Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1)
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“I was thinking about Abby looking into 916 and Erica’s disappearance,” Daniel explained. “I realized we were so focused on where and how Abby found Erica’s phone that we never thought about where she was hiding it. We don’t know when Abby found the phone, but it’s safe to assume that it was at least days before she went missing. We also suspect that she was looking into 916 and uncovered evidence, which led to her being blackmailed and abducted. Then, I started thinking, what evidence could it be? Was it just Erica’s cell? But we found nothing on it.”
“Which means that 916 doesn’t care about Erica’s phone,” Nick said. “Nor did they care about the money. They didn’t take either of those things. If they arranged the drop at the gas station, they knew they wouldn’t be able to pick them up without being caught on camera. It was just to get Abby to let her guard down or mess with us. We established that already.”
“We did. But then what did Abby uncover? So, I started thinking about where Abby could have been hiding that evidence.”
“Maybe she was hiding it wherever she was keeping the phone,” Mackenzie finished his thought.
“Exactly!” Daniel said frantically. “I thought maybe the phone would have some evidence on it. I went to Anthony yesterday, asking if he could find something that could give us information on where the phone was being kept.”
“I was not optimistic about this,” Anthony said flatly. “But still, I swiped the phone for particulates. I ran them on the mass spec and found something other than dirt and epidermal cells.” He slid the results for Mackenzie and Nick to read.
Mackenzie skimmed over the chromatograms showing various peaks. She didn’t have a background in science but working in law enforcement long enough had given her adequate working knowledge. “There is a lot of background noise.”
“Yes. The peaks with the highest intensity are essentially dirt. There were traces of Abby’s DNA. None of Erica’s DNA. It makes sense, since she touched this phone more than a year ago, and it wasn’t bagged immediately and has been under unknown conditions. But I cleaned up the sample a bit and played around with noise-to-signal ratio.” He turned the page to a cleaner chromatogram. There were fewer peaks, each marked with their signature molecular weight and signal intensity. Under it, the identified substances were listed. “There are high levels of toluene diisocyanate and methylene diphenyl diisocyanate, along with some acetone, ketone, and ethers.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“Adhesive. Polyurethanes, to be specific. There were also significant quantities of pumice powder, chalk, wax, and plywood. She definitely didn’t hide the phone in her closet.”
“All these materials. Where do you find them?” Mackenzie asked.
“Woodshop,” Nick said. “Lakemore High offers a woodworking program.”
“Abby hid the phone at school, not at home?”
“Maybe she suspected that her home wasn’t safe,” Daniel offered. “We know someone messed around with her medication. What if they left some evidence behind, and Abby grew suspicious?”
“Whoever was threatening her would search her home first. It was smart to find a hiding place at school.”
“I’ll ask Principal Burley if we can search today, without a warrant and without students around. It’ll save us time.” Nick pulled out his phone and ducked out of the office.
“You did good, Daniel,” Mackenzie admitted as they left Anthony’s office. “We didn’t think of checking for that.”
“I just wanted to help. I’m sorry; I should’ve been honest.”
“You should have.” Her words made him recoil. She registered his weary appearance: his creased suit, scuffed shoes, and loose tie. “But… sometimes we can be right, even if our actions weren’t. I can understand that,” she added softly.
“You can?”
“Yes. And I’m really sorry that we missed this. But I promise I’ll not stop till I find the truth.”
Fifty-One
Lakemore High had a separate section that looked like a bulb attached to the main building, with a single corridor connecting them. The bulb housed a greenhouse, photography studio, exercise studio, and woodshop. Principal Burley led them along the corridor, rubbing her hands feverishly. Dressed in loose tracksuit and sneakers, she was a stark contrast to the fashionable woman with high heels they’d met previously.
“I must say I’m shocked that Erica’s phone was in school.” She bit her lip, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t know what to think.”
“The school’s not in any trouble,” Mackenzie assured her. “We just want to check if there is anything else.”
“Of course.” She reached the woodshop door and took out her keys. “The start of the football season is exhausting for me. I finally understand why the principal before me retired at the age of forty-five.”
“Tell me about it. The city is already preparing to close down some streets and deploy police everywhere in case we lose, and there’s a riot,” Nick said.
She grinned, unlocking the door. “That won’t happen as long as we have Bill—Coach Grayson. Quinn too, of course. He has a bright future in the NFL.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The woodshop was smaller than Mackenzie had expected. It smelled heavenly. The scent of freshly cut wood and sawdust inched up her nose. Woods of different shades and textures were stacked along the walls. Individual workstations were set up. Each had separate sets of tools and a multifunction table. The back wall seemed to be the supply shelf. It held everything from power tools to dust collectors, hoses and clamps.
“Does the school have any safety protocol in place?” Daniel asked, pulling on latex gloves. “These tools are dangerous.”
“Of course. The room is locked at all times other than when there is a class in here. The students must finish safety training and always work under the supervision of the instructor.”
Mackenzie trailed her hand over the rich sheen of birch wood sitting on a table, half curved into a circle. “Which one is Abby’s station?”
“The one on your left. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
Abby’s workstation looked much like everyone else’s. Mackenzie had expected more organization, knowing her, but then it wouldn’t take long for another student using the station to undo all that.
Daniel knocked on the uncut wood on the table. “What’s this? Oak?”
“Pine,” Nick said. “Look at all the knots.”
“You took woodshop in high school?”
“I liked power drills.”
They assessed Abby’s cluttered station, covered in sawdust, a gunstock-carving vise, bench gripper, screwdriver, and brackets. Mackenzie sifted through them carefully. “I doubt she hid anything in plain sight. Let’s check the drawers.”
The plywood workbench consisted of a folding table and stool. The table had three drawers running down each side. They opened the drawers and checked for anything unusual. The bottom drawer on the right was filled with a collection of adhesives.
“She must have put the phone here. The table is made of plywood.” Mackenzie rummaged through the drawer. “There’s also chalk in here.”
Mackenzie pulled out the drawer and set it on the tabletop. The three of them took out every piece inside the drawer and examined it. They extracted each tube of adhesive and glue and opened them. With the drawer contents arranged over the table, Nick searched for anything written on the inside of the drawer. His scowl deepened as each compartment yielded nothing. After ten minutes of inspection, they hadn’t found anything.
“I can’t believe this was a dead-end.” Daniel gritted his teeth.
“Maybe we should check the supply shelf in the back,” Mackenzie said. “There are some adhesives over there.”
Daniel hurried to the back of the room and began picking apart the shelf. Mackenzie and Nick exchanged an uneasy glance. His desperation was evident in the hasty and careless movements of his hands. Mackenzi
e picked up the drawer to put it back in place.
Right when she was about to push it back, she noticed a small groove running down the right side of the drawer. It was only three inches long and close to the bottom. The line wasn’t there on the left side. She opened another drawer.
Her breath got stuck in her throat.
She opened all the drawers.
“What are you thinking?” Nick asked.
She ignored him and placed the drawer back on the table. “Do you see this groove? It’s only on this drawer.”
She tilted the drawer to the right at a ninety-degree angle and shook it. A small drawer slid out a few inches.
They froze.
With a shaking hand, she pulled the miniature drawer out completely. Her lungs collapsed into themselves.
“What is it?” Daniel appeared at their side.
He pointed at the thin stack of papers folded in the drawer. Mackenzie took them out and skimmed over them quickly.
“The missing pages of Abby’s diary.”
“She built a secret drawer just to hide them?” Daniel asked, aghast.
Mackenzie felt a tingle crawl up her spine. Her voice came out as a whisper. “I think these contain everything she knows about what happened to Erica. She hid them to keep them safe.”
Fifty-Two
Fresh coffee was brewed. Cookies were spread out in concentric circles on a plate. Chinese food had arrived. Pages flipped. Chopsticks clacked. Spoons pinged at the edges of coffee mugs. Chairs squeaked. Pens clicked.
Mackenzie had made copies of the missing pages recovered at Abby’s station. The originals were sent to crime lab to look for fingerprints. There were fifteen entries. All of them dated after Erica went missing, corresponding to the random dates missing in Abby’s journal.
They read the entries together in silence, searching for clues. Some were forlorn; some were curious. All were haunting.
I miss her every day. I don’t know what to do. But I know I can’t do “nothing.” The police are working on the case. It doesn’t feel like enough.
No one hated Erica. No one. So who did this? It has to be someone who is sick. Someone twisted. Someone who hunts girls like animals. Something wrong is happening. I can feel it in my bones. The people in this town don’t care. They don’t see something sinister happening right under their noses.
I feel like I’m being followed, like I’m being watched. I don’t know if it’s paranoia. But there is a Monster. Lurking close. He’s always around. I know he is. I can feel him.
Lakemore is a strange place. People walk around with blindfolds. The more I look, the more I see. I am afraid to even write about it. What if he’s here too? He can do anything he wants. This town will let him get away with murder.
The Monster was watching me today. Does he know? Does he know I’m on to him? I haven’t told anyone. I can’t. Who will believe me? Who will believe the poor girl over the Monster?
People only care until it is convenient for them. That is what Lakemore has taught me. If I even attempt to tell the world what I think I know, I will be destroyed. It makes me wonder how many other people know the truth. Who else knows about 916?
I think I should stop looking. But I can’t. I can’t do this to Erica. She comes in my dreams demanding justice, begging me to show the world what the Monster did to her, what the Monster did to all the other women. But what if he hurts me too?
How long has this been going on for? How long will people protect him? I don’t believe in this town anymore. Anything is possible. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I wonder if there is anyone I can trust. He is everywhere. He is untouchable. Lakemore is hiding something dark.
“She couldn’t write his name?” Daniel flipped through the pages again. “Why didn’t she write his name?”
Nick pursed his lips as he looked at his phone. “Anthony says he’s found two sets of fingerprints on the pages. One belongs to Abby—he matched it with the set found in her journal. The other is unknown.”
“Who else could have had access to these?” Daniel asked. “Why didn’t they take them?”
“Maybe they didn’t understand what any of this meant?”
“You’re saying someone other than 916 found these pages?”
Mackenzie tuned out their discussion. Their voices slowly wafted to the end of a tunnel until they were senseless echoes. She kept staring at Abby’s words.
Something dark.
Taken.
Anything is possible.
Get away with murder.
All the other women.
He is everywhere.
Watched.
Like animals.
Monster.
Her skin crawled. These pages contained something worth hiding. But the longer she stared at Abby’s immaculate handwriting, the more she found herself getting lost in the jumble. Abby never wrote a name.
It was almost as if she had left riddles in case the pages were found by the wrong person. Like she knew that someone would be looking for them.
What Mackenzie knew was that Abby had not only discovered who this “Monster” was but also that he had hurt other women before, and that this town was protecting him. She thought back to the investigations into Daphne and Chloe; the neglect and callousness with which they were handled. The convenient timing of the burglaries and Peck’s apparent negligence. It was evident why Abby never went to the police. Even Mackenzie wouldn’t know who to trust.
“Let’s not tell anyone about this for now,” she said. “We should get something more concrete before we get the brass involved.”
Daniel nodded absentmindedly. But Nick watched her with questioning eyes.
Fifty-Three
Miranda Baker had spunk, Mackenzie concluded. The twenty-something sitting across from them had pink hair, plain skin, and an asymmetrical face. But the sharp movement of her eyes and forced smacking of her jaw as she chewed gum screamed defiance. Every now and then her pierced tongue would creep out to lick her dry lips.
“You really had to show up at my work?” she said in a gravelly voice. “What do you think my manager will make of this?”
She hadn’t been difficult to track down to the cafe. The place was sparse, but busy enough even near to closing on a Sunday. The floor needed rigorous mopping, and the menu screen was cracked. But it was a quarter the price of Starbucks, so everyone flocked.
“You’re not in any trouble,” Nick said.
“It’s about the perception. Do I even have to talk to you?”
“Gina told us about you,” Mackenzie said softly.
Her forehead crumpled. “How is she?”
“She looks like she’s surviving.”
“I keep telling her that she needs to leave.” Miranda sat back and nibbled on the pad of her thumb. “She doesn’t listen. She really needs the money. But that place isn’t safe.”
“Why not?”
She froze and assessed them. “Why are you here?”
Nick showed her a picture of the cocktail napkin. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Miranda stared at the picture for a long time. Mackenzie held her breath. She felt tingles race up her arms. Maybe, she’ll know something.
But she shook her head. “No. Haven’t seen this before.”
“Why’d you quit?” Mackenzie asked warily.
“Joe is a son of a bitch.”
“You said that place isn’t safe.”
“Definitely not.”
“Because of him?”
Miranda growled under her breath and looked away, reluctant and cagey. Mackenzie knew she could be convinced. She had given a glimpse of her character when she softened at the mention of Gina.
“Miranda,” Nick said. “Hannah’s daughter is missing. We’re looking for her.”
Her head whipped round to pin them with a hard glare. “Hannah isn’t as innocent as she looks. Don’t buy her bullshit. Not every single mother is a saint.”
“What do you mean?”
“The client?” Mackenzie asked. “He’s dangerous?”
“He’s powerful. Look… I… I don’t want to get mixed up in that.”
“Did the client pay up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is he?”
“I can’t say. He told me what would happen if I did.”
“We can protect––” Nick said.
“No!” she almost shrieked. “You don’t understand. I don’t trust you. He’s rich. Everyone knows how this town is run. No offense.”
Mackenzie recalled the words in Abby’s diary. The paranoia. The mistrust. The dread. She saw it in Miranda’s little movements. From the way she kept licking her dry lips to her constant fidgeting.
“How did he threaten you?” she asked.
“Please don’t––”
Mackenzie placed her hand on hers. “I promise your name won’t come up. And I know you owe Hannah nothing. But her daughter is innocent. Don’t tell us his name. Just tell us how he threatened you. We can work with that.”
Mackenzie wondered if she’d gone too far. She withdrew her hand quickly.
“He sent a guy. He looked like trouble. Told me to keep quiet otherwise something bad might happen to me.”
“What did he look like?” Nick asked.
As Miranda delved into a description, a face began to assemble in Mackenzie’s mind. Finally, the wild card fit into the picture.