Their Frozen Graves: A completely addictive crime thriller and mystery novel Page 3

  “See you, Micky.”

  She hung up without saying goodbye and made her way back to the car. As she weaved her way through the icy Woodburn Park, she thought about the bodies that lurked beneath its tranquil surface, just like the demons that lurked beneath hers.

  Three

  Back at the station, Mackenzie fired up her computer and began looking into Katy Becker. There was no confirmation that either one of the victims was Katy, but the resemblance to the woman in the dress was uncanny. If she imagined Katy with glassy white eyes, a bloated face and a road map of veins on pale skin, she would look like the corpse. Or at least spookily similar.

  Did Katy have a twin?

  She checked Katy’s social media accounts. Her Twitter account was active. She had over thirty thousand followers and posted regularly about important social and political issues. Her latest series of posts were calling attention to an impending unemployment crisis in Lakemore. A lot of people and businesses had lost money following the Lakemore Sharks’ withdrawal from the Olympic Championship—a local football tournament between high school teams from neighboring towns in Washington. Over the last five decades, it had developed into a symbol of pride and prestige. But the Sharks out of the tournament meant no associated business for Lakemore.

  Mackenzie felt a pang of discomfort. Lakemore’s economy was heavily dependent on sport, if not entirely. Before she could go off-piste, she realized that Katy hadn’t posted anything in the last six days, since the previous Wednesday.

  She looked at her history. She always at least liked or retweeted a post every day. But Katy Becker had gone dark on Twitter.

  Mackenzie leaned back on her chair and tapped a pen against her keyboard. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was sick or on vacation.

  She opened the file containing the crime scene pictures. Some of them were still being catalogued, but Mackenzie had requested to take whatever was ready.

  She was impatient; she needed a project.

  Only the mid-range pictures had been uploaded, but they were good enough to start with. Mackenzie gazed at the bodies. Except for the blood staining their clothes, nothing violent stood out. Compared to the naked and mutilated bodies she’d seen over the course of her career, these bodies were remarkably unviolated.

  The likelihood of any sexual crime was low considering their clothes were intact. That could hint at a female culprit.

  The victim she suspected to be Katy Becker wore a necklace with a Gemini locket. Mackenzie zoomed in and inspected her hand.

  A wedding band.

  The picture wasn’t close-range, so she couldn’t make out the details, but like Justin had pointed out, it looked like gold.

  She looked for Katy’s pictures on the internet. There were plenty, from her talking at forums to attending charity events she helped organize. Mackenzie saw a picture of Katy standing between two old ladies, her arms wrapped around their shoulders. Katy had written an article raising awareness for mental health problems among senior citizens. She was wearing a wedding ring that looked similar to the one in the crime scene photo.

  Yet more evidence indicating that one of the bodies belonged to Katy Becker, but there was no confirmation yet, Mackenzie reminded herself. Becky planned to begin the autopsy later this evening. Mackenzie sighed at the pictures. Without a positive ID, there was nothing to go on. All she could do was wait and hypothesize.

  “Mack?”

  The voice jolted her upright. She turned to find her husband standing in her office. Sterling’s chiseled jaw was dotted with spurting facial hair and his curly hair looked unkempt. Dressed in a crisp beige suit, his jacket draped over his arm and his other hand holding his briefcase, he looked spotless. But his strained expression gave away his distress. He stared at her with wide eyes.

  Mackenzie was relieved that the office was empty. She stood up. “I was meaning to call you, but—”

  “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” His forehead bunched. “We haven’t spoken in weeks!”

  She licked her lips and looked around. Anyone could walk in at any time. “This really isn’t the time or the place.”

  Sterling put his briefcase on Troy’s desk and shook his head. “I don’t care. You aren’t returning my calls or my texts.” He sank into a chair and held his head in his hands. Mackenzie stood over him, watching his chest move with every choppy breath he took. She could see tears pool in the corners of his eyes. She’d skimmed over the texts he’d sent her; she knew he cared. But he had cheated on her. He had been hurt that she didn’t want children and had dealt with that hurt by having a meaningless fling.

  Unless… was it really meaningless, or was he misleading her again? She brushed off the thought. Her husband wasn’t malicious; he was weak.

  She mustered up some kindness and took his hands. “I wanted to get away. I couldn’t stay in that house.”

  “I understand. But you can’t just get up and leave without telling anyone. Why didn’t you answer my calls? All I got from you were vague texts.” His eyes searched hers.

  “I… I should have. I was angry, and I needed space—”

  “I gave you space! I’ve been living in an Airbnb. I was worried something had happened to you. You can’t just…” He shook his head incredulously. “You can’t leave like this, Mack. I had to chase Nick for answers. I’m your husband!”

  She kept quiet.

  “I guess I don’t have the right to ask anything from you now.” Sterling squeezed her hands in his and hung his head low. She contemplated telling him about her father, but she didn’t know where to even begin.

  He stood up and picked up his suitcase and coat. “I wanted to check in on you. Good to know you’re okay.”

  “Sterling.”

  He paused.

  “I should have called you.”

  “Are you ready to talk to me?” he asked. “I really think we should talk, Mack. Now that you’ve had some time to think.”

  Mackenzie swallowed. “Of course.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll come over after dinner.” He checked his watch. “I should head out. I have a deposition to get to.”

  Sterling leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek but froze, his lips hovering a few inches away. She held her breath. It felt natural but wrong at the same time. Instead, he pressed his lips softly against her temple.

  When he left, Mackenzie dropped into her chair with a thud. Her phone rang, and she picked it up eagerly.

  “Detective Price.”

  “No one has reported Katy Becker missing yet,” Nick said.

  “So this is someone who looks a lot like her and is wearing her wedding band?”

  “It’s the same as Katy’s?”

  “Yeah, I compared it to some pictures I found online. Looks an awful lot like hers.”

  “Maybe she took off like you did, so no one reported her missing.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “Subtle.”

  “Subtlety isn’t my style. Did Chris send all of the crime scene photos?”

  “Just mid-range. I’m more interested in the close-range ones. Long-range won’t help. No car can get in that area.”

  “You’re right. There were three cabins in view. They looked abandoned, but might be worth pursuing.”

  “I’ll send Justin and Jenna to knock on some doors,” Mackenzie said referring to two of the junior detectives in the unit. “Where are you?”

  “Luna’s ballet recital. We’re getting dinner after. Want to join?”

  “Can’t. Got plans.”

  “Sterling?”

  “Yeah,” she lied.

  As Mackenzie drove to Miller Lodge, she found herself punching the gas pedal too hard and clamping the steering wheel with too much force. She took the longer route to the lodge—avoiding the highways, instead sticking to the winding roads that cut through the middle of the city.

  She looked out the window at the empty restauran
ts and bars. Melting snow dripped from the head jambs of the windows. Usually, they’d be packed around this time of the year, cheering on the Sharks. The streets were littered with relics of torn-down posters and cigarette butts. It was eerily quiet—no chants, no hoots, no curses. Even as the sun’s piercing red orb set over the horizon, bathing the city in golden hues, there was nothing attractive about Lakemore tonight.

  It was a shadow of what it could be.

  Mackenzie couldn’t say she was surprised to come back after three weeks and find her hometown changed drastically. Lakemore was a small community built on the fiction of football that connected and inspired people. When that fiction fractured, so did the town.

  The humble lodge came into sight, situated at the end of a dirt road. She veered off the main street and found a parking spot. Killing the engine, she braced herself. The thought of seeing him in the flesh, alive, a second time made her sick to her stomach.

  Setting her jaw, Mackenzie approached the building. There were only five cars parked in the lot. The two-story lodge was square and tired-looking. Paint peeled from the timber frame around the front door. Entering, Mackenzie cringed at the faded floral wallpaper and sagging furniture.

  “I’m looking for Robert Price. Could you call him down, please?” Mackenzie said to the receptionist, a large woman with frizzy black hair, playing solitaire on her computer.

  “Who are you?”

  Mackenzie showed her badge. The woman rolled her eyes and muttered something about “shady business in her lodge.” After phoning Robert to come downstairs, she smacked the receiver down.

  “How long has he been staying here for?” Mackenzie inquired.

  “About a month or so.”

  “How does he pay?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Is he in trouble? I don’t want any criminals here.”

  “He’s not. But I want to know anyway.”

  “Pays in cash. On time. Doesn’t cause any trouble.”

  “Has anyone come to visit him?”

  “You’re the first one,” she answered, disinterested.

  Minutes later, Robert appeared in the reception. Mackenzie’s heart rose up in her throat and her stomach contracted. For a moment, her peripheral vision blurred.

  “It’s nice to see you, Micky.”

  They took a seat in the living area by the open kitchen. An unbalanced wooden table separated them. An old man snored in a chair a few feet away.

  “Ignore him. Marv has a room, but he likes to sleep here,” Robert said. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay, there isn’t much here anyway.” He smiled, looking embarrassed.

  Mackenzie searched for that glazed look in his eyes, the sneer on his lips, and the red creeping up his neck. He had always been strung so tight, prowling around the house like he was looking for something, like nothing around him was enough.

  But now Robert had peace in his eyes, a polite smile on his lips, and his fingers were interlaced on the table. It looked like he’d finally found whatever it was he had gone looking for.

  “How are you paying for yourself?”

  “I’ve worked at some random places over the years—shops, garages, anything where I could use my hands. I saved every dollar I could.”

  Mackenzie crossed her arms. “In Mexico.”

  “Y-yes.” Surprise flickered in his eyes. “How’d you know?”

  “I took a little trip to Dallas and visited every rehab center. There was no record of Robert Price. I took more time, showed your picture around. The doctors at one of the rehabs recognized you as Freddie Graham. You were in rehab for six years, discharged two months ago. Did some more digging, used my contacts and found out that Freddie Graham had spent around a decade in Mexico before that, after a stint in Vegas where he accumulated gambling debts. Why choose that name?”

  “Freddie was a buddy of mine in Vegas.” Robert’s eyes drifted into the space behind Mackenzie. “He was a meek guy. An addict like I was, but not an angry soul. A few months later, he passed away. Drinking killed him. He didn’t have any family, and I was in trouble.”

  “You stole his identity?”

  He nodded. “Are you going to arrest me, Micky?”

  “There are a lot of things I could throw you in jail for.” Mackenzie couldn’t quite hide the spite in her voice.

  The sound of a vase smashing resonated in her ears. She was locked in her room. All she could hear was Robert shouting at Melody. An hour later, she saw Melody with a bandage around her head. It was the first time Mackenzie realized that her father used to hit her mother.

  “I can’t even begin to describe how…” His eyes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. “I’m so sorry, Micky. I… I’m so ashamed. I can’t even bring myself to ask about Melody.”

  “Who were you running away from?”

  “Loan sharks. I don’t even know what to call them. They would just send these guys to beat me up.” His mouth twitched. “How is Melody?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What?” he gasped. “How? When?”

  “Around twelve years ago.”

  His eyebrows stitched together. He looked around, not knowing what to do with himself. “What happened?”

  “Car accident. She had a brain hemorrhage.”

  Robert sat back in his chair and dabbed his pink face with a handkerchief. “That’s unbelievable. Who took care of you?”

  Mackenzie gritted her teeth behind closed lips. A sizzle rippled through her veins, and she clenched her calves tight. “I’m not here to talk about me. How long before your savings run out?”

  “Few more weeks at best. Will have to find some way to make money now.”

  “Are you planning on working?”

  “I don’t know who’ll hire an old man.”

  She almost let out a wry laugh. He might have learned to control his addiction and diluted his violent tendencies, but she believed her father to be shrewd and manipulative. He had spent the last two decades on the run all over the country and across the border. He’d never tried contacting her before, never tried to wedge his way back into her life. But now that he was getting older and running out of money, he suddenly wanted a relationship with her.

  “So you’re a police officer. How did you decide that’s what you wanted to do?”

  “Long story.” She took out a phone from her pocket and placed it on the table. “I came here to give you this. You should have one.”

  He picked it up. “You didn’t have to…”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I actually have to go.” She checked her watch. “But I’d like to discuss a possible living arrangement with you. I need to talk to my husband first. I’ll ring you tomorrow evening?”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  As Mackenzie walked to her car, she looked over her shoulder. Robert stood at the entrance, waving at her and smiling. She closed her eyes and revisited her first memory. Her father kneeled on the ground and planted seeds in the soil. From behind, she could see his cheeks lift higher as he smiled. She ran toward him and just when he turned his face, it vanished. His face was unclear. But she remembered his smile was more honest and open.

  Driving away, Mackenzie’s heart felt heavy as a boulder in her chest.

  She didn’t trust him. Something had gone horribly wrong that night, and he was the only other person left alive who might know what happened. She had installed a spying app on the phone she had given him. It would allow her to monitor his calls and texts, access his location, and check his online activities.

  A plan was forming—a potentially dangerous one. But she reminded herself that she wasn’t a little girl who hid from her father anymore. Today, she was a trained police officer, whereas he was just an old man. And she believed that it was important to keep your enemies close.

  Four

  November 21

  The hallway of the concrete building tha
t housed the morgue was grimy and ugly, with sickening yellow-tiled walls and a gray limestone floor. It reminded Mackenzie of an abandoned hospital constructed during the Cold War era. She expected her grandmother to come around the corner at any moment, a grim expression on her face, informing her of the terrible news.

  “I’m sorry, Mack.”

  “What happened?”

  “She lost control of the car. They don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  A draft made the hairs on her arms stand up. She looked around, but there were no windows. This part of the basement was claustrophobic, clinical, but unsterile.

  Nick noticed her shudder. “Must be a ventilation issue.”

  “All the money they spend on changing the windows, they can’t fix the heating in here.”

  “Priorities.” He opened the door to the examination room and let her in.

  The room was a brightly lit massive rectangle, with a lot of open space. Unlike the hallway outside, it had been recently renovated. There was a sanitization station with lockers on the left and a wall-mounted dissection bench running along the right wall. There were four downdraft post-mortem tables situated in the center with pull-through fridges on the back wall. There were two doors at the other end of the room—one leading to the utility room used to reserve chemical solutions and instruments, and the other to the staff transit area.

  Becky Sullivan, the medical examiner, stood between the two tables on which the women lay. Wearing her personal protective equipment, she turned off the voice-recording device around her neck.

  “Jesus, Becks!” Nick scowled. “What’s that smell?”

  “Methane, hydrogen sulfide, and carbon dioxide. AKA gas,” she said flatly. “This is nothing. You should smell a charred corpse.”

  Mackenzie took quick, short breaths, training her nose to adapt to the smell. They pulled on gloves and walked over to Becky.

  The bodies came into view. They lay naked with their eyes closed, torsos and chests covered in white cloth. The trunk incision on their chest cavities had been sewn shut with the classic baseball stitch. Now that their faces were devoid of hair, dirt, and little particulates and had bright light shining on them, Mackenzie was certain about the resemblance.