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

by Ruhi Choudhary

  Tree roots spread out like spiderwebs on the ground, making hiking tricky. They functioned like traps, adding bumps and dips. She had tripped three times already.

  She pulled out her phone and scowled. “I’m still not getting any service!”

  “That’s the point of the cabins out here. Seclusion!”

  She dusted off her pants and eyed her muddy shoes in disdain.

  “We’re hiking. You will get dirty,” Nick said, amused.

  “Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. How are you so good at this?”

  “I was a boy scout.” He held his waist and looked forward. “We’re close. I estimate five minutes.”

  “Did you check the address correctly?”

  “I looked it up on Google Maps.”

  “Which side are we on? Where are the patrol officers searching?”

  “They started from the south side making their way up. They follow a system. They’ll get to this area tomorrow.”

  It was too green for her taste. The ground was covered in moss and fern. The birds chirped, slicing through the silence. She resisted the smell—the perfume of damp earth somewhere between sweet and sour. But the more she walked, the more her tenacity began to melt. She felt her walls tumble down.

  Why didn’t she ever let herself enjoy the woods? Why did she fear Robert’s ghost would haunt her?

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You have childlike wonder on your face.”

  Bill Grayson’s large cabin with a tapered roof came into view a few meters ahead. Nestled deep inside the forest, it was a wooden shoebox hidden behind trees. The gleaming maple wood and solid iron railing divulged its high worth. One side of the cabin consisted of a floor to ceiling window made of spotless glass.

  “He won’t be here,” Nick said. “It’s football season. He’s busy.”

  “We can’t go inside without a warrant, Nick.”

  “I know. But I was thinking there’s nothing wrong in looking around, right? And if we see or hear something suspicious in response to our very loud knocks, then the plain view doctrine holds.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes. Shelly really trained you on how to deal with lawyers, didn’t she?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  It was an odd choice, spending all that money to build a luxury cabin at this location. It was private, with no other cabins in the vicinity, but there were also fewer trails, poorer access roads, and there was no direct access to the Fresco River. It wasn’t just secluded—it was isolated. They climbed the stairs to the wide, sprawling deck. Patio furniture sat with a barbecue grill. Mackenzie kicked the gray deck boards with her heels. They didn’t waver.

  When they reached the red-painted door, Nick knocked loudly.

  They waited for a response: a whimper or a strangled cry from the other side of the door. But the only sound was of the birds piping and the wind ruffling the leaves.

  Nick knocked again and shouted. “Detective Nick Blackwood from Lakemore PD. Anyone in?”

  They waited. Like a fool, Mackenzie clung to the slim chance of discovering Abby alive inside. Nick gestured for her to circle around the cabin. Was Abby’s phone even still here? Had it ever been? They needed to find something out of the ordinary—anything that would get them closer to getting a warrant to turn Grayson’s house upside down.

  She scrutinized every inch of the deck’s surface, the stairs, the railings, and the soil under her feet. When she reached the glass wall, she cupped her hands around her eyes and glued them to the glass.

  At the first round of inspection, the cabin looked neat. Everything was in place. The wall opposite was covered in framed pictures and jerseys. There was a sense of solitude in the decor. The colors were muted and warm. It was comfort, not luxury.

  Mackenzie’s eyes swept repeatedly, searching for anything. Something caught her eye. The glare got in her way. She squinted and shifted a little to get a better view. The lamp on the side table at the far end of the couch was on the floor. Next to it, there was a pool of something dark.

  Like a spilled drink.

  Or blood.

  “Nick!” Mackenzie yelled. “Come here!”

  “What?” Nick looked through the glass. “Blood.”

  Mackenzie operated on instinct. She raced to the door, knocked on it sharply and waited exactly three seconds before she slammed her shoulder into it. With each thump, the door wiggled against the hinges. After the fourth push, it swung open.

  They barged inside, taking out their guns. She went to the blood on the floor. Squatting, she realized it was old and dried. There was a short drag mark in the direction of the main door. “You take the second floor.”

  Nick disappeared up the stairs. Holding her gun in both hands, she inspected the living space and kitchen. There were no hiding places, but she searched for another clue. A bloody handprint? Abby’s phone?

  Everything was squeaky clean. The only evidence of any disruption was the blood and the lamp. She could hear Nick’s footsteps from the floor above. After searching for over fifteen minutes, she put her gun back in the holster.

  The adrenaline began to recede. She had followed protocol.

  Nick returned from upstairs. “Nothing. I’m calling it in. This is a crime scene.”

  It had been over five hours since the crime scene investigators were called. They raked through the cabin with a fine-tooth comb. They dusted for fingerprints and searched for bodily fluids. They drew sketches and collected photographic evidence during walkthroughs. If there was anything else worth finding, they would.

  Mackenzie was not expecting results tonight, though she put in a request to fast-track the DNA profiling on the blood that was found.

  The crime lab reported that there was a faint shoe print in the living room—the size suggesting it belonged to a man. They were still running analysis on it, trying to decipher the pattern to get the exact size and hopefully the type of shoe.

  Back at the station, Mackenzie perched herself on a table and noticed Nick’s twitchy fingers. He had gone through three cups of black coffee. His phone buzzed, and he shot up so fast that the air around him billowed.

  “Anthony, hi. Mack is here too.” He turned on the speakerphone.

  “We just tested the blood residue. It belongs to Abby.”

  Nick punched the air. “Yes!”

  Breath squeezed out of Mackenzie’s lungs. “We got him.”

  “Thanks, Anthony. Let us know if you have more.” He disconnected the call. “Pretty twisted that we’re glad Abby lost all that blood.”

  “No. This blood loss will get her justice, and save her life if she’s still alive.”

  Pulses of delight gushed through her. She was close to Abby. She felt like all she had to do was reach out with her hand and snatch her into a safe world again.

  “I’m going to ask Jenna to start preparing the affidavit,” Nick said. “We’re going after Bill Grayson.”

  Fifty-Eight

  September 25

  Mackenzie sat in the conference room. Her stomach unfurled. The hunger had moved beyond throwing tantrums. Now it clawed at her insides—bit by bit.

  She’d barely eaten in twenty-four hours.

  By the time she’d gotten home last night, it was almost midnight. Sterling was asleep. She had found leftover pasta and sandwiches he had left her on the kitchen counter. Her stomach had moaned so loudly she thought it might climb out of her mouth, strut to the food, and fill itself. Instead, she ignored it and slept on the couch.

  When she woke up this morning, Sterling was gone.

  What were his intentions? He ignored her. He didn’t message or call. But he was considerate enough to leave her food.

  The pencil in between her fingers broke. She jumped at the sharp lead slashing over her palm. It wasn’t long before she watched Lieutenant Peck prowl toward the conference room, followed by Nick.

  “Detective Price!”
he roared.

  “Yes?”

  “What is this?” Peck hurled a crumpled piece of paper across the table.

  She knew exactly what it was. She looked at Nick standing behind Peck with his arms crossed and jaw flexing. “It’s an affidavit for an arrest warrant.”

  “Against Bill Grayson?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “There is probable cause,” she said slowly. “We found Abby’s dried blood in his cabin.”

  Peck’s body quaked like someone had trailed the tip of a cold blade over his skin. His mouth opened and closed like fish. “Why were you at his cabin in the first place?”

  “Abby referred to a ‘Monster’ in her diary. We suspected Bill Grayson.”

  “It’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

  “Abby’s phone was turned on and off briefly in that area.”

  “Why didn’t you just let the Sheriff’s Office take care of the search?”

  “We decided to have a picnic by Fresco River and thought of stopping by to see Bill,” Nick said with a mocking grin on his face.

  Peck looked over his shoulder. “You’re walking on thin ice, son.”

  “Protocol was followed.” He dropped his smile. “If you have any doubts, open an investigation.”

  “The minute you had him on your list of suspects, you should have come to Sully or to me. Good thing I got this before it went to a judge. This is a murder investigation, not a coup. You don’t blindside the brass by drafting a warrant against Bill fucking Grayson!”

  “A girl is missing. Her blood was found in a cabin. We are arresting the owner of that cabin,” Mackenzie said sharply. “Bill Grayson will not be given a free pass or any benefit of the doubt because of his celebrity status.”

  “There was no need to get a warrant against him. You could have just talked to him.”

  “We’re following standard protocol this time.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Mackenzie met Peck’s gaze evenly. The cords in his neck strained like iron cables. His walnut-brown eyes were large behind his spectacles.

  Lieutenant Peck was a formidable man. His military background commanded a lot of respect around the station. He was considered the top guy, the boss—even above Captain Murphy, who had become more of a figurehead. The department would be rudderless when he retired before the captain.

  Mackenzie had respected him. Until she realized that he might be corrupt.

  “Tell me, Detective Price. What did you mean by that statement?”

  Nick shook his head at Mackenzie but she didn’t listen. “I don’t think you’ll appreciate my candor, Lieutenant Peck.”

  “Try me.”

  “Daphne Cho’s full file wasn’t provided to the Tacoma PD. The investigation into Chloe St. Clair’s disappearance was sloppy.”

  She didn’t blame Troy. She’d spoken to him again, and he had confirmed what she remembered. He wanted to tie up loose ends, but Peck dismissed the case. He had been stressed about the burglaries and wanted Troy to wrap up “real” cases. When Mackenzie appraised Troy of the latest development, his playful demeanor had dropped, and a haunted look crossed his face.

  Peck shivered. “In hindsight, they were bad decisions.”

  “Or were they attempts to protect someone? Those burglaries certainly happened at very convenient times.”

  “What you are suggesting is preposterous. You’re linking random pieces of information into a conspiracy theory. Do you really believe that Bill killed Erica, threatened Abby, tricked her into turning in the phone and the money, and then abducted her? Something that convoluted?”

  “He can definitely shed some light on why her blood was in his cabin.”

  “You don’t know what’s at stake here!” Peck’s voice broke. “The entire city put their faith in this man. This man is responsible for hospital wings, jobs, and business investments. The minute you involve him, this case is not about Erica or Abby or those girls. This becomes about Lakemore and what Lakemore believes in.”

  She knew. She had festered in the madness for years. Every conversation, celebration, debate; everything in Lakemore revolved around football and football players.

  She had been looking at the case with a magnifying glass till now—searching for the fine details and concealed clues. She had not looked at it through a wide-angle lens. What did all this mean? What were the implications?

  “I understand. This situation is unwelcome. But we have to do our job.”

  He hung his head low. “We cannot ignore the big picture.”

  “The big picture is not our job,” Nick said.

  “Fine.” Peck straightened. “I’ll bring him in. There will be no perp walk. I want this handled with discretion and dignity.”

  “It will be,” Mackenzie assured. “But also with fairness.”

  Peck nodded stiffly and left the conference room. He barked at a uniform officer who bumped into him.

  “What the hell was that about?” Nick muttered.

  “He’s afraid.”

  “Are you?”

  “Hell no.”

  Fifty-Nine

  When Bill Grayson arrived at headquarters, there was a ripple. It started with a lull of silence that rolled sluggishly, leaving a cluster of whispers in its wake. Mackenzie felt the atmosphere shift. It was no longer weary, but alert and jittery. She saw the effect a man of his stature had on the station. Young officers stood straight. They watched him doe-eyed. They tried to introduce themselves, but Peck acted like a shield. They were left coveting.

  Grayson was a bear-like man. His salt and pepper hair crowned a pink face and round gray eyes. There was nothing remarkable about his features. His chin was square and sunken. His pencil-thin lips were flat under his slightly pointed nose. He was dressed in a blue tracksuit, the Sharks logo displayed proudly over his broad chest. A small group of people chanted for the Sharks and hooted. They didn’t know why he was here.

  Grayson’s stride was confident, but he favored his left leg. It must have been his age and injuries. As he got closer, Mackenzie could make out the wrinkles on his skin. On television, they hid them with makeup. But Bill Grayson was an ageing man, in his late sixties.

  Peck opened the conference room door for him. “We can talk in here.”

  “Your interrogation room sure looks fancy.”

  Mackenzie and Nick shook his hand and introduced themselves. Outside the conference room, a throng of people began to gather. Peck turned around and shot them a death glare, making them disperse.

  “So, I’m going to be under arrest?” Bill said. “I must say, I never imagined that as an old man I would be arrested for something as blasphemous as abducting a high school girl.”

  Mackenzie opened the case file containing photographs of the crime scene, case details, and the interview notes she had prepared. Nick sat with nothing but a coffee in front of him.

  He relied on instinct. She trusted technique.

  “Mr. Grayson, you showed up alone,” she said.

  “I don’t need a lawyer. I’m certain that this entire thing is a misunderstanding. I just want to clear things up and head back to the boys.”

  Peck sat on one of the chairs against the glass wall. “I’ll sit in on this, if you don’t mind.”

  Mackenzie exchanged a hard look with Nick before turning to Bill. “Alright. I assume you are aware of Abigail Correia’s disappearance?”

  “Of course.” His eyebrows dipped. “It’s tragic.”

  “She went missing on September eleventh. Two weeks ago. Yesterday her blood was found in your cabin by the Fresco River.” She showed him more photographs of the crime scene.

  He balked. “I don’t know how that ended up there. I’ve not been there in weeks. As you know, I’m very busy at this time of year.”

  “Did you know Abby?” Nick asked.

  “No.”

  “You were never in contact with her?”

  “Not that I remember. I come into contact with a lot of people. If
by ‘contact’ you mean whether I’ve ever passed by her and given her a polite nod, then it is possible that I have made contact with her before.”

  Bill didn’t answer with sass or sarcasm. He answered simply.

  She saw what Bill’s appeal was; despite his success and status, he was relatable.

  She looked down at the interview tree she had drawn. She had predicted all responses and planned the follow-up question.

  “There was no sign of a break-in. The door was locked. Hence, we assumed that whoever broke into your cabin must have come in through a window. We checked, and there is no back door. However, there was no cracked-open window either. They were all left unlocked. Is that usual?”

  “Yes. I never bought any locks for the windows. The cabin is so deep in the woods that I was almost guaranteed seclusion and safety.”

  She pulled out a map from the file. “This is where Abby was last seen.” She indicated with her finger. “Between the gas station and the bank, within a mile of Lakemore High. Your cabin is over here, nestled deep inside the woods. There’s only one possibility. Abby was grabbed here and taken all the way to your cabin, where perhaps she decided to fight back. A struggle ensued, the lamp fell down, Abby was injured, and then she was moved to a different location. Why was your cabin chosen to hide Abby?”

  “As I said, its location offers seclusion.”

  “But why yours?” she challenged. “There are other cabins in those woods. It is a bit of a coincidence that she was taken to the cabin belonging to you, the man she had mentioned several times in her personal diary by his nickname. The Monster.”

  His forehead bunched. “Excuse me? She mentioned me in her diary?”

  “She described you as someone who watches her and follows her,” Nick said. “She called you untouchable.”

  A series of grunts escaped Grayson’s throat, like an engine coughing to life. “She’s delusional! I didn’t even know she existed before she went missing.”

  “Then it was someone you know who took her. Someone who has been to your cabin before decided to take advantage of its location,” Nick said.