake Richie’s garages. She was embarrassed that her father had been an opportunist. “Yeah.”

  “Your call.”

  “I guess I could.”

  “Will you bring Sterling?” He took out a cigarette and popped it in his mouth. He looked ahead at the cafe casually.

  “I don’t want to. I’m hoping he’ll be busy so that we can avoid an awkward conversation.”

  A woman with reddish-brown hair walked into the cafe and went to Cole’s table. He stood up and kissed her on the lips.

  “She’s here.”

  They climbed out of the car with their umbrellas. Mackenzie shivered in her leather jacket. A car zipped by, spraying water on Mackenzie’s feet.

  “Shit!” She groaned as the water soaked into her shoes.

  They crossed the street and entered the cafe. Cole and Anastasia were sitting together, looking out at the rain. Cole was in the middle of a sentence when he spotted them. The blood drained from his face.

  “I-I…” He stood up. “D-detectives…”

  “Mr. Becker.” Mackenzie smiled sardonically at Anastasia. “Mrs. Hunter.”

  Anastasia looked at Cole nervously.

  “I’ll call my lawyer right now.” Cole took out his phone from his pocket.

  “I think it’s in your best interests if you don’t make this difficult for us.” Mackenzie couldn’t keep the spite out of her voice. “Otherwise, we’ll have to go to a lot of people with our questions, including Mr. Hunter.”

  Anastasia paled. “How did you…? Oh, Cole. Please…”

  Cole nodded and sat down with a clenched jaw.

  “You’re not looking good, Cole.” Nick took a seat and folded his arms on the table. “Your wife is missing. And you have motive.”

  “He doesn’t!” Anastasia pleaded. “We don’t want to hurt Katy.”

  Mackenzie raised an eyebrow at Cole. With a slump of his shoulders, he gave in. “I never intended to leave Katy. And Anastasia doesn’t want to leave her husband either.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nick said.

  “We…” Anastasia pressed her lips together. “Cole and I like each other. But we also love our spouses.”

  “You love your husband, but you cheat on him?” Mackenzie asked sharply as she also sat down.

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Our priority is our marriages. Anastasia has a son. And Katy’s pregn
ant.” The tip of Cole’s nose turned red. “I shouldn’t have left her alone that morning.”

  “You went to meet Anastasia?” Nick asked.

  Cole squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I did. I go running at that time, but this time Anastasia decided to join me.” When he opened his eyes, they were bloodshot. “I know I’m breaking Katy’s trust, but that doesn’t mean that I want her dead. If I wanted to leave Katy, I would have. I love her. I just… I just have feelings for Anastasia too.”

  “We know you didn’t go to any conference in Seattle that weekend. Where were you?” Mackenzie demanded.

  “We decided to go away for a weekend,” Anastasia answered. “We left Friday morning, but the next morning my son got sick, so we had to leave.”

  “You and Katy have been having problems. Is it because of your affair?” Nick asked.

  “Who did you hear that from? Delilah? That woman is crazy. She exaggerates.”

  Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. “Who says we heard it from Delilah?”

  Anastasia’s pager trilled. “Shoot. I have to go.” She placed a kiss on Cole’s cheek like it was instinct and then blushed, looking down. “Detectives, you can talk to me whenever you want to. But please don’t tell my husband about this.”

  When Nick nodded, she sighed in relief and scurried away toward her car.

  “Who else knows about your affair?” Mackenzie asked.

  “No one. We’re discreet. If you don’t have any more questions, then I should go. My lawyer instructed me not to talk to you at all.”

  “Don’t discuss the case with the media.”

  “If talking to the media keeps Katy’s face out there, then I’ll do it.”

  “You’re walking a thin line. You reveal too much and that’ll hurt Katy. We’ll be in touch,” Nick warned in a hard voice.

  Cole nodded and stood up. “Just find my wife before it’s too late.”

  The pitter-patter of the rain grew louder. Back at the station, Nick leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t get it.”

  A muscle ticked in Mackenzie’s jaw. “If he’s so worried about his wife, then why is he meeting his girlfriend for coffee at a time like this?”

  Nick opened his mouth to reply but seeing Mackenzie’s face, he closed it. She wondered what her expression gave away. “He may be cheating on Katy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wanted to hurt her,” he said gently. “Then we have Kim and Jane Doe in our morgue.”

  “What if he killed Kim, thinking it was Katy? And Jane Doe got in the way?” Mackenzie mused.

  “Jesus. Imagine the shock he would have had when he came home and found Katy alive. So, what, he kills the lookalikes by mistake, realizes it could be an opportunity to pin it on a random serial killer and abducts Katy?” Nick looked unconvinced. “Seems pretty extreme. And what about the person who did that to Jane Doe’s face?”

  “We don’t know that the procedures have anything to do with the murders. And I’m not saying Cole murdered all three of them, necessarily. But he could have abducted Katy. He has motive. I don’t buy all that crap about loving their spouses and not wanting to leave them.”

  “His alibi for the abduction is Anastasia. She could be in on it,” Nick agreed.

  “Let’s keep an eye on them.”

  Later that afternoon, Mackenzie finally got a chance to drive to the crime lab in Seattle to hand over the mysterious pen that had been gifted to Steven Boyle/Brennan anonymously. With Katy missing and the pen quite possibly having nothing to do with the case, the item had taken a backseat. But Mackenzie wanted to be thorough.

  She was on her way to Anthony’s fusty office when she saw him through the window in the lab. Clumps of white hair on a mostly hairless head peering into a microscope. She tapped on the glass.

  Anthony Wallace looked up with a pout, disliking being interrupted.

  “What are you doing here, Mack?” He closed the door behind him and stuffed his latex gloves in the pocket of his lab coat.

  She handed him the plastic bag containing the pen. “Can you find anything on this?”

  “Why wasn’t this collected by the CSI? Related to that woman you’re looking for?”

  “Not exactly. It’s not evidence or from a crime scene. I’m not even sure what you can get from this…”

  “Prints? DNA?”

  “It’s been compromised. Sitting out for at least a year. It looks like someone carved those lines into it. What does that mean?”

  Anthony inspected it with a frown. “Come with me.”

  Mackenzie followed him into his office, baffled. He went behind his desk, pulled out a notepad and started scribbling. She rocked back and forth on her heels, unsure of what he was up to, but his brows were knitted and his lips pursed in concentration. The large bookcase behind his desk seemed to be filled with more books than the last time she was here. She noticed the frame slightly drooping and bending from the weight. It was only a matter of time before it collapsed.

  “You need a new shelf. That thing could fall anytime.”

  “When it does, I’ll find a new one,” he mumbled.

  “What are you doing?”

  He tore the sheet off the notepad and slid it toward Mackenzie. He had drawn a molecular structure on it, complete with the symbols for hydrogen and oxygen.

  “It’s the chemical structure for hyaluronic acid. That’s what was engraved on the pen,” Anthony announced with a smirk.

  Mackenzie compared the markings to Anthony’s drawing. It was a match.

  “It’s a polymer, excellent for your skin,” Anthony went on. “Heavily used in dermatology treatments. Properties include wound healing, tissue hydration, and decreasing wrinkles. It’s also the ingredient used in lip fillers.”

  It was also the same molecule that had featured so heavily in Steven Boyle’s research. Whoever sent the gift must have been familiar with his work, enough to add a personal touch. Mackenzie’s scalp prickled. She had a feeling that if they could track down the sender, they would be able to identify their Jane Does.

  Twenty-Nine

  November 30

  Mackenzie massaged her eyelids, clicking away on the computer. The glare from the screen made the back of her eyes throb. Despite it still being early, she’d lost track of how long she had been sitting in front of it. It was good—necessary—to take breaks. But it was hard to stop once she started.

  Katy Becker had been snatched from her home. Mackenzie couldn’t afford to take a break.

  She had been scouring the internet and Katy’s social media accounts to look for anyone suspicious. Katy put herself out in the world. She photographed herself eating breakfast, striking yoga poses, reading a book, pouting at work, as well as views from evening strolls, the song she was listening to, and her “makeup free” selfies in bed.

  To Mackenzie, it was excessive. But she knew this was a lot of people’s world today. Willingly giving glimpses into their lives. Regardless of the creeps who might be watching.

  She scrolled through the comments on one of Katy’s Instagram posts.

  Damn. I’d like those red lips wrapped around my d**k.

  Disgust unfolded in her gut. It was a sixteen-year-old boy.

  The more she dug, the more comments she found. There were equally revolting remarks but no account that commented on all the posts regularly. They were sporadic. And with over a thousand followers on Instagram alone, this was an uphill battle.

  Mackenzie leaned back on her chair and cracked her neck. Her scalp felt itchy, and she wondered when she’d last washed her hair. She twirled a strand around her finger. Stringy and dull, with forked ends. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she browsed the pictures of events Katy had attended.

  The pictures began to blur into one another. People smiling at the camera—she couldn’t differentiate between what was genuine or forced. Even faces began to blend into each other. She kept her eyes focused on Katy, who was full of zest and sparkle—a formidable contrast to her current self.
>
  Mackenzie’s repetitive tapping on the keyboard stopped.

  A man dressed in a blue T-shirt and baseball cap was standing in the background of a picture of Katy posing with an old woman.

  Mackenzie frowned and went back a few pictures. He was in all of them. His face was mostly hidden due to the cap and downward tilting of his face. Even as Katy moved around the venue—at one point to speak on stage—he hovered close by. His posture was always unassuming, and Mackenzie wondered if his repeated presence was a coincidence, but there was a reason this man had stood out to her. Where everyone mingled with each other dressed up in formal clothes, he alone was in casual clothes. Plus, he was always facing Katy.

  “Who the hell are you?” she muttered, searching for a picture that would show his face. But then something caught her eye. The guests at the event were wearing sticky name tags. She found a picture of him, drinking from a cup and looking over his shoulder at Katy. The nametag was visible. She downloaded the picture and zoomed in.

  Robbie Elfman.

  Mackenzie checked the Washington State Identification System database for criminal history and got a hit. He was a forty-year-old man convicted of unwanted pursuit of another person and harassment—twice in the last six years. His arrest offenses included several misdemeanors. There were no known sex offender registrations. He had been in and out of prison a couple of times. He had been out almost a year now after serving nine months in county jail.

  She pulled up his photograph from DMV records. A cherub-like face marred by a sneer. He had curly brown hair, black beady eyes and unruly facial hair that looked like it would flap in the wind.

  She searched him on social media. He was on Instagram, without a profile picture, and followed only one person: Katy Becker.

  Mackenzie’s brain crackled with energy. This was a solid lead—a man with a criminal past of stalking who seemed to be obsessed with Katy. Could he have something to do with the murders? Did he take Katy?

  Fatigue slammed into her, followed by a squeaky howl released by her stomach. The corner of Troy’s mouth lifted as he pretended to be engrossed in the report he was reading.