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

by Ruhi Choudhary

  “Right. We’re looking for Quinn Jones. Do you know where he is?” Nick asked.

  David looked around half-heartedly, his mouth set in a flat line as though the ruckus was completely normal. “He’s not here?”

  “We don’t see him around. We were told he would be available right after the game.”

  “I don’t know, man. He’s probably at Coach Grayson’s house. The after-party is there. Some of us are going there now. Want to join? Free beer and chicks,” he waggled his eyebrows at Nick.

  Mackenzie turned to Nick. Her blood boiled and flowed thick in her veins. “You know what’s happening, right?”

  “He’s avoiding us.”

  “Or the mighty powers around him are protecting him. It’s just one interview. He isn’t even really a suspect. We just want to know if he knows more than he’s letting on.”

  Nick mirrored her anger. His jaw set tight as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “David Falkner, you’re under arrest for serving alcohol to underage persons.”

  He stepped back with his hands raised. “Wait? What?”

  “I saw you give that kid beer,” Mackenzie smiled.

  Nick recited him his Miranda rights and bound his wrists behind his back. His eyes went wide. He twisted his body, trying to escape Nick’s grasp.

  “Mack, call Sully. Tell him that we have information that underage kids are drinking on Bill Grayson’s property, including Quinn Jones.”

  “You can’t fucking touch me! You know who I am?” David yelled, but Nick shoved him forward.

  What irked Mackenzie was Quinn Jones. Was it a string of bad luck or was he purposefully avoiding them?

  Thirty-Seven

  September 20

  David Falkner had spent the night in a holding cell. When Mackenzie had left him, he was slurring curses at her and boasting about his reach and powerful friends. They had twenty-four hours to charge him, after which they would have to release him. But Mackenzie and Nick figured that twenty-four hours should be enough to send out a message that Lakemore PD meant business. Lieutenant Peck was livid.

  “What the hell are your detectives doing, Sully?”

  “He was serving beer to underage kids.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  But apparently the message had been received. They got a call to say that the Sharks’ quarterback was coming for an interview in the afternoon, after school.

  Mackenzie cracked her neck and bobbed her head to “Karma Police” by Radiohead. Quinn had lied, but she suspected he was just a kid who didn’t want to get into trouble—the same reason Abby had lied.

  But Eddy Rowinski was the wildcard. She picked up the file containing his criminal record. What were the chances that a man known to be violent toward women didn’t hurt the girl who was never heard from again? She had re-watched the CCTV footage. The way he was positioned when he spoke to her. Like he was aware that there were cameras and didn’t want to be seen.

  Today, she’d spent hours researching the meaning behind the number 916. She poured over the texts on Erica’s phone. But there was nothing useful in them. All she had concluded was a strong friendship, bordering on one-sided obsession on Abby’s part.

  Nick plopped down on the seat next to her with a loose tie and open collar. He stifled a yawn and gulped down his scalding coffee. He hadn’t slept well either.

  “Want to try it?” Nick offered.

  “No, thanks.”

  Nathaniel Jones walked in first, the overhead light casting a glow on his hairless head. He looked even bigger than he did at the funeral. In his crisp black suit and Rolex watch, he looked every bit of the revered Lakemore idol. Quinn was right behind him. There was something tragic about him. His body was athletic, but he had the face of an artist.

  “I’m here because Lieutenant Peck is a friend and out of courtesy to the police. I figured I would show some decency and set an example for you,” Nathaniel said.

  Mackenzie spotted Nick’s back stiffen. The cords running down his muscular arms tightened, as if he could blow a fuse anytime.

  “Quinn, we have a few questions for you. Please take a seat.”

  Quinn avoided their eyes and slid down the chair lazily.

  “When was the last time you were in contact with Erica?” Nick asked.

  “He’s answered this several times before,” Nathaniel groaned.

  “And we’re giving him an opportunity to change his statement, because he lied last time.”

  “Son, you say the word, and our lawyer will be here immediately.”

  Quinn shrugged him off. His lips trembled, and his eyes fidgeted. Mackenzie realized that he was used to hiding his face behind the long hair falling over his head.

  “You’re not in any trouble,” she said gently. “Abby is missing. We’re on a schedule.”

  “I had nothing to do with her being gone. I was at practice.”

  “What happened with Erica?”

  “I told you. We texted.”

  “About?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “We retrieved her texts,” she said, watching his face fall. “We know you were trying to get back together with her. Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

  He sighed. “We talked on the phone that night.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything for a year?” Nick asked.

  Nathaniel answered instead. “He didn’t say anything because I told him not to.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want him to get in any trouble,” he spat out. “He was getting into fights at school because he was upset over Erica. I was able to keep him off suspension, but Principal Burley warned me that one more strike and he would be off the team. The last thing we needed was for him to be a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “You derailed an investigation so that your son could play football?” Mackenzie snapped.

  Nathaniel’s lips turned up in harsh smile. It made her shiver right through to the tips of her fingers. She had faced cold-blooded killers before, but they lacked the power Nathaniel wielded. “Detective Price, was it? What you call football is what will save this town. You’ll keep the streets clean and the criminals locked up. But it’s sports that builds and destroys cities; that lifts and crushes spirits. Sports have brought unity and war. Its power is insurmountable. Football isn’t a game. It’s a tool that teaches young people loyalty, honor, sacrifice, hard work, and strategy. People like you will always be the workers—public servants. But people like us are the leaders. We are the saviors of this damn town.”

  She schooled her face to bare blankness. She knew what people like Nathaniel fed off—fear and intimidation.

  Nick cleared his throat. “He would not have been a suspect, Mr. Jones. If he were, he would’ve been in the interrogation room right now.”

  “When Quinn told me that he’d been begging Erica to take him back that night, I realized that he’d be a suspect immediately. He’d be seen as the ex-boyfriend who killed the girl after she repeatedly rejected him. His temper isn’t a secret. His only alibi was my wife and me. Everyone would think that we were lying to protect him. You remember how Detective Stephens was—he was in a rush to wrap up the casework and take off. I didn’t trust him. I was worried that he’d do a poor job and pin the whole thing on my son. That’s why I instructed Quinn to keep quiet and distance himself from this.”

  “Erica is your best friend’s daughter.”

  His forehead crumpled. “I know. Samuel’s like my brother. But I know that Quinn had nothing to do with what happened to Erica. My son was madly in love with her.”

  “We just want to know if there’s anything else he didn’t tell us. Something that might help us.”

  “She thought I cheated on her. She broke up with me because of some stupid rumors. She didn’t even let me explain anything. It was bullshit. I called her, but she wouldn’t listen. She told me that Abby heard it from someone. And we all knew how much her word meant to Erica.” Quinn ran his hands
through his hair.

  Mackenzie noticed bruises on his knuckles. He was still getting into fights.

  “You must have hated Abby,” she said simply.

  “I still do.”

  “Quinn!” Nathaniel warned him.

  “She’s a bitch,” he sneered. “The lengths she would go to just to keep Erica for herself was insane. She was obsessed with her. Throughout our relationship, dealing with Abby was another job. Always making sure that Abby was invited to the parties, coming up with a schedule to divide Erica’s time between us.”

  “Are you glad that Abby’s gone?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Don’t you see? I don’t care about anything anymore.”

  She showed him the torn picture she’d discovered in Abby’s locker. His unsteady fingers stroked Erica’s face. The corners of his lips tugged upward. His eyes softened. Briefly, he splintered open in front of them.

  Quinn traced the jagged edges of the picture. “Abby did this.”

  “Why?”

  His voice was clipped. “I guess she finally got Erica all to herself.”

  “Did you hurt Abby?” Nick asked.

  “Excuse me?” Nathaniel said.

  “No,” Quinn answered, anyway.

  Mackenzie interjected. “What about the boy you beat up at Erica’s funeral?”

  Nathaniel turned to Quinn. “What did you do now? Is he pressing charges?”

  “He’s not, Dad. He was just being a shithead.”

  “What happened?”

  His lips flattened. “Max Grimes—that’s his name. He was upset because of Abby. He came up to me and started telling me how shitty I was to her and Erica. I lost it.”

  “He said that you didn’t deserve her.” Mackenzie leaned forward. “Who was he talking about? Erica or Abby?”

  Nathaniel stopped fiddling with his cufflinks and straightened his jacket. “I think this interview is over. We won’t say another word without our attorney present––”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” Quinn cracked his neck.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re tired, Quinn. You have early practice tomorrow.”

  “Abby tried to get close to me after Erica went missing. I didn’t like her, but I was still dealing with it all. I knew that the only person who truly loved Erica other than me was Abby. I talked to her a couple of times at school. I figured it helped me too. To talk to someone who actually gave a shit. But then once, after practice, she snuck into the locker room. I told her to go away, but she was a mess. She was crying. I tried to comfort her… and she kissed me.” He paused and blinked vehemently. “I gave in. For a few seconds. Suddenly, there was a sound. Through the window, I saw Max walking away. It was a mistake. I ignored her after that, and eventually she got the message.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Just before the winter break last year.”

  “Within the first six months of Erica going missing,” Mackenzie murmured.

  “It was just one kiss. It meant nothing.”

  “I had one more question,” Mackenzie went on, her voice level. “Does the number ‘916’ mean anything to you?”

  Nathaniel’s face was stoic. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We found a paper napkin with those numbers and a logo printed on them in Erica’s room. Quinn, was she part of any societies or anything like that?”

  “Only on the cheerleading squad.”

  “Is there anything else that you haven’t told us yet? Anything that can help?”

  “No. Sorry, but I don’t know anything.”

  “I hope you are satisfied for now.” Nathaniel stood up and dusted off his suit. “And I certainly hope that you don’t mistreat good men like David just to get to us.”

  Nick shrugged. “Stop lying to us and being difficult, and I won’t arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  Nathaniel didn’t walk out the room; he barreled like a loose cannon rolling down a steep mountain, not shifting for anyone. Quinn walked with his head low and hands in his pockets. Mackenzie had seen the madness in his eyes when he had threatened Max.

  “You were in a mood today,” she said to Nick.

  “The coffee just hit me. And I didn’t like what happened there. Worked on this case for months to find out that I was lied to.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Jesus. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think he killed Erica.”

  “I think so too. But?”

  “How did you know there was a but?”

  He smirked. “There usually is with you.”

  “He has a temper problem. A serious one.”

  “You think he could have hurt Abby?”

  “He hated her. It’s possible that they got into a fight, and he lost it. His alibi is being at football practice, but I trust his team to lie to protect him.”

  “That would mean she isn’t alive, Mack. Quinn isn’t the type to keep someone captive.”

  “I know. It also doesn’t explain Abby leaving the money and the phone at the gas station. Her paranoid behavior and the placebo pills. Would Quinn plan such an elaborate scheme to hurt Abby?”

  “I doubt it. Then there’s the number 916. That doesn’t fit in either. Unless the person threatening Abby is different from the one who hurt her. Well, that was a waste of time.”

  “Not really.”

  “Why?”

  “We understand her better,” Mackenzie said, staring at Abby’s picture.

  Thirty-Eight

  Mackenzie stared at her reflection in the computer screen. She saw herself—what she and her life had become—how underneath her ironed and expensive clothes and prim manners resided a stricken and confused mind. She looked at the sharp edges of her reflection and wondered when she had become cynical and hardened.

  What was the moment that destroyed her innocence? Was it when she realized that her father beat her mother? Or was it when she buried him? She was always wound up, afraid to be like others around her, afraid that she’d end up revealing too much.

  Her heart felt like a block of ice in her chest. She was too used to muffling her emotions. She had lists and tasks. She understood determination. Maybe she never really understood love at all. All those moments with Sterling felt like a phase now. A lie. A mirage. They had slipped away from her grasp like a fading dream. Now, she scrambled to find out if they meant anything at all.

  Was she even in love with Sterling anymore? Or was she just determined to keep her marriage intact?

  “Detective Price?” Daniel said, walking into the office. “You okay?”

  “Yeah! Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well. What’s up?”

  “My guy got back to me. The picture you sent me of 916? That logo is not in our database. No known ties to organized crime or anything. But when I ran a search of the individual elements, I got a hit.”

  “You did?” She straightened.

  He put a report on her desk. The logo was dismantled into possible individual symbols and compared to the signs on the database. “The software breaks down the sign into smaller signs to check for combinations and modifications. This logo consists of two symbols,” he traced his finger on the paper. “These two: the Xs and the circle with the lines inside. Both have been slightly modified, but they’re Native American signs. They represent brotherhood and four stages of a man.”

  Mackenzie’s insides curdled.

  Brotherhood.

  Four stages of a man.

  Why were those words sinister? She couldn’t shrug off the feeling that there was something more twisted for her to discover. What had Abby stumbled into?

  “Did Clint get any hits?” Daniel asked, leaning on her desk.

  “Nope. No business uses this,” she sighed. “I’m not surprised. It sounds like a secret gentlemen’s club. But the crime lab is running some tests on the cocktail napkin. I think we’ll have something by tomorrow.”

  “916 is your best bet?”

  �
�Yeah. It’s the only suspicious and tangible clue that connects the two girls. Once we find out what it means, we’ll be closer.”

  His knee bobbed in place. “W-what about Eddy Rowinski?”

  “I couldn’t find anything that connects him with Abby or with Erica.”

  “Guess that was just a coincidence then.”

  “Yeah…” her voice trailed off.

  Eddy Rowinski was like superglue stuck to her brain. Despite no concrete evidence against him, she couldn’t rule him out. But she questioned if that was just her bias; that she wanted him gone to save Clara, so she was looking for reasons to connect him to Abby’s disappearance beyond a chance encounter.

  “I have to go to the courthouse for a bit.” She picked up her keys. “I’ll see you later.”

  Mackenzie gazed at the slowly emptying parking lot. The sun glowed amber over the horizon. She had checked that Isaac was due to leave the courthouse soon.

  Three songs and two granola bars later, she saw a wiry man wearing a tweed suit and carrying a leather briefcase walk briskly out the courthouse towards a red Camaro in desperate need of a wash. She jumped out her car and sprinted after him.

  “Isaac! Isaac!” She weaved through the lot.

  He turned around and frowned. “Detective Price?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “O-oh. Um.” He checked his watch. “Is this going to take long?”

  “Not too long.” She showed him the file. “Remember this guy? Eddy Rowinski?”

  Isaac’s face contorted. He wrinkled his nose and pouted. “A piece of shit if you ask me. What’d he do now?”

  “Heard of Abigail Correia on the news? He was the last one to see her.”

  “Really? You think he killed her?”

  “She’s not dead.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I mean… not that we know of. He denies doing anything more than passing the time of day with her, obviously, but I wanted more information on him.”

  He shrugged and put his briefcase on the top of his car. “I don’t know what to tell you. He’s violent and erratic. I’d say he’s capable of anything.”