Would I have been better off without Melody?
Mackenzie looked at the bottle of antidepressants and turned it over in her hands. Did Abby run away? Did she snap? Was Erica’s anniversary too much for her?
Was Abby the kind of person to snap? The Abby that Mackenzie knew from the quick inspection of her bedroom was a control freak; obsessive and ambitious. But it was always the ones who held it together the hardest that could break apart the quickest. All someone had to do was find the weak spot. Like Mackenzie’s husband had.
Her phone rang.
“Babe, where are you?” Sterling’s deep voice was concerned.
“Working late.” Her tone was curt.
“Oh, I’d made you dinner. Everything fine at work?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I mean, no. Another girl went missing yesterday. Her mother didn’t realize until this morning.”
He clicked his tongue. “Sounds rough. Think a serial killer is out there? That Perez girl was never found.”
“Doubt it.” She picked up Abby’s picture and examined it. “The victims are too closely related—they were friends. No physical similarities either. But too early to rule anything out. The news channels will feature her first thing in the morning.”
“Where did she go missing from?”
“Never came back from school.”
“Did you find any security footage?”
Mackenzie looked at the map she had laid out in front of her. She had circled Abby’s high school and her home. She had scribbled all over with a red marker—marking paths Abby could have taken home, and any dangerous streets or areas in the vicinity. She had also identified potential places that would have CCTV.
There was a bank and a gas station on the way.
“Waiting for the judge to sign the warrant.”
He laughed. “You got everything covered, didn’t you?”
“I haven’t found her, so no.”
“Honey, do you want me to bring you dinner? We can eat there.”
She flinched. Every considerate suggestion from her husband felt like a slap to her face.
They always had work. Their shared passion for justice and yearning for solving puzzles. They were constructive together. They fitted well. So what went wrong?
Was it my fault?
“I actually have to go, Sterling.” She swallowed hard. “I have to do something. Why don’t you leave it in the fridge? I’ll heat it up later. Thank you.”
“Sure, babe. Love you.”
“Me too.” She bit her lip and hung up.
She pictured a faceless woman laughing and mocking her. Tears threatened to spill. She felt her cheeks grow warm and heavy. The hand holding her phone trembled.
She looked around. She was alone.
No one would know that Mad Mack had cried alone at her desk.
But before she surrendered, an idea popped into her mind. Quickly, she grabbed her jacket and Glock 17 from the drawer.
The sun had set. Stars like snowflakes dotted the sky. The patrol officers and volunteers would start searching again tomorrow, but a quick ride around the city wouldn’t hurt anyone. Mackenzie decided to drive up and down the route from Abby’s school to her house. Maybe she would get lucky and find something, if not her.
Lakemore wasn’t a dead city yet. People were leaving restaurants and grocery stores. Some were walking their dogs. She scanned every face as she drove through narrow alleys and parking lots.
There was one dangerous street in between Abby’s school and house. Cops had busted dealers selling there before. She parked and decided to walk around. It was only nine in the evening. Not too late, but the bad parts of Lakemore were always risky.
The air was moist despite the clear start to the day. The blowing wind felt wintry. She walked the street carefully, her holster clipped to the waistband of her pants. The street was little more than an alley, wedged between two major thoroughfares, backed onto by bars and fast-food restaurants. Mackenzie plugged her nose against the overflowing dumpsters lined up along the graffiti-covered walls, the pungent smell making her nostrils burn. The ground was littered with plastic bags and packets, and most of the lampposts were broken. Only two flickered erratically.
The alley looked empty, but she saw a shadow huddled in a corner. Her heart sped up. She inched closer, her hand hovering over her gun. The streetlight revealed an old homeless man. He was sleeping. Mackenzie sighed and moved forward.
She didn’t even know what she was doing. She just didn’t want to rest. She didn’t want to stop. It was possible that for some reason Abby took this route home. Or maybe someone brought her here. There were many reasons for illegal things to happen here; there were plenty of storage rooms in the back of the buildings either side; the area had poor surveillance; the lighting was weak; foot traffic was nonexistent.
Weren’t most of the women found in places like this anyway? A few miles away from their homes in a sketchy area that the police neglected to inspect thoroughly?
She strained her ears to hear something. But there was only the faint sound of traffic, the low hum of extractor fans, and the occasional buzz of music from the units either side. She squinted her eyes, trying to see something that wasn’t there.
The place was dead.
A dog barked in the distance. A car honked. A group of people chattered as they walked past the end of the alley. There was no activity here tonight.
Mackenzie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She gave up on her detour and headed back to the car. “Detective Price.”
“Mack, we got another problem,” Sully said. “Come to the woods behind Hidden Lake.”
She froze.
She was back to that night. She could smell pine and cedar. She felt the dough-like mud in between her toes. Her ears tickled with Melody’s shallow breaths as she dug her father’s grave.
“Mack? You there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “W-what happened?”
“We found a body.”
Seven
Mackenzie drove on autopilot. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the GPS giving her directions. Not that she needed GPS.
We found a body.
The words left her dizzy. Whose body was it? Mackenzie knew there was one body buried in those woods. Had they found her father’s bones after two decades?
Or was it Erica? Or Abby? Or someone else?
Sully had disconnected the call before Mackenzie could grill him any further. Not that she had found her voice in time.
Adrenaline surged through her. Her brain was frantic, as though a cluster bomb had gone off. The memory chewed at her blackened heart. Guilt hadn’t snuck up on her out of the blue one day. It had been a constant voice inside that had grown louder over the years.
You have to help me bury him.
She punched the gas pedal, teasing the speed limit. Clutching the wheel till her knuckles whitened, her mind raced.
What if it was her father? There would be an investigation. Robert Price was never found. His case was closed due to lack of evidence or promising leads over ten years ago. He wasn’t alive in anyone’s memory. He was the town drunk who mostly stayed home and beat his wife.
Dental records would confirm his identity. Mackenzie would be questioned. She would have to lie to protect herself. Would they understand if she told the truth?
It was an accident. She was a minor. She was coerced. All she did was listen to her mother.
She reached the edge of the woods and climbed out of the car. A swarm of squad cars was parked haphazardly. The cool air made her chest rattle. She zipped up her leather jacket and shoved her hands inside her pockets.
Years of police work had instilled in her the ability to detach. She had seen dead women and children. But as she entered the woods, her stomach flipped. It was hard to walk or even stand straight. Dread had slithered up her spine with its icy fingers. Despite being bundled up, she was cold.
The crime scene was a few meters ahead
. She didn’t know if that was the spot they had buried him. All she remembered was that it was 317 steps away from her old house. But her entry point into the woods was different this time.
Nature hadn’t changed much. The trees were perhaps taller, the weeds longer. Mackenzie hadn’t returned to the woods since that night. They still echoed her guilt. The branches above looked like a skeleton poking the starry sky.
Lights were installed around an area between the trees. Yellow and black crime scene tape was strung up, defining the perimeter. Wooden stakes were driven into the ground, and the soil was disturbed in the middle.
Mackenzie saw Sully and Nick brooding at the scene. Sully bit his nails while Nick paced around like a caged animal. A cop was interviewing a man in a tracksuit and running shoes as he struggled to control his Great Dane, who wagged its tail and barked at the crime scene. Angela Weiss, a forensic anthropologist with the King county Medical Examiner’s office, Becky and a team of lab techs were there too, dressed in forensic suits and carrying dig bags into the area.
Mackenzie inched closer to the scene. Her palms were damp as she watched Angela brush away the dirt. If Angela was here, they had probably found bones.
“Mack!” Sully called her over.
She followed without tearing her eyes away from the burial site.
“You okay? You look pale,” Sully said.
“Y-yes. What happened?”
“That guy over there was walking his dog,” Sully gestured to the man with the Great Dane, who was now being handed a towel and water. “His dog found something.”
Mackenzie’s heart sank. “Something?”
“Yeah. Well, it was a shallow grave.” He frowned. “Dog started digging and pawed off a bone, I think.”
“You think?”
Sully adjusted his belt buckle. “Relax, Mack. Let the techs do their job. I’m going to talk to Tony about expanding the perimeter.”
Mackenzie gritted her teeth and watched them work. Angela sealed an evidence bag that contained soil. From Mackenzie’s experience, it was probably bone fragments. A tech sifted through the dirt and scooped some into a large bucket. Another tech kneeled beside them, taking photographs.
“Do we know anything?” Mackenzie demanded, running out of patience.
“Why did Sully call you?” Nick asked.
It was the first time in over two months that he had spoken to her directly. All their interactions were limited to indirect addresses during briefing or sending each other formal emails.
“I’m on the Abigail Correia case.” Her chest tightened.
What if they found Robert? Where was the white sheet they had buried him in? She leaned forward to see if there was any cloth, but the moving techs blocked her view. For almost thirty minutes, Mackenzie watched evidence being bagged and cataloged; plastic bags labeled with numbers and letters being passed down and placed in a larger container. She watched Becky’s face pinch in concentration. Her lips moved as she discussed her findings with others. It felt like time had slowed. Mackenzie was lost in her thoughts, and eventually colors began to merge and people’s outlines became vague.
Finally, Becky stood up and removed her gloves and goggles. She ducked under the crime scene tape.
“What––?” Nick asked.
Becky raised her hand. “We have to take the remains to the lab to draw any conclusions.”
“Can you tell me anything?” He pressed. “Sex? Age? Time of death?”
Mackenzie held her breath. Sweat coated the bottom of her feet and the sides of her waist.
“From the subpubic angle and the broader sciatic notch, the victim appears to be female.”
Breath spiraled out of Mackenzie’s lungs. It wasn’t her father. She stepped back, almost losing her balance. Her chest pinched—a quick rush of relief followed by dread. The body could belong to Erica or Abby or perhaps someone else. It cut her deep realizing that she felt any relief at all. She didn’t want to get into trouble, even though she knew she deserved to.
“Angela can’t tell the age or cause of death right now. But there is a lot of tissue on those bones,” Becky said. “She’s been dead for a few months at least.”
It wasn’t Abby Correia either, not if there was that level of decomp. The knots pulsing through Mackenzie unwound. But she saw Nick’s face pale. The body could belong to Erica Perez.
“Becky… could it be Erica?”
“Nick, you know I can’t say anything—”
“I know!” Nick ran his hand through his hair. “But please. Just. Give me break here. What does Angela think?”
Becky pressed her lips in a thin line and gave him a curt nod.
“Shit!” Nick kicked a rock across the ground.
“Come in tomorrow. I’ll have more for you.” She gave him a pressing look and then nodded at Mackenzie. “That’s definitely not your kid. You can go home.”
Forensics started packing up the scene. The remains were sealed in boxes and carried to the van. The deputies collected the wooden sticks but left the crime tape up. Everyone began to leave.
Except for Nick. He sat on a boulder, facing away from Mackenzie. His shoulders were stiff, and he fiddled mindlessly with his keys, his knee bouncing like a ball. He had spent the last four months, since Bruce Stephens retired, searching for Erica Perez. Even though Erica’s identity wasn’t confirmed, Angela Weiss was right most of the time. Mackenzie had seen Angela accurately predict the age and gender from remains within a few minutes. One time it took her ten minutes to identify the victim as a swimmer who had broken his nose when he was an adolescent.
Mackenzie watched Nick’s back. She curled her fingers in a tight fist. She should leave, but she didn’t want to. Her feet were firmly rooted to the ground. They urged her to move forward.
Then her phone vibrated. It was Sterling, checking in on her. It was the reminder she needed to walk away from the man she had once called her best friend.
Eight
September 13
The scalding hot water was a soothing balm to Mackenzie’s skin. Steam rose around her and encased her in a bubble. Finally, her nerves had settled down. It was easier to breathe in this suffocating steam than it was the crisp September air.
But now fear had planted itself firmly in her mind. Had it been the wrong decision to come back to Lakemore? Should she have stayed in New York? Was Melody right all those years ago? She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw her mother’s face hovering inches away.
“Sweetheart! What are you doing?” Melody gasped and bent down.
Twelve-year-old Mackenzie sat under the shower curled up like a ball. Her nightshirt and shorts were drenched. She felt the heavy weight of her wet clothes pulling her down—like she was carrying tires. Her red hair stuck to the sides of her face. Water dripped down the tip of her nose. She rocked back and forth in a trance.
“Mackenzie, look at me!” Melody clasped her face. She registered her mother’s wide eyes and wrinkled forehead.
“We did a bad thing, Mom,” she whispered. “We did a bad thing. I’m so sorry.”
“No! No! No!” Melody clutched her shoulders and shook her. “It was self-defense. We had no choice. We talked about this, remember? Sometimes we have to do bad things to protect our loved ones.”
But Mackenzie’s brain was stuck, like a broken tape recorder. It played the image of scrubbing off dried blood with her fingernails and carrying fat ankles on a loop.
“My friends go there to play. I can’t go with them now.” Her chest heaved. “I can’t go there ever!”
Melody turned off the showerhead. Mackenzie didn’t stop rocking. Every jolt to her body as she bounced against the wall kept her tethered. Eventually, Melody put a hand behind Mackenzie’s head as a cushion.
“Would you like to go to New York and stay with your grandmother for a while?”
Mackenzie nodded faintly.
“You can be there for a school term, or a year. I have to stay here to deal with the authori
ties.”
Saliva dribbled out of the corners of Mackenzie’s mouth. She hadn’t remembered to swallow. Melody cleaned it gently. “Everything will be fine, sweetheart. You can leave as early as tomorrow. I’ll book you a ticket right now and take care of the school as well.”
“Will he follow me there too?”
Melody cupped her chin and glared at her. “You control your mind, Mackenzie. If you want, then nothing can touch you. And nothing can hurt you.”
It took time for Mackenzie to fathom the words of her mother. New York gave her the time, distance, and perspective. One year in New York stretched to several. But Lakemore remained a feeble echo inside her. She knew she had to return. She knew she had to serve the city.
It was her way of atonement. The irony and twistedness of it weren’t lost on her.
The frameless shower door opened, making Mackenzie jump out of her thoughts. Sterling stood there with a beaming smile. He was naked, and his dark hair was messy and curly. Mackenzie’s eyes glided lazily over the taut planes of his stomach and broad chest.
He winked. “Good morning. Thought I’d surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised.”
He grinned and stepped into the shower. Dimples dug into his cheeks. It was those dimples that had attracted her when he questioned her in the courtroom six years ago, two years after she’d transferred back from New York. After the trial, he’d asked her out.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and started kissing her neck. “Who said marriage makes couples boring?”
She froze. Was Sterling bored? Had she taken him for granted? Was that why he’d cheated? It had been only three years into their marriage, but they had been together for six. They were nearing that dreaded seven-year itch everyone talked about.
“Baby? What happened?” He’d noticed her go rigid.
“Nothing.”
Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1) Page 4