Forty-Eight
The Perez home was one of the few luxurious houses in Lakemore, in an area called Forest Hill. The cul-de-sac housed athletes, influential industrialists, and local politicians. Even Vincent Hawkins had lived there till he lost his reputation, six-figure salary, and eventually his house. The neighborhood was a bubble, a safe haven. The Italian-styled mansions, manicured gardens, iron gates, and Porsches were pleasing to the eye.
No matter how cold and wet it got, it was always spring in Forest Hill.
Mackenzie thought of escapism as she sat on the plush couch in the living room. She looked down at her feet. They were nestled in thick Turkish carpet. The threads felt soft in-between her toes. She dared not rest her back on the cushion. She knew they were designed for style over comfort, likely imported from Germany.
The sunlight bounced off the Swarovski crystals in the overhead chandelier and shone brightly on Nick. He was unaffected by the wealth around him. He had grown up with it—born and bred in a family of senators. They were sourly disappointed when he announced he had no plans to continue the legacy. Instead, he wanted to help at a grassroots level. He realized that towns and cities don’t just need good governors and senators. They need good police officers.
“I’m sorry that you had to take off your shoes,” Gabriella settled a tray of tea on the table. “It’s just how we are.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your house is very beautiful,” Mackenzie said.
To Mackenzie’s concern, Gabriella looked thinner than she had at the funeral just a few days earlier. Her arms and legs lacked muscle and tissue, jutting out of her body like branches on a dying tree. She looked around her house. “Yeah. Well, all this doesn’t really mean anything. Does it? Please have some cookies.”
“They look delicious.”
“Thank you. Our friends and neighbors have been very kind. They have sent us so much food and care packages. We are well taken care of for several months to come.” Gabriella avoided looking at anything for long. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused.
“How’s Samuel doing?” Nick asked.
“He is… angry. He’ll disappear in his office for hours and come out with red eyes. I have never seen my husband cry. Erica meant the world to him. He always wanted a daughter. He talked to my belly all the time.” She touched her stomach absently before catching herself.
“Do you know if he’ll be joining us?”
“He’ll be out in a minute. He’s meeting with Arthur Bishop.”
“I thought they were rivals rather than friends,” Nick said.
“Oh, it’s business. Samuel hasn’t been as focused on work, and Atleum Holdings—that’s Bishop’s firm—outbid him on a plot of land. My husband wants it for his fishery and is now trying to buy it from Bishop.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Who even cares about that anymore.”
Next to Gabriella, on the end table, was a picture of Erica sitting on a horse. She was younger, perhaps thirteen.
Mackenzie felt bile rise in her throat. She’d rotted under the ground while her family searched the ends of earth for her. What were her last moments? What was her last thought? Did she close her eyes and remember her family before everything went dark? How long did she fight for?
Samuel Perez came out of his office wearing sweatpants and a Lakemore Sharks hoodie. His jaw was scruffy with beard. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. Behind him tailed Arthur Bishop in a loosely fitted suit.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Gabriella,” Arthur clasped her hands in his and tilted his head in sympathy. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I hope you find courage.”
She winced but nodded politely.
When he saw Nick, he shook his hand keenly. “Detective Blackwood! I wish you the best with this case.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bishop.”
He pressed his hands to his chest. “Please let me know if I can help at all.” He gave Samuel a quick hug and nodded at Mackenzie before leaving.
Mackenzie watched his back. There was something grossly insincere about Arthur Bishop. His polite mannerisms seemed rehearsed. His expressions were exaggerated.
“Asshole,” Samuel muttered, sitting down. “Don’t fall for his crap. He is the most cutthroat son of a bitch I know.”
“I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well?” Gabriella asked.
He shrugged.
“How are you, Samuel?” Nick asked.
He nodded faintly. “They say time fixes everything. I’m waiting, but I don’t think that time will ever come.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have a daughter, don’t you?”
Nick paused. “Yes, I do.”
“Never let her leave the house. Add bars to the windows if you have to. But never let her go.”
Nick entwined his fingers tightly. It was his biggest nightmare.
“Where is Agent St. Clair?” Samuel asked. “I thought he was consulting on the case.”
Mackenzie exchanged a nervous look with Nick. “We have an update on that. Daniel is still consulting on the case, but there have been some developments.”
“What?”
“What happened to Erica appears to be related to two other crimes,” Nick said. “Daphne Cho and Chloe St. Clair went missing in the two Septembers before last. Chloe was Agent St. Clair’s sister. It complicates things a bit.”
“Oh, dear God,” Gabriella whispered. “I-I don’t understand. How is this related to Erica?”
“Other than the crimes occurring in the month of September, there is another piece of evidence. The number 916. We found it printed on a paper napkin in Erica’s room. And the same number was branded on Daphne’s skin. We believe the culprit is the same.”
Samuel’s face was bone white. “Branded on her skin? What?”
“Yes. We believe Abby was taken because she found out something about 916. She wrote down the number in her private journal and on the inside of her locker.”
Gabriella pinched the bridge of her nose. Samuel rubbed her back, distractedly.
“Have either of you seen this before?” She handed them her phone with the picture of the napkin on it.
“I’m sorry, but no.” Samuel’s voice was thick. “Are you sure? Why Erica?”
“We don’t know. We are trying to figure out how this ended up in Erica’s room. Who else had access to her room besides the family?”
“A lot of people,” Gabriella huffed. “We were never strict. She would have friends over all the time. Quinn, Abby, basically everyone from school. We’re both so busy. Most days she would be alone here.”
Nick’s phone vibrated. His eyebrows dipped at the screen. He jerked his head to grab Mackenzie. “Excuse us for a moment.”
“What happened?” Mackenzie asked when they’d retreated to a corner of the room.
Nick ran his hand through his hair. “Jenna just got back to me. She was able to track the cocktail napkin from the blue border. It’s sold by a wholesaler in north-east Lakemore; they’re going through their records to track down buyers, but people can pay in cash at the warehouse, so that’s likely a dead-end. She’s also confirmed that Tequiza is still being bought by strip joints in the city.”
“Strip joints? Go figure. But not the logo?”
“No. But Anthony said that was printed on later anyway. Guess which is the only strip club in that area buying Tequiza?”
Mackenzie fumbled. But then it clicked.
“Remington’s.”
Where Hannah Correia worked.
Forty-Nine
Dear diary
Tomorrow I want to wake up in a world where people’s stupidity doesn’t hold me back, where people see my potential. I can be so much more. I AM so much more. Why doesn’t anyone see it?
The words from Abby’s journal resonated in Mackenzie’s head as she looked around at her sleazy surroundings. There was no concept of time at Remington’s. The vast club was always lit like the Northern Lights—dazzling streaks of acid green and hot pink. Like
peering into a kaleidoscope.
A long stage was set on one side, where women slithered their naked bodies across the platform that Mackenzie was convinced wasn’t cleaned often enough. Their bodies played hide and seek with the audience through the swirling dry-ice vapor.
It was a Saturday afternoon, but there was one group of men—all bankers from their expensive suits and watches and polished shoes—who showered the stage with dollars and whistles. Sterling wasn’t one of them. But was Sterling the type to go to a strip club? Months ago, Sterling wasn’t the type to cheat either.
“Here’s the manager,” Nick nodded behind her.
A man with a giant beer belly and double chin walked up to them.
“Need anything?” He flashed his yellow-stained teeth. When they flashed their badges, he scowled. “We don’t do prostitution here.”
“Don’t care. Yet.” Nick showed him a picture of the cocktail napkin. “Ever seen this before?”
“Nope.”
“Does that number mean anything to you?” Mackenzie pressed. “Think hard.”
He crossed his arms. “I said nope.”
“What time does Hannah Correia come to work?”
His eyes shifted between them. Licking his lips nervously, he said, “W-why? What’d she do?”
Mackenzie narrowed her eyes. “Just asking. We’re looking into her daughter’s disappearance.”
“O-oh! Right! That. Man, that sucks. She’ll be here in like two hours. She takes the night shift.”
“What’s upstairs?” Nick pointed at the spiral staircase made of black marble.
“Changing rooms for the girls.”
“Do you have cameras? Any record of who comes here?”
“Nope.”
Mackenzie watched Nick’s jaw clench and his nostrils balloon. The manager was being cagey on purpose. There was only so much information they could extract when someone was unwilling to talk. But if he wasn’t, then maybe one of his “girls” would be. She noticed how the waitresses and dancers shot him steely glances. And a young woman working the bar kept glancing over curiously.
“Cool. We’ll stay for a drink.” Mackenzie pulled Nick by the elbow and dragged him to the bar.
“Tips not included!” he called after them.
“What are you doing?”
Mackenzie looked pointedly at the young bartender. She had a small face and shifty eyes. Unlike the older and hardened girls around her, she stood out with her softness and defiance. Like she was trying to look for the good in this corrupt place. Like she was trying hard not to lose her innocence.
“Two virgin mojitos, please,” Mackenzie said.
“Virgin?”
She flashed her badge. “We’re on duty.”
“R-right.” The girl gulped and knocked over some glasses as she made the drinks.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Few months.”
“Do you like it?”
She shrugged. “It’s life.”
Mackenzie’s chest tightened. “Do you know Hannah?”
“Yeah.” She kept looking behind them at her manager. “I’m not sure if it’ll look good that I’m talking to you guys. Joe is very paranoid about the police.”
“Really? Why?”
“He manages a strip club. Has his hands in all kinds of things.”
“Like what?” Nick asked.
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know exactly, but it makes some of the staff uncomfortable.”
“Like who?”
“Well, there was Miranda Baker. She was a dancer here. Nice girl. About a month ago, she just left without giving any notice. Haven’t heard from her since.”
Joe interrupted them. “Gina, go serve that table another round of shots.”
Gina flushed deep. She mouthed sorry to Mackenzie and Nick and carried a tray over to the table of raucous bankers. They whistled and leered at her, making her cringe.
“Enjoy the drink and then get out of here,” Joe said. “You’ll scare away my customers.”
They stepped outside and once again were ambushed by a brewing storm. Gusts of wind swept the streets of Lakemore clean.
“We have to find Miranda,” Mackenzie said as they jogged back to the car.
“I’ll run a license check. Think she’ll know something?”
“Joe is not cooperating. And we have physical evidence tying the cocktail napkin to this place. I think he knows something about this 916 business. Maybe Miranda heard or saw something and quit.”
As Nick pulled out of the parking lot, the reflection of Remington’s shrunk in the side mirror. Mackenzie wondered how removed this slimy pervert world was from Erica and Abby’s innocent lives.
“We need to talk to Hannah too,” Nick said.
“Not yet. We need more evidence.”
“Why?”
“Because I think Hannah is involved. And I think that’s how Abby found out about 916.”
Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time a mother dragged a daughter down with her.
Fifty
September 23
I found out something about Erica’s phone. Meet me ASAP at Anthony’s office tomorrow morning.
The text had come in late Saturday night, to both Mackenzie and Nick. He’d offered to give her a ride to Seattle. She’d agreed, out of habit.
Mackenzie frowned as she climbed into Nick’s SUV. “So, Daniel’s back from Chicago already?”
“Yeah, yesterday. He’s been allowed to stay on, but one more mistake and he’s out,” Nick said.
“He’s not wasting any time, is he?”
“You don’t trust him?”
She looked at Nick sharply. “You do?”
“I’ve made it clear that he’s not allowed to access any evidence alone. He’s always with an officer or with Jenna.”
“So, you don’t trust him either.”
“He’s too close. But cut him some slack. You heard the guy. He had good reason.”
“His intention doesn’t matter. He lied.”
Nick stiffened. The insinuation of her words sat heavy between them. She looked away, feeling almost jittery.
Hurtful words sat on the tip of her tongue. The urge to spew them was strong. Was that why he hid the truth from her? He had a “good reason” too? Was he trying to protect her?
Instead, she ground the back of her teeth and pressed her back against the leather seat.
They made a stop for Nick to get his coffee. It took him less than five minutes to consume the boiling liquid drug. Mackenzie always mocked how he had burned all his taste buds and only pretended to enjoy food. She spent the entire drive reading Abby’s diary or checking her phone for Sterling’s messages. Nick kept his lips pursed. He disapproved of her reading in the car—motion sickness. She knew he could tell Sterling was on her mind and wanted to prod.
But he knew that Mackenzie no longer allowed him the liberty. She remembered the hurt on his face when she said the words to him. It was the only time she had seen Nick fracture.
Mackenzie ran in the storm. Dirt and twigs clung to her wet skin. Her soaked clothes weighed heavy. The rain made her vision fuzzy. All she saw was swirling blackness ahead of her occasionally slashed open by lightning. Nick called after her, but she couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding in her ears.
A hand wrapped around her elbow. She turned around to find Nick, still in his sweatpants and T-shirt. His black hair stuck to his forehead.
“At least listen to me.”
“No!”
“Mack, please. We need to talk.”
“Now you want to talk?” She twisted her hand out of his grasp. “After being quiet all this time? Where the hell were you before?”
“I made a mistake, but––”
“No!” She slapped his chest. “Don’t give me your bullshit. You didn’t say anything. You knew all this time that Sterling was cheating on me. You screwed up.”
He breath
ed hard. “I know. But please just listen to me––”
“No. Nothing you can ever say will fix this. This is over. You mean nothing to me now. I want you to stay away from me. Stay far, far away from me.”
She watched his face shift and crumble. Even in the heavy rain, she saw tears prickle his eyes. His mouth went slack. His hands dropped to his sides. She left him standing alone in the storm.
It was over.
Mackenzie wondered idly if Sterling would meet Samantha, now that he had Sunday to himself. She was still debating confronting her, but she was certain that she had to at least see her. Even if the thought made her insides squeeze, she knew she couldn’t stay away. She had to see the woman Sterling broke her trust for.
“Peck is retiring,” Mackenzie blurted.
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“Sterling told me. He told me not to tell anyone. Let’s keep this between us.”
“I wonder who they’ll bring in. Think Sully is in for a promotion?”
“I doubt it. He’ll hate the extra work.”
“Why did you tell me?” Nick asked. She looked at him. The wavering of his eyes gave away his curiosity.
She didn’t reply. He didn’t push again.
The rest of the drive was silent. As they headed to Anthony’s office, she wondered what evidence Daniel had found. Everything had been extracted from Erica’s phone—call logs, messages, and pictures and videos. The three of them had spent their nights devouring that information, looking for any clues. Justin and Jenna had been working non-stop, verifying the contents found on the phone, confirming witness statements, and exploring all threads of possibilities.
What had they missed that Daniel discovered?
“Thanks for coming,” Daniel said.
Anthony’s office was crowded, with four people trying to fit inside. The chemical odor of pest treatment still hung in the air. Nick winced. “Jeez, Anthony. How are you working here? Is your nose dead or something?”
He rolled his eyes. “Daniel, you want to explain why we’re spending Sunday morning inhaling bug spray?”
Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1) Page 21