Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1)

by Ruhi Choudhary

  Instead, Abby turned.

  Mackenzie stiffened as she watched Abby not walk past the gas station but turn into it.

  “Where’s she going?”

  “Let me pull out Camera Seven, that’ll show us,” Clint said.

  Within seconds, the recording from Camera Seven was displayed on one of the monitors. He tuned the time frame, and they watched Abby walk toward the station building. But she didn’t enter. She stood in front of a door beside the entrance—the washroom, according to the plan and the sign on the door. She kept looking around and checking her watch. She paced, restless and twitchy.

  “What is she doing?” Justin muttered.

  “Meeting someone?” Mackenzie replied. After five minutes, Abby entered the washroom. Thirty seconds later, she came out. She looked around one last time and dashed out of the station. “Play Camera Two.”

  The camera monitoring the exit showed Abby. She began walking toward home but suddenly stopped. Another figure appeared on the screen.

  Eighteen

  Mackenzie’s heart leaped. She leaned forward and squinted at the pixelated video. He was definitely taller and bigger than Abby. She looked up while speaking to him. The camera captured her from behind. Because of the angle, only the man’s lower half was visible. He wore what looked like either black or dark blue jeans and a brown jacket. His hands were shoved in his pockets. He never made any attempt to touch her or get too close. They spoke for one minute and eight seconds, after which Abby took a sharp left turn to go home, while the man stayed in place and pulled something from his pocket and raised it out of shot—a phone, probably.

  This was officially the last sighting of Abby Correia before she went missing. There was no surveillance between the gas station and the bank, which they knew Abby hadn’t passed.

  “Who the hell did she talk to?” Mackenzie muttered. “Does he come into view or go to the washroom?”

  Clint sped up the footage and played it for the entire day. Only two people went to the washroom—a middle-aged woman and an old man. Both acted normally and emerged empty-handed.

  It looked like the man knew about the CCTV cameras at the gas station and positioned himself to stay out of the frame. He spoke to Abby for a full minute and eight seconds. He might not have lured her into a car or anything, but he could easily have followed her later. There was no clear sense of which direction he’d gone after their exchange. He had simply slipped out of view.

  Mackenzie twirled her pen between her fingers. “Initially, it looked like Abby was there to meet someone, which is why she spent five minutes standing in front of that washroom and looking around.”

  “But the person didn’t show up,” Justin said. “Or he did. Maybe it was the man she was talking to?”

  “If it was then why didn’t Abby point him to the washroom? He didn’t go to the washroom either. Clint, can you zoom in on the man’s jacket and clear the picture? I think I saw something on the hem.”

  “Sure. Do you know this software can remove interferences using Fourier filters?” Clint beamed. When no one reacted, he cleared his throat. “Not that that’s relevant here. A basic unmask sharpening will work.”

  The screen zoomed in to the hem of the jacket. There was a white patch visible against the brown cloth. The image flickered and popped up with sharper resolution. The white patch was a picture of a playing card; the sign for clubs was sewn into it. Inside the club shape were the letters “ER.”

  There was also a kidney-shaped birthmark on the back of the man’s hand.

  “The label looks like a logo for a clothing company. I don’t recognize it.” She bit her lip. “ER’s not a famous brand for sure. Can you fast forward a few frames to when he makes the call?”

  Unfortunately, his hand covered most of the phone. The only thing she could make out was the position of the device’s camera lens, which suggested that it was an iPhone.

  Did Abby end up bumping into someone she knew before she was taken? It could have been a friendly face, but then why hadn’t he come forward to the police? He could have just been a stranger striking up a conversation, who’d never put the girl he spoke to together with the missing girl from the news. But something was very wrong with this picture. A mysterious man speaking to a young woman who was never seen again? That never ended well.

  “Clint, can you try and find out more about that logo? See if it gives a clue to who the man might be.”

  “Sure. Give me at least an hour. I’ll have to clean up the image more to be able to run it against a search engine.”

  “That’s okay.” Mackenzie scratched her head. “She went into the washroom for about thirty seconds. Why?”

  “Maybe she just wanted to wash her hands?” Justin offered.

  “Maybe, but why would you spend thirty seconds inside and five minutes outside looking around?”

  Abby could have left something in that washroom. Mackenzie jumped from her seat and grabbed her coat. “I’m going to go to the gas station and check out the washroom. Clint, send me the information as soon as you can. As far as we know, he’s the last person to see her.”

  Nineteen

  Olive-sized droplets splattered on the car’s windshield, each one making an audible bop. Sheets of rain poured over the state of Washington. Mackenzie peered through the drops chasing down the glass, the rippled outline of the gas station coming into view. Luckily, the rain had driven away all the traffic. Her car was the only one there as she parked.

  When she climbed out, her feet landed in a puddle. She glared at her boots, now covered in muddy water. She had forgotten an umbrella—a rookie mistake in Lakemore. The rain fell on her back like stinging slaps. Her straight hair began to spring into frizz.

  For a moment, she felt like her armor was slipping away. Like she would be naked. Like everyone would see what she had done.

  She forced herself to run towards the washroom and not think.

  Only Abby matters.

  Only solving this case mattered. She reached the door. She looked up at Camera Seven, the one that was now recording her. She knocked on the washroom door twice and waited. No one answered. Slowly, she twisted the knob and entered.

  The pungent smell of cleaning solutions and piss made her gag. She pinched her nose. The washroom was small. A sink with a giant crack in the middle was on one wall. It looked like it could break any time. Above the sink, there was a crooked mirror with spider web fractures. Across from the sink, the toilet’s black seat was wet.

  She pushed the pedal to open the trash can. Nothing. She bent down and looked under the sink. Nothing.

  Space was limited. If there were something here, it wouldn’t be difficult to find. Her eyes scanned the walls. Nothing of significance was written on them. She checked the back of the toilet seat.

  She groaned. Abby was in here for thirty seconds. Why? What was she doing? Just washing her hands? Using the washroom quickly?

  There was an extractor fan in the wall behind the toilet. She put the toilet seat back down and climbed on it to reach the fan. Did the fan even work? Considering the smell, she guessed it didn’t. There was only one switch in the washroom—it was for the light.

  The stench was stronger here. The fan blades were yellow and smudged with black and brown dirt and bent at an awkward angle. In between them, she saw something wedged out of view. She turned on the flashlight on her phone, and gasped.

  A cell and a white envelope.

  Could this be what Abby left here? Mackenzie could wedge her hand through the blades, but she didn’t have a warrant to remove anything from the premises. Her mind raced. It could be something. She called Justin.

  “Justin, I think I found something in the washroom. It looks like a cell phone and an envelope. But I need a warrant. Not exactly a plain view exception case. How fast can you get one?”

  “It’s a Saturday…”

  She clenched her jaw. It could be a long process. Preparing the affidavit, getting it reviewed by a prosecutor, g
etting a judge to sign it, and then filing it with the clerk. “Start it now. Send two patrol officers here to secure the location while we get a warrant.”

  Within thirty minutes, two officers were situated outside the washroom at the gas station. They had also cordoned off the area with the yellow-and-black crime scene tape. After instructing them not to let anyone enter the washroom and buying them donuts, she left. She spent the entire day helping with the search warrant and making revisions to it. She knew where to find one judge at short notice; Sterling had told her several times how Judge Montgomery spent Saturday evenings at his gentlemen’s club in Olympia. It took two hours to find him and secure his signature.

  Mackenzie worked on autopilot. She didn’t stop to eat or think or answer any of Sterling’s phone calls. She kept moving. When she wasn’t, she found herself drumming her fingers constantly or picking at a scab from a paper cut.

  Abby’s cell was in that washroom. She had ditched it and disappeared. It only validated Sully’s theory that she had run away. But what was in that envelope? The money Abby stole? If she had run away, she would have taken the money with her.

  Who was that man she was talking to? Clint didn’t get any hits on the logo, but he’d done more work on the image and scanned it again. It would take him some time to find out which clothing brand or store the jacket was from. One thing was clear: the man had no interest in the envelope or the cell phone. Or he didn’t know where they were. How the man in the brown jacket factored in, if it all, was another problem to tackle.

  It was eight in the evening when Mackenzie and Justin climbed out of Mackenzie’s car with the warrant. The uniform officers assured her that no one had entered the washroom. They removed the fan. Wearing gloves, Mackenzie grabbed the phone and the envelope. The mobile was dead, but looked undamaged.

  “Give this to Clint. Once it’s charged, ask him if he can get it to work. Tell him this takes priority. We have to get into her phone.” She handed the evidence bag to Justin.

  Before she placed the envelope in another plastic bag, she opened it. Cash; lots of it. Why would Abby leave her cell and the money here?

  Twenty

  Mackenzie read Sterling’s message again. Let me make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow? She mulled over his intentions. She was the one who had been cruel. So why was he taking the first step? Did he feel guilty for fooling her?

  Being with Sterling was like walking around with a knife lodged in her back. The knife that her husband had impaled her with. She felt it every time she moved, every time she breathed. She’d thought she would get used to it—the hollow ache.

  But it didn’t ebb; it multiplied.

  She flipped open Abby’s diary again and skimmed through the entries. Her fingers traced the ragged edges of the ripped-out pages. She hadn’t come across any entry talking about the money she stole or anything indicating a desire to escape. If anything, Abby came off as tenacious and determined. Mackenzie had been reading the entries in order but out of curiosity, she flipped to the last one.

  Dear diary,

  Whenever Erica and I fought and wouldn’t talk, something would be missing from my day. Now, something is missing from my life. The world might have treated me like less, but she always looked at me like I was more. She never gave up on me. Despite my cynicism and pessimism. I can never give up on her. I will never give up on her. I have to know what happened.

  Mackenzie’s mind raced. Nearly all the pages that were torn out came after this entry, with just two or three missing before. And, unlike the others, there was no date, and it was written in black ink as opposed to blue. Had Abby written this after Erica went missing? What did it mean?

  The door to Sully’s office opened, and he came out with Nick.

  “Mack? Why are you here? It’s almost ten!” Sully snorted.

  “What are you two doing here?” She put the diary away.

  “Dodging calls from reporters. And dealing with the FBI.”

  “They’re consulting on the case?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Sending an agent Monday. We’ll brief him first thing in the morning.”

  She glanced at Nick. His expression was guarded. His face didn’t give anything away, but Nick’s face never did. It was always his body that reacted. He craned his neck and stretched his arms. Picking up his coffee cup, he realized it was empty. He scowled and slammed it back on his desk.

  “What are you doing here so late?” Sully asked.

  “Waiting to get some information on Abby’s phone. I found it in a washroom at the gas station.”

  “She ditched her phone? What did I tell you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “I’m telling you, Mack. Girl lost it after Erica went missing and just wanted to get away.”

  “She also left the money in that washroom. Wouldn’t she have taken it if she were running away?”

  Sully frowned.

  “Yeah. Something’s off,” Nick agreed.

  She didn’t show her satisfaction or relief. She didn’t have a sounding board for this case, and it had irked her. She had been tempted several times to talk to Nick. But she labeled those as weak moments.

  She was just lonely. It was soul-sucking and squeezed her heart just enough for her to be in constant pain. She dealt with it by sitting straighter, looking fiercer and sounding bolder.

  Justin walked in, sulking. His eyebrows dipped; his lips puckered.

  “You don’t look happy,” she said dryly. “Please give me some news.”

  “The phone doesn’t belong to Abby, ma’am.”

  “What? Whose is it?”

  He shifted on his heels and glanced at Nick and Sully. “It belongs to Erica Perez.”

  Mackenzie’s phone slipped from her grip and fell to her lap. The thought didn’t plant itself. The words floated in her head: transient, abstract, and confusing. She stared at Justin dumbfounded. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick and Sully freeze.

  “Are you sure?” Her voice wobbled.

  “Yes, ma’am. Clint double-checked it. The battery had been taken out, but we were able to reactivate it. It’s definitely Erica’s.”

  “Erica’s phone was never found,” Nick whispered. “Abby had it all this time?”

  “What the hell was she doing with Erica’s phone? Why didn’t she give it to the police?” Mackenzie was appalled.

  No one answered. They had stilled in the dimly lit office. Joe, the janitor, passed by their office with his cart. The only sounds were of the wheels squeaking against the floor and him singing “Killing Me Softly.”

  Sully cleared his throat. “You got what you wanted, Mack. This is concrete evidence linking the two cases. On Monday we’re briefing Special Agent Daniel St. Clair in the conference room at nine a.m. Show up and fill everyone in on what you got. Erica’s murder and Abby’s disappearance are connected. This changes everything.”

  Twenty-One

  2005

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Mackenzie was convinced a sentient and sadist form had taken over her brain. Like a child banging its rattle against the bannister and giggling at the noise.

  She waited in her dingy apartment building. The lights flickered, and the wallpaper was peeling. The button to the elevator dangled off the switchboard but still worked as the wires were connected. The building had been empty, much to her delight. She didn’t like her neighbors. They were incoherent and best avoided—either drug peddlers or shrewd state spies.

  Her throbbing headache made her eyes water. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a shadow. But before registering it, she felt its presence.

  Cold and unforgiving.

  She turned slowly and saw it—saw him.

  In the cramped elevator stood her father. He wore a salmon-colored shirt and loose beige pants held up by two belts. His skin was bone white; his arms skinny as a whippet. His round belly stretched his shirt. But it was his eyes th
at drew her in—they were blue pools. She could see her own reflection in the mirrored elevator wall, two feet from him.

  She looked like a deer in headlights.

  She knew he wasn’t real. A trick of her mind or a punishment from her conscience. But now her heart thumped.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  She felt her heart’s elasticity as it stretched. Paralyzed, her back was plastered to the wall. Cold sweat sprouted on her skin. Air sucked out of her lungs, leaving them shrunk and wrinkled.

  Her father’s eyes stayed on her. They gave away nothing. But she felt him—felt Robert Price’s icy presence extend, fixing her feet to the floor and slithering up her legs and arms, finally pooling in the base of her spine.

  Was she going to die? Was he going to kill her?

  The irrational thoughts slipped in her mind. He wasn’t real—except he was. Why was he here?

  Revenge.

  Before a scream could claw its way up her throat, the side of his head started bending inward. Slowly, inch by inch, the side of his skull sunk lower into his head. But her father stood frozen and unaffected—glaring at her with emptiness.

  Mackenzie’s breaths came in scraps. With wide eyes, she watched blood gush down his face like a waterfall. It spread into his shirt, rolling into a fanned-out pattern and drying up instantly. Next came his eye—it kept expanding like a balloon being filled with gas. It stopped when it was the size of a golf ball.

  Then, like twigs snapping under shoes, his nose twisted, and his teeth snapped away into oblivion.

  “You have to help me bury him.”

  Mackenzie’s body would freeze and eventually explode before her brain ever caught up. She was certain of that. Her pulse hammered when he raised his hand, his fingers stretched out, reaching for her.

  What do you want?