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

by Ruhi Choudhary

  The room was furnished only with a bed. The air was stale and cold, smelling like rotten eggs and expired milk.

  A girl lay on the bed. Her bony arm was chained to one of the bedposts. She moved hazily.

  It was Abby.

  Her eyes were open, but she looked dizzy. Like she was not registering her surroundings yet and had just woken from a deep slumber. The skin around her eyes was sunken. Her face was gaunt. Her collarbones jutted out, sharp enough to poke. She was frail, like she had survived on minimum nourishment; just enough to keep her alive.

  She wore a ratty old T-shirt and was naked from the waist down. Purple bruises and bite marks covered her legs. Dried blood stained the insides of her thighs. Her nails were chipped and broken.

  Bile rose in Mackenzie’s throat. She had been kept like an animal.

  She touched Abby’s face. “Abby? Can you hear me?”

  Her head lolled. “I… I…”

  “I’m Detective Price,” she whispered in her ear. “I’m with the police. I will get you out of here. You’re safe now.”

  “I… please…”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” She petted her softly. “You’re safe now.”

  She strongly suspected that Abby was drugged. Her uneven breathing, the glazed look in her eyes, and the sluggish movements of her head gave it away. She yanked at the chain. But it didn’t budge. There was no key in sight, as she had suspected.

  Mackenzie pulled out two hairpins from her pocket and began working at the lock.

  “M-mom…” Abby whispered. “Home. Please. H-home.”

  “Yes, I’ll take you home, Abby,” she assured her as she placed an ear next to the lock, listening to the turns. “Your mother’s waiting for you.”

  “They gave me… s-something.”

  “They? Who are they?” She unlocked the chain and lightly freed Abby’s arm.

  Abby winced. “The r-room… spinning.”

  “I know. Let’s go now. Easy.”

  She set aside the chain and carried Abby’s weight. Abby swayed, mindless. Her lips were close to Mackenzie’s ear when she whispered.

  “Nathaniel Jones.”

  Seventy-One

  Abby was alive.

  That was what mattered the most. Mackenzie reminded herself over and over again as she dragged Abby across to the stairs. She had fainted. Her words had turned into gibberish. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. But her last coherent words were crystal clear in Mackenzie’s mind.

  Nathaniel Jones.

  He was David Falkner’s partner in Club 916. They knew each other. Nathaniel would be ready to post David’s bail if he were charged. He’d used his own son to deflect attention from Falkner already. They must have gotten close through Quinn.

  Images of Nathaniel sitting across from her flashed through her mind. The power of his stillness. The arrogance in his dead eyes. He was a predator. She’d misconstrued it to be privilege. She didn’t realize it extended to something this wicked.

  She climbed one step at a time, helping Abby up and pointing the flashlight ahead of her. Cold sweat swathed the girl’s scalp. Mackenzie tightened her hold on her. Like she was afraid she would slip away again.

  She heard a sound. Did a chair topple? She checked her phone. It was then she realized that her text message to Nick never got sent. There was no service. She heard muffled sounds—a grunt.

  Someone else was in the cabin.

  She set Abby down on the stairs. Under her fingertips, she felt the girl’s thready pulse. “Abby, stay here. I’ll be back.”

  Mackenzie pulled out her gun. As she covered the distance between her and the door, the muffled voices gained clarity.

  “David, put the gun down.” Nick’s voice was stern.

  “Don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

  Mackenzie reached the top of the stairs. She sighed in relief when she saw the coin still wedged between the door and the frame. A sliver of light filtered through. She held her breath—afraid of making any noise—and looked through the inch-wide space.

  “There are going to be serious consequences if you shoot a police officer.” Nick stood in front of the door with his hands raised.

  David had gotten hold of Nick’s gun.

  Saliva thickened in her throat. Her chest contracted as icy daggers stabbed at the spaces between her ribs. She tightened her grip on her own gun.

  “There won’t be any when you’re dead!” David spat.

  “I’m not alone,” Nick warned and took a step forward, away from the door. “The station knows where I am. They know I’m at your cabin.”

  “I’ll get away. You have no idea who protects me.”

  “How long will you run for?” He inched forward again. She knew what he was doing. He was going to launch himself at David when the distance was close enough. “If you come with me now, you can cut a deal.”

  “I don’t want any deal. I’m not going to prison!”

  “Come on, David. You’re a smart guy. Don’t make things worse. If you come with me, I can put in a good word for you.”

  “Back off!”

  “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already.”

  This was her cue.

  Everything happened in a blur.

  Nick charged at him. Mackenzie threw open the door just as a shot went off. She stilled for a microsecond. Was someone hit?

  Nick and David were on the floor, fighting. Nick was on top. His heavy knee pushed into David’s abdomen. He pressed his arm into David’s throat in an attempt to cut off his oxygen supply. His right arm was stretched out to reach David’s left, which held the gun.

  David still had the gun. Even though he was lying on the floor with Nick on top of him, he held the weapon pointing toward the front door, which had a bullet hole. His hand trembled as he tried to move it to point it at Nick.

  Nick tried to extend his arm more without shifting his weight off David. But David was strong too. They both grunted and trembled.

  Mackenzie tiptoed toward them. She didn’t want to make her presence known yet. Not when David held the gun. One of them could get hurt. But when she got closer, David saw her.

  His eyes widened, and a snarl ripped from his throat. He pushed Nick off him into Mackenzie. Her gun fell as Nick crashed into her. But he was quick to recover. Before David could stand up, he leaped forward and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went flying across the room.

  David growled. He grabbed Nick by the collar and threw him over the coffee table. The glass shattered under Nick’s weight. David looked at Mackenzie, his neck red and hands curled into fists.

  He was a football player. His first instinct would be to tackle her. She was ready when he lunged at her. She dodged and kneed him in the hip. But the angle was slightly off—he wobbled but didn’t fall.

  He swung a punch, but she blocked it. He kept swinging as he charged toward her. She was being backed into a corner. The air around them billowed and whooshed. The adrenaline rush muted most of her pain.

  David was strong. But he lacked technique. His punches were the result of rage. They were blindly thrown and poorly executed.

  When another blow came toward her face, she ducked and punched him hard, angling up right under his sternum. He held his stomach and wheezed. He raised his leg to kick her but she caught it and smashed the soft top of his kneecap with her elbow. He winced in pain and wobbled. She struck another sharp blow behind his ear, again with her elbow.

  It was a devastating blow. If used right, it was crippling.

  David wailed in pain and collapsed to his knees.

  Her gun. It was lying right next to him at her feet. Before she could kick it away, David picked it up and pointed at her.

  The safety was off.

  There was another gunshot. Mackenzie gasped. David froze.

  The gun in his hand went limp and dropped to the floor. Blood gushed out his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed just before he slumped at her feet. She saw the bullet
wound in his back.

  She looked up to find Nick standing with his gun in his hand. His head was split open. Blood poured down his cheek.

  “Nick! Are you okay?” She rushed to him. “Here. Keep the pressure on.”

  “I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.” He pressed his hand against his head. “Get Abby. I’m calling it in. I have service.”

  Seventy-Two

  It was almost over. David Falkner was dead. His cabin was now a crime scene. Mackenzie had ridden with Abby to the hospital. She couldn’t stop staring at her. She had spent weeks inside Abby’s mind, sifting through her thoughts, and analyzing her words. Now, she was here.

  She was alive.

  And all she could focus on was the crescent-shaped mark on the left side of her nose. It looked like an old injury, almost like a birthmark. Why hadn’t she noticed it before in her pictures?

  Nick got stitches while Mackenzie called Hannah from the hospital. Hannah had come, running and panicked. She cried at the sight of Abby in the hospital bed. Mackenzie had to sit down to have the tough conversation with her—about what state she had found Abby in.

  She’ll be fine. You don’t know what my daughter can do.

  As Mackenzie suspected, Abby had been drugged. The doctors were flushing them out of her system. She was also severely dehydrated. Once she came to, they explained to her that they would have to do a rape kit.

  Abby never protested. She nodded curtly and lay back. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  The sample analysis was accelerated. Mackenzie got a court order to obtain Nathaniel’s DNA based on Abby’s revelation. She didn’t leave Abby’s side. But she didn’t stand too close either. She observed from a distance.

  Nine hours later, the crime lab had received and tested Nathaniel’s DNA. She got an unsettling call from Anthony.

  “There were three distinct sets of DNA in the rape kit.”

  “Three? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Two were matched with David Falkner and Nathaniel Jones.”

  “What about the last one?”

  “Couldn’t find a match in any databases. State or Federal.”

  Nick slurped his hot coffee next to her. His head had been stitched up. Luckily, he hadn’t suffered a concussion. Mackenzie arranged her notes neatly. The interrogation room was toasty, with gray walls and matching steel table and chairs. She glared at the camera situated in the corner, recording them. Behind them was the two-way mirror.

  Nick looked over his shoulder and waved at it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “The brass is watching, Mack.” He beamed, mockingly. “Hey, Peck!”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Nathaniel Jones got arrested. They are probably sweating their balls off right now.” He gulped down the scalding coffee and blenched. “That felt good.”

  “Are you on painkillers?”

  “Yup.”

  As they waited, the events of the day sunk in. Inside, Mackenzie was still in turmoil, from the relief she felt when she found Abby to the unnerving reveal about Nathaniel Jones. The last few hours, her brain and body had been stretched and squeezed. She felt like a wet towel that had been wrung out of all its excess water.

  Drained and heavy.

  But more work had to be done. There was a third culprit. Club 916 consisted of three men. Men who had snatched innocent women, chained them to beds, raped and murdered them. What was the motive? Celebration. Celebration of football season. Celebration of their “manhood.”

  She had an inkling about who the third person was. Unfortunately, Bill Grayson’s DNA was not on file. She had ruled out Grayson earlier. But now it made sense. He could easily have started the club again and recruited Jones and his assistant coach Falkner.

  Or could it be Arthur Bishop? But he was the one who’d led them to David. If he were a part of Club 916 then why didn’t he warn David? Why didn’t he fabricate the information he’d sent them?

  “We have to get him to give us Bill’s name,” Nick voiced her thoughts. “Think he’ll crack?”

  “Not really. But let’s try our best.”

  “Abby has no clue who the third person is?”

  “No. She lost track of how many men there were because she was drugged throughout. She knew there were multiple men. One time she heard Nathaniel’s voice. I have to talk to her again when she feels a little better. The doctors are keeping me away for now.”

  At least the noose around her neck had loosened. Abby was alive and safe. The sense of urgency no longer existed. The door to the room clicked open.

  A short man wearing a tweed suit walked in first. He had a giant bald patch in the center of his head. His smile was lopsided and goofy as he shook Mackenzie and Nick’s hands. “I’m Tom Cromwell of Cromwell and Haskin. How’re you doing?”

  Behind him, Nathaniel Jones followed. When he stepped in the room, Mackenzie’s instinct was to recoil. The local legend commanded respect. He had always been intimidating and unapproachable. But now his secret was out in the open, she saw pure evil.

  With one hand in his pocket, the other fiddled with the button of his coat. She imagined that hand clamping her mouth shut. She pictured that massive mountain of a body exerting its weight on her, rendering her motionless and numbing her legs. She could peer into the arctic depths of his eyes and feel her end.

  “Please take a seat,” Nick said abruptly.

  Nathaniel showed no sign of remorse or concern. But she noticed his hand quiver when he grabbed the edge of the chair to pull it back.

  “What questions do you have for my client? I wanted to spend time with him working on his defense against the crimes your colleagues already charged him with, not discuss others you haven’t.”

  Cromwell was cheery and small. But he was cutthroat and one of the best defense attorneys on the West Coast. He had moved from Chicago around a decade ago, where rumor had it his clients included prominent members of the Outfit.

  Nick placed pictures of Daphne, Chloe, Erica, and Abby on the table. Tom frowned at them. Nathaniel did not even sneak a glance.

  “What is this for?” Tom asked.

  “These are the girls you abducted, held captive, and raped. And you killed three out of four.”

  Tom raised a finger. “Please, detectives. My client’s semen was found in Miss Correia’s genitals, but there’s no evidence tying him to what happened to Miss Cho, Miss St. Clair, or Miss Perez.”

  “Your best friend’s daughter, Nathaniel?” Nick scoffed and sat back. “She was your son’s girlfriend. That’s cold. Even for you.”

  Nathaniel clenched his jaw but remained silent.

  “Like I said, there is no evidence connecting my––”

  “Forensics are combing through Mr. Falkner’s cabin,” Mackenzie said. “Of course, Abby’s alive and will be able to testify, even if Mr. Falkner can’t.”

  Nathaniel exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry to hear about David.”

  “Sorry about that?” Nick cackled. “What about what you did to these girls?”

  “There’s no evidence––”

  “Cut the crap, Cromwell. You sound like a broken record.”

  His mouth flattened. “Detective Blackwood, we’re here as a courtesy.”

  “You’re not here as a courtesy. Your client is under arrest for rape. You are here to get your client to cut a deal.” Mackenzie met Nathaniel’s eyes. “But I have a feeling your client doesn’t want to.”

  “This is how this works.” Nick continued, “We know Nathaniel is a part of Club 916. We know all the crimes he has committed, and we have no problem going after him hard. You see, unlike those people on the other side of the glass—” Nick jutted his thumb over his shoulder—“I don’t give a shit about your local legend status.”

  “Things might be easier for you if you reveal the name of the third member of the club,” Mackenzie added. “We know who it is. But we don’t have all the evidence we need. An official testimony coming from a member of the club will h
elp us get that evidence.”

  The corner of Nathaniel’s mouth twitched. “You think I will turn against my brothers?”

  Mackenzie and Nick exchanged a knowing look. He was cracking.

  Tom touched his arm. “Now, now, Nathaniel. Calm down. Detectives, my client is under a lot of stress. He runs a multimillion-dollar media empire, and his family is unaware he is here. As you no doubt know, his son’s playing for the Sharks against the Falcons tonight. But he’s here––”

  “Am I supposed to empathize with him?”

  “Nick, I think we all need to take a break. Tensions are running high,” Cromwell said.

  “No. No break.” Mackenzie looked at Nathaniel evenly. “Club 916 was started again after decades by David Falkner, Nathaniel Jones, and Bill Grayson—a member of the club during its first run. Do the smart thing and make your life easier.”

  “Nathaniel,” Cromwell turned to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “As your lawyer, I suggest you cooperate. Give an official statement.”

  “No.”

  “It will help you.”

  “No!”

  “I’m trying to protect you!”

  “No!” Nathaniel slammed a hand on the table. Cromwell shrunk into his chair and looked away. “We bring jobs, money, and happiness to this town. We give them a reason to celebrate. Today, if we talk a certain way, we’re targeted, or if we conduct ourselves a certain way, we’re punished. Where is our freedom? Where is our reward for making something out of this place? We are the reason Lakemore is not a dump. Do you have any idea how many people I employ? A few lives are a small price to pay for the livelihood and joy of thousands. You see, that is the problem with our society. We think morality is black and white. It’s not. Club 916 is about honor and tradition. A safe space for men like us who are persecuted in today’s world. We understand each other. We protect each other. That’s something football teaches you—loyalty. So, no. I will never give any official statement about the third person. We were a team. Do you not know what that means?”

  Cromwell guzzled an entire glass of water in three gulps. There was not a tinge of guilt or remorse on Nathaniel’s hard face.