“Excuse me?” Mackenzie knocked on the table. The old lady looked up. “I’m Detective Price and this is Detective Blackwood from the Lakemore PD.” They flashed their badges.
“Oh!” She shot up from her seat and toppled the iPad off her lap. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, please sit down,” Nick said.
“How can I help, dear? Do you want your suit dry-cleaned? I see a few coffee stains there.”
Nick pouted at his clothes.
“Actually, we’re looking for the owner of this jacket.” Mackenzie placed a picture of the video frame showing the man. The lady picked up the picture and squinted at it. “I’m sorry, but this is the best quality we could get. Can you help us?”
She groaned and examined the picture for several long seconds. “That’s definitely our jacket. We’re a dry-cleaners but stitching clothes is our true passion.” She pointed at a faded picture of a soldier hanging on the wall behind her. “Daddy opened the store after returning from the Vietnam War. Though I’m pretty sure he was dishonorably discharged.” She scratched her head. “What do you want again?”
Nick sighed, exasperated. “Who did you make this for? The initials are E and R. Is there anyone else who can help us? We don’t want to bother you sifting through old records.”
She picked up the iPad and wheezed into a handkerchief. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. It’ll only take a second to search through the records. I have a script for it. Just need to access the Cloud first, where we store client information.”
Mackenzie and Nick exchanged a blank look.
“Got it. I can just email you the list.”
“Sure,” Mackenzie gave her email, trying to hold back her laughter.
She checked her email on their way back. It was an Excel file of client names, including their addresses. There were fifty-one people with the initials ER.
One of them was the last person to see Abby Correia before she vanished.
Twenty-Eight
“Did you two read this?” Sully threw the newspaper across the desk to Mackenzie and Nick. “Hawkins is at it again.”
Mackenzie picked up the newspaper. The front page had the headline Lakemore’s Princess and the Pauper. Pictures of Erica and Abby were printed at the bottom with another picture of the Lakemore PD building on top. Mackenzie read aloud.
“The year-long disappearance of Erica Perez ended in tragedy when her remains were discovered in a shallow grave in the woods behind Hidden Lake. While the heartbreaking discovery brings closure to the Perez family, it sheds light on the incompetence and laziness of the Lakemore PD. The poor handling of the case by retired Detective Bruce Stephens shows the lack of accountability in an office that is supposed to serve the public. Now with the disappearance of Abigail Correia, the lack of media attention and limited money and resources dedicated to searching for the missing girl can be characterized as nothing but inept and cruel.”
The rest of the article was a scathing review of how the cases were being handled. “Inept and cruel? Such professional reporting.”
“Who’s this Vincent Hawkins?” Daniel narrowed his eyes at the paper.
Sully’s usually cluttered table had been cleared to accommodate five wine glasses sitting in a straight line. Each contained enough red wine for three to four tastings.
She looked at the wall that once had pictures of fishing gear and insect traps. Posters of wine sweetness and boldness charts, a list of vintage wines, and a table of grape varieties had replaced them.
She didn’t complain—the room smelled much better, the fusty smell of fish traded for the subtle aroma of blackberry, leather, and chocolate. It was also better than the smell of Scotch.
“Open up, Micky! I know you have my booze in there.”
“I don’t! I swear!”
“I need my scotch! Open the door! You ungrateful little––”
“Vincent Hawkins was the biggest news reporter in Lakemore until a few years ago. He worked at the Lakemore Latest channel—the most viewed local news here. But he was fired.”
“Why?”
“His sources got leaked,” Nick said. “His computer was hacked into. It wasn’t his fault, but his career was finished. Now he writes for some small papers.”
“Poor guy.”
“Well, the good news is that nobody reads this paper.” Mackenzie tossed the newspaper away. “And no one takes him seriously anymore.”
“True, but we need to be careful,” Sully said, distracted, analyzing the wine in the glasses. “I don’t want other news channels to pick up this chatter. Tell your people not to talk to anyone.”
“He obviously got to someone. How the hell did he know it was a shallow grave?”
“As long as the broken nail doesn’t get out, we’re good,” Sully said. “If that reaches Hawkins, I’m going to start firing people.”
“Fair enough. Did you give up on the trout?” asked Mackenzie.
Sully shot her a flat look. “Fishing doesn’t suit me, Mack. I’m too fancy for that. This beauty, on the other hand…” He beamed at the red liquid refracting the light from above. “Look at this pigment! Much richer than the other four!”
When Sully realized that no one was showing any interest, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, so Clint will join us in a few minutes. He was able to extract texts and the call logs. He’s finishing up a meeting now. Anything on the man in the video?”
“We’re getting there,” Mackenzie said. “We tracked down the shop where the jacket was purchased. A little dry-cleaner’s that functions as a boutique too. There are fifty-one potential people.”
“You need patrol officers going door to door?”
“To do what? Ask if they talked to Abby and when they obviously say no, move on to the next one?”
Sully rolled his eyes. “I’m giving you more resources, Mack. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“That’s wasting resources. I’ll work on significantly narrowing down the list first.”
“Are you allowed to drink that at work?” Daniel gestured to the wine. “It looks excessive.”
“Of course I’m not. But once that clock strikes five, nothing’s stopping me.”
As they began discussing mundane hobbies and what to do around Lakemore, Mackenzie opened the email Becky had sent her. The PDF attached was the full autopsy report on Erica Perez. She scrolled down the brief summaries, the list of tools used, including their underlying assumptions, the sections of skeletal assessment and blood work, the dental section. She zoomed in on the screen. The dental records had also confirmed that the body was Erica’s. They had swabbed for particulates; Mackenzie didn’t fully understand the long, scientific terms, but Becky had already summarized them as common elements associated with the soil in the woods.
They’d also found some fabric in her mouth. That caught Mackenzie’s attention.
Microscopic testing couldn’t identify any pattern, but the colors were red and gold. The material was wool. Due to the microaerobic conditions in her mouth, the wool didn’t decompose entirely. But the clothes on her body decayed with rain, humidity, fluctuating temperatures—a particularly hot summer—and insect activity.
The crime lab concluded that the samples most likely came from Erica’s scarf. She was buried alive with it; it was plausible that it had made its way into her mouth.
Her family last saw her in blue jeans and a white blouse. She went to her room after dinner to sleep. Where had the scarf come from?
There was a knock on the door.
“Ah, come in!” Sully said.
Clint entered, holding his laptop. He nodded tentatively at everyone. “Sorry I’m late.”
“How was the meeting with the deputy state’s attorney?”
“Ron’s very temperamental. Good thing your husband was there, Detective Price,” he opened his laptop and began typing. “He’s good at handling him.”
Mackenzie gave him a tight smile. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick glance at her. She
stiffened and felt the wall between them grow taller.
“What do you have, Clint?” Mackenzie asked.
“The cell had some physical damage. The phone has been turned off for more than a year. The last time it was active was within the vicinity of where the body was found. The GPS triangulation is accurate to about the level of a city block.”
Nick rubbed his stubble, thoughtfully. “Did the phone turn off because there was physical damage?”
“Can’t say, but the damage would have turned it off.”
“Could be someone damaged it intentionally,” Daniel said.
“There was a lot of water damage and a broken screen. A minor dent on the side,” Clint added.
Mackenzie recalled reading in Nick’s notes that Erica’s phone was brand new. Her parents had gifted it to her a month before she disappeared. They’d maintained that her phone was intact and devoid of even a scratch when Daniel had spoken to them after the funeral.
“Could Abby have gotten the phone to work?” Mackenzie asked Clint.
“I doubt she would have had the expertise.”
“Abby found the phone at some point,” Mackenzie mused. “Do you think it was accidental? Maybe she just happened to find it.”
“And why didn’t she turn it in to the police?” Nick challenged. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Maybe she found something on it that spooked her. What did you find on her phone, Clint? Was anything deleted?”
“Not around the time the phone was turned off,” he shook his head. “There were some deleted pictures from days before when she broke up with her boyfriend. But nothing suspicious.”
“There goes that theory,” Mackenzie sighed.
“Maybe she came across it accidentally,” Daniel offered. “And that kick-started her own investigation? That’s why she didn’t turn it in? She wanted to dig more.”
“She wrote in her diary about wanting to know what happened and not giving up on Erica, and she was scared and paranoid in the months leading up to her disappearance. Knowing what we do about her personality, it’s the best explanation we have. She probably thought she’d do a better job than the police.”
“She’d have met Bruce,” Nick pressed them with a look. He turned to Clint. “What else do you have?”
“The last incoming call was at 12:20 a.m. It lasted four minutes and twelve seconds. It was from Quinn Jones.”
“Quinn? The boyfriend?” Sully tore open a packet of coffee beans and poured it into a bowl. “The boy’s a fine fellow. Like a stallion on the field.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Mackenzie muttered under her breath. Sully, Nick, and Daniel watched her expectantly. “I caught him beating up and threatening this kid after the funeral today.”
“Come on, Mack! Boys that age get into fights. It happens.”
“Let’s not idolize people, especially based on football.”
Sully smirked and turned to Daniel. “You say those words at a bar when a game is on, they might be your last words around here.”
“The last incoming text was from Quinn at 12:18 a.m. He was begging her to get back together with him,” Clint said.
“When she didn’t reply to the text, he called her.” Mackenzie looked at Nick. “Quinn admitted that he was texting Erica that night. What had he told you?”
“He said they were discussing some party…” Nick’s frown deepened as he looked at his notes. “When I asked him if he had talked to her that night, he denied it, which is what he told Bruce a year ago. But then I told him we have text logs, and he claimed to remember suddenly that they’d texted. I thought that was weird. He never told me that he’d called her though.”
“Why did he lie?” Daniel asked.
“He’s afraid of getting into trouble,” Sully said.
“What about outgoing calls?” Mackenzie asked.
“The last outgoing call was at 12:55 a.m. to the number registered to Abigail Correia. But it went unanswered.”
Mackenzie’s gaze flew to Nick. Erica had called Abby before she died. She knew they were thinking the same thing.
“Let me guess, Abby didn’t tell you that Erica had called her that night.”
“She didn’t.” Nick sighed.
“Why would Erica call Abby that late?”
Was Erica in trouble? Was that phone call her last desperate attempt to save herself? Did that contribute to Abby’s depression? The fact that, if Abby had answered the call, maybe Erica wouldn’t have died.
“What about the texts she’d sent?” Mackenzie continued.
Clint nodded and typed on his laptop. She leaned over his shoulder as the messages began displaying in the terminal window.
“The last outgoing message is to Abigail at 12:38 a.m. It said ‘We need to talk. Meet me tonight.’”
Mackenzie’s head jerked to look at Nick. He pulled out a cigarette and popped it in his mouth. He flicked open his lighter and played with it, but didn’t turn on the flame.
“Abby never replied. We can’t determine if she even read the message or not,” Clint said.
“What was Abby’s alibi for that night?” Sully asked.
“She was at home. Sleeping. It was a school night,” Nick said. “She might be telling the truth. She was probably asleep by the time Erica sent her the text. When Abby didn’t reply, Erica called her, but she still didn’t pick up.”
“But Abby said that Erica had texted her about homework.”
“So, she lied too.” Sully huffed and crossed his arms.
“Erica vanished that night. Abby obviously just freaked out.”
“Still, she lied.”
“As did Quinn.” Mackenzie raised an eyebrow.
“Abby doesn’t look good right now, Mack,” Sully said. “Erica wanted to meet her that night and she had Erica’s phone.”
“What motive does she have? They were best friends. By all accounts, Abby was devastated when she went missing. It seems to me like she was searching for the truth. That man we saw talking to her is a stronger lead. He could have easily hurt Erica too.”
“If Abby never replied or picked up the call, then why did Erica still leave? Her room was undisturbed; that means she likely left of her own will,” Daniel pointed out.
Mackenzie’s eyes focused on the map of Washington on the wall. She picked out Hidden Lake and the woods surrounding it.
“I think she was on her way to see Abby. Look here.” She picked up a marker and circled spots on the map. “This is where Erica lives. That is where Abby lives. The woods are on the way. If she took the highway, she would have to take out her car. She would have been caught. It was raining, hence she took the woods—it’s a shortcut. I was looking at the forensics report, and red and gold woolen fibers were found in her mouth. Anthony said they most likely came from a scarf. If she was snatched from her room, I highly doubt that the killer would be considerate enough to let her bring a scarf along.”
“Red and gold?” Nick asked.
“Yeah.”
“Those are Lakemore High colors. I think you’re right.”
“Her parents last saw her in blue jeans and a white blouse. But that was at around eight in the evening. She went to her room at nine because she had a headache and wanted to sleep early. She must have changed into her pajamas but then changed into her clothes again, when she decided to leave. She put on a scarf to keep warm.”
“She left to meet Abby in the middle of a storm? What the hell happened?” Sully said.
“Abby found the phone at some point. The water damage could have resulted from the rain that night,” Mackenzie mused. “But what if she found the phone near the woods?”
Nick nodded. “When Abby saw the text from Erica the next day, maybe she suspected that Erica could have taken that route.”
“And if she was conducting her own investigation then the first place she’d look for clues would be there.”
“Wait. Why wouldn’t the killer take Erica’s phone?” Sully asked.
“Why would he?” Daniel shrugged. “There was nothing suspicious on it. It seems like she left of her own will. Which also explains why he didn’t try getting it back from the gas station.”
“You’re saying the phone got damaged when Erica was attacked?”
“I think so,” Mackenzie pitched in. “If he had tried destroying the phone on purpose, then it’s careless to just leave it there. Unless he accidentally dropped it.”
“Forensics report says Erica was likely killed in the woods, probably with a rock, right?” Sully said.
Mackenzie nodded. “The particulate analysis and her injuries suggest so, yes. If she was trying to get to Abby through those woods, then what are the chances that she never made it for some reason, encountered the killer somewhere else, and then they also decided to bury her there later?”
“We don’t have any proof that she took that way to go to meet Abby,” Sully said.
“She didn’t take her car keys—or her parents’. The most direct way on foot would involve going through the woods by Hidden Lake.”
Nick flicked his finger over the flame from his lighter. “It’s still possible she was abducted and taken to the woods. But if she went there herself, it implies the killer was following her. She could have been attacked, broken free—remember her torn fingernail—and tried to get back home before the killer caught up with her.”
They all fell silent, the disturbing implication of Nick’s words hanging in the air. Mackenzie imagined Erica running through the woods that held so many secrets. Panting, sweating, her abused body being carried by the sole but strong determination to return to her family. She was close enough to taste her freedom. One more mile. Just one more mile.
Mackenzie shrugged off the image. They were going in circles. “What if Abby knew more about what happened that night?”
“We don’t even know if she saw Erica’s message on time,” Nick said.
Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1) Page 13