“I’m calling from the Marriott Hotel in San Francisco. Mr. Brooks stayed with us from June twenty-eighth through July first.”
She rolled her eyes, hoping this wasn’t another survey call. “Yes, he was attending a legal conference.”
“Um, is this Mrs. Brooks?”
“Yes.” She put the milk cartons in the fridge.
“Oh, ma’am! I actually wanted to speak with you. You left your hair straighteners in your room.”
“Sorry?”
“Your hair straighteners, ma’am.”
Her stomach contracted. Slowly, she closed the door to the fridge. Her brain was frazzled. She felt her muscles turn into clumps of metal hanging off her bones. She opened her mouth to speak, but only air came out.
“Ma’am?”
“Y-yes.” She found her voice, but it was breathy. “I d-did. Are you sure they’re mine?”
“Certainly. Housekeeping recovered them before another guest had checked in. We can send them to you via courier. Your husband is a valued guest…”
Mackenzie tuned out his voice. It was replaced by a high-pitched ringing sound. Her pulse came to a grinding halt. She braced herself against the edge of the counter.
Sterling had attended that conference a week ago. He had stayed in that hotel. Could there have been a misunderstanding? She had to have more faith in her husband. A thirty-second phone conversation should not have any impact on her marriage.
But she knew that it took only a few seconds for worlds to tumble.
You have to help me bury him.
She ended the call abruptly and picked up her cell to call Sterling. But something stopped her. Her breath came out quick and powerful. She felt it scrape the insides of her nostrils and heat her upper lip. She analyzed his recent behavior. Their last argument had been a month ago, but now that she thought about it, he had been distant and less attentive. She had assumed it was work. But was it?
She needed evidence, or a witness. She could go to San Francisco and ask around. But then she remembered that Nick had attended the conference too.
It slammed into her with a mighty force. Nick had been acting oddly too. He was talking less, staring at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, and he had cancelled their plans to hang out.
Did he know? Had he seen something in that hotel?
Sixty-Five
October 8
Nick shot out of his chair and barged out of the restaurant. He drew prying glances from other customers. Clearly they thought it was a lovers’ spat.
Darkness had fallen on Lakemore. The starless evening promised rain later in the night. Mackenzie followed him into the parking lot. He paced, running his hands through his hair.
“Stop!” she shouted. He stopped no more than ten feet away from her. But he didn’t turn around. His body swelled and shriveled like a bull readying to charge. “I had to see,” she admitted in a small voice.
He turned around slowly. “Why?”
“I just had to.”
“Why? Are you a masochist? Or were you planning on actually confronting her?”
“I had to see what was worth ruining my marriage for!”
Nick shook his head. “Mack, this is not about her. This is about you and him. She could be the most perfect woman on the planet, but it still won’t change anything.”
“I know!” Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She swallowed incessantly. “I’m not angry at her. If Sterling didn’t care about me, then why would she?”
“You’re using her as an excuse to stall. You know you have to make a decision. Either leave him or stay with him. But stop torturing yourself like this. Besides, he’s not even seeing her anymore.”
“How the hell do you know that?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I… I’ve been following him.”
Her laugh was mirthless. “Look at you! Like you care about my feelings.”
“Of course I do.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have done what you did.” She turned to leave, but he twisted her around.
“I know I screwed up.” His grip on her elbow was unforgiving. “I hate myself every day for it, Mack. I’m sorry.”
“It’s too late.” Her voice broke. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought this was between you and him. I thought it would be inappropriate for me to––”
“Inappropriate? You were my best friend! You weren’t some acquaintance or colleague. I trusted you.”
“I’m sorry!” he yelled. “I don’t know how marriage and that crap works, Mack. Luna was the result of a hole in a condom. I messed up! I don’t know what else to do except apologize. I should have gone to you instead of speaking to him.”
“To him? What do you mean? What happened?”
He stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck. “When I caught him with her, at the hotel, he saw me. He came to me, begging me not to tell you anything. He said that he was going to end the fling anyway and that you should hear it from him. I gave him a week to come clean to you. I warned him that if he didn’t tell you in a week, then I would.”
“He didn’t.”
“I didn’t know that. He texted me few days later saying that he’d told you everything, and you two were working out your issues. It wasn’t until you showed up at my place that night that I found out Sterling lied to me.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything? When you thought that I knew the truth? You didn’t ask me anything.”
“I thought you were in denial or embarrassed or some shit. I was waiting for you to open up to me. When I found out that Sterling lied to me, I clocked him in the face.”
“That was you?”
“Hell yeah.” He curled his hand in a fist and shoved it in his pocket.
She remembered the time Sterling had come home with a battered cheek.
“What happened?”
“This asshole we were charging. He lost it in the courthouse.”
She hung her head low and let out a groan. “Oh my God. Oh my God. What have I done? What should I do?”
Strength left her. She sank to the ground. She didn’t think about the filth touching her clothes. It did not matter anymore. Nothing did. She rubbed the sides of her head to dampen her piercing headache.
“Mack.” Nick crouched next to her and patted her back.
The caring gesture gutted her. Tears spilled with force. Her wound-up body uncoiled. She felt the salty taste of her tears on the tip of her tongue. Her hands began to tremble. She cried so hard that she was afraid her ribs might bruise. She hadn’t even realized that Nick had tucked her under his arm.
“All my life, p-people have betrayed me, Nick. Everyone. Almost every single person in my life has lied and cheated. My father was a drunk. My m-mother… Sterling cheated on me. You were the only one I had. I thought you would n-never hurt me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeated the words like a prayer. “I thought I was doing the right thing by giving Sterling a chance. I was an idiot to believe him.”
“So was I.”
She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the ground. “I haven’t confronted him.”
“Still?”
“You’d think I would have done, right? I’m not the passive kind.”
“You’re definitely not passive. You’re just processing. It’s a tough situation.”
“What would you do if you were me?”
He hesitated. “I would leave him.”
“I would have given you the same advice.” Her eyelids felt swollen from her outburst. “It’s so easy to say that. Leave him.”
“You have to decide what’s easier for you. Leaving him or living with him, knowing everything you do.”
“And you say you don’t know anything about relationships.”
She looked up at the sky. The first drop fell on the tip of her nose. Fat raindrops began to clatter to the ground, one by one. She made no effort to move. The rain drenched her clothes
, filled the insides of her shoes, and seeped into her scalp. It washed away her armor. She felt naked, powerless, like everything in her life was unspooling. She waited for the panic to take over. But nothing happened.
“I can’t believe you didn’t run for cover,” Nick said, sitting carefree on the ground.
“I know. I’ve officially gone insane.”
“I didn’t want to say this before, but I’m pretty sure you are sitting in dog pee.”
She grinned.
Sixty-Six
October 9
Rain pounded harsh and heartless on the windows. Mackenzie pinched her forehead as she got off the phone with more disheartening news from the Sheriff’s Office. They had been trying to track Abby from Grayson’s cabin, searching the woods painstakingly for the past two weeks. The women and men of the Sheriff’s Office knew the woods better than anyone. So far, they had nothing.
Nick leaned against the wall of her cubicle. “Another update from Anthony.” As expected, crime scene investigators had found a mass of fingerprints in Grayson’s cabin—over a hundred. They were working with the Latent Print Unit and Washington State Patrol to identify possible matches in the Automated Fingerprint Identification System or “AFIS”. It would take time to run them all. “Still nothing for us to follow up.”
“What about that shoe print?” They had established it was a size eleven, but hadn’t got much further.
“Definitively too faint to reconstruct the specific make.”
“Has Jenna found anything?”
“Nope. Of the sixty-two names Grayson gave us, thirty-one are dead, and twenty-six don’t live anywhere near Washington anymore. She’s now followed up on the remaining five that still live nearby. Two are in wheelchairs. Jenna has gone to check in on the other three, but they’re ancient, Mack. Highly unlikely for them to commit violent and sexual crimes in their early seventies.”
“I know.” Her shoulders sagged. “We have so much more information now, but I still feel like we’re back to square one.”
“Yeah.” He unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, then picked up his coffee mug and pressed it against his forehead. “I’m scared that this is going to end up being one of those cases.”
“The ones that are never solved?”
“Yeah. The ones that haunt you forever. Don’t all detectives have one?”
She pressed her thumbs against her eyelids. What was she missing? Was someone hiding in plain sight? The stakes were much higher. This was not just about Erica and Abby. This was about Chloe and Daphne too. This was about the next girl who would be targeted if they didn’t catch the copycat Club 916.
This would be the fourth year they’d failed. Four Septembers they’d gotten away with. She refused to accept that.
“What about Grayson’s alibi?” Nick asked. “Have you finished going through the calendar his assistant emailed?”
“Yeah. I confirmed his scheduled whereabouts going back weeks. Either he’s telling the truth, or everyone’s lying for him. I wouldn’t completely disregard the latter. Doesn’t seem as ridiculous anymore.”
“Can you believe that?” Nick winced. “Club 916 got away with raping and assaulting women, and everyone protected them.”
“It was the Sixties. These things still happen, but it was worse back then.”
“I can’t believe no one cared,” he whispered. He glanced at Finn, who was sitting at his desk with his headphones on. Nick leaned closer anyway. “I had nightmares last night. I kept thinking about Luna. Someone doing this to her and then no one does anything about it. How can they not care?”
“You don’t have to worry about Luna. If anyone touches her without her consent, I’ll shoot them in the groin.”
“If anyone touches her at all, I’ll shoot them.”
Sully stepped out of his office. “You two are on duty for Sharks–Falcons this week.”
“What? We have uniform for that.”
Sully pouted. His mustache tickled his nose, and he repressed a sneeze. “The budget for Abby’s investigation has been slashed.”
Mackenzie’s spine steeled. “Are you serious?”
“It’s been over twenty days—”
“What about Erica’s homicide?” Nick asked.
“We have a budget for that. But we have to reduce the resources allocated to Abby’s––”
“Looking into Abby’s disappearance will help us catch Erica’s killer,” Nick protested. “Abby might still be alive. The evidence is fresh. Once again, the department is favoring––”
Sully raised a hand. “I’m not in charge of this. The order came from Peck. If you have a problem, deal with him.”
Mackenzie watched Sully leave, a frown marring his face. She was afraid that one day her drive would wither away like Sully’s had. She’d always seen him as being lazy with the occasional ingenious idea. Maybe politics killed his motivation.
“Peck.” The word tasted bitter in her mouth.
“He’s retiring. Why does he care?”
“It’s his swan song. He wants to exert his authority before leaving.”
“Or maybe Peck is the obsessive fan we’re looking for. The new Club 916,” Nick commented dryly.
Mackenzie knew he wasn’t serious. But she couldn’t shrug off the thought that the distinguished lieutenant, still running the department with an iron fist, was guilty of more than carelessness and playing politics.
Sixty-Seven
October 10
Any news?
Mackenzie hadn’t replied to Daniel’s message. It hadn’t even been a week since he was so abruptly kicked off the case. She wasn’t allowed to share any information with someone not involved—but Daniel knew that.
She slid her phone towards Nick’s desk. He frowned, picking it up. “I got one too.”
“Did you reply?”
“I just said ‘not yet’.”
Justin walked into the office. His bushy mustache was trimmed into pointy ends. He saluted Mackenzie and Nick.
“You don’t need to do that, Justin,” she reminded him.
He pursed his lips in disapproval. “I have an update. It’s significant.”
“What is it?”
“Finally got a breakthrough on Magnus Pharma. It was one of the many phantom firms set up to launder money for an illegal booze trade in the state.”
“Booze trade?”
“Yes, ma’am. There’s a ring operating in Washington. They import alcohol at cheap prices from Canada, including the ones not officially manufactured, and sell them to places for a profit.”
“Who’s behind this?”
“The money eventually filters back to Atleum Holdings.”
Her heart sank down so deep in her chest that she felt its weight in her toes. “Arthur Bishop.”
“He’s the client Hannah blackmailed?” Nick raised his eyebrows. “No wonder that woman was terrified. The guy’s slimy.”
“He also has motive to hurt Erica,” she said. “Samuel’s company hasn’t been doing well since she died.”
“But is he the copycat Club 916?”
After what felt like an age chasing dead-ends, suddenly Mackenzie felt the investigation lurch back into life. Did Arthur Bishop hurt Abby to send a message to Hannah? Did he get Erica killed to hurt Samuel? Even if Bishop was behind what happened to the two of them, someone hurt Daphne and Chloe. Someone branded Daphne. And all four had disappeared in September.
Mackenzie’s skin crawled at the thought of how many bad guys they might be chasing.
Sixty-Eight
Arthur Bishop’s mansion reminded Mackenzie of antiquated wealth. The staff roamed the plush rooms dressed in uniforms. The walls were adorned with either ancient portraits of the Bishops before him or animal heads.
Bishop had a family—a gaunt wife with a plastic face and two pale sons who looked like they didn’t leave the house often. But none of their pictures were in the house. It was an open secret that he and his wife
were separated. But on important occasions, she turned up with her children to hold her greasy husband’s hand. He wasn’t as influential as Perez in Lakemore, owing to the politics and people in power. But he was just as rich, with important friends all around Washington.
The housekeeper led them through the main foyer to the backyard. Bishop had his gardening gloves on and was cutting out the weeds with pruning shears.
“Mr. Bishop?” Nick said. “We called ahead.”
He turned around with a phony smile that didn’t reach his wide eyes. “Of course, of course! What a pleasure to see you both again. Please don’t mind my appearance.”
Mackenzie tuned out the unnecessary pleasantries. It was then she realized what was absurdly wrong with Bishop’s face—Botox, and a bad job of it.
A light wind ruffled the mop of obviously fake hair sitting on his head. There was nothing attractive or glamorous about Bishop.
Samuel Perez looked wealthy, with his fit body and groomed face. Bishop looked like a savage. She imagined him sitting at a table and eating raw meat, with blood dripping down his chin.
“I don’t know what information I can provide you on Erica. I’m afraid I didn’t really know the girl,” he said, removing his gloves and coveralls.
“It’s actually about Abby Correia.”
His eyebrows knotted. “Who? Oh! I read about her. That girl who went missing. My deepest condolences to her family. I cannot even imagine––”
“Her mother blackmailed you after she recorded you having sex with a dancer from Remington’s.” She was running out of patience—especially for meaningless sympathy.
“Do I need to call a lawyer?” Bishop didn’t miss a beat.
“We’re not here to arrest you. Just to talk,” Nick said.
“And don’t worry, no one told us your name,” Mackenzie insisted. “We have Eddy Rowinski threatening Abby on tape. Funny how he was the last person to see her, and he works for someone who has motive.”
Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1) Page 27