Page 33 of The Lost Bones
“The documentary. You talked about it.”
“Oh.” She rubbed her temple. “Right. I forgot.”
He spoke again after a beat of silence. “You’re on edge. It’s natural. Someone knows a little too much about your life. All this unwanted fame must be rattling.”
“How would you recommend dealing with it?” She didn’t put much stock in therapy. Her question wasn’t meant to extract any useful insight from him, but to study him, to judge this new addition to the team.
“Normally I would have suggested the typical steps of tightening your inner circle, dedicating allocated time to a hobby and so on.” He shot her a probing gaze before returning his eyes to the road. “But truth be told, since my wife passed away, I feel there’s more than we imagine that’s out of our control.”
“We can never control what happens, just how we respond to it.”
His face twitched with uneasiness. “Yes, but maybe sometimes it’s best not to fight it. Let the chips fall where they may.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, irritated at his riddles.
“Everything happens for a reason, Detective Price.” He smiled.
The words echoed inside her as she calmed her breathing. Luckily, she didn’t need to elaborate or reply, because they had reached the motel. She followed Andrew as he climbed the stairs to the dingy floor poorly lit by flickering lights. A constant hum buzzed through the air, coming from a giant refrigerator. Mackenzie disapproved of this motel. It gave her the wrong vibes. Like horrible things could happen behind closed doors here. But the Lakemore PD budget was tight.
“Why me?” she asked suddenly when he stopped in front of a door.
“I mentioned you yesterday and her eyes lit up. She still isn’t talking, but I think with you there, we might get close.” He knocked on the door and raised his voice. “It’s me. Dr. Turner. I’m with Detective Mackenzie Price.”
Mackenzie braced herself. It felt like a huge responsibility somehow. It pained her to realize that this was the first time someone had relied on her emotionally.
A click. Another click. Jane Doe clearly liked to lock herself in. The door opened with a creak and her face appeared in the crack. Her dark eyes were soulless. But when they landed on Mackenzie, there was a spark. She opened the door and stepped aside, letting them in.
“How are you?” Andrew asked cheerfully. She didn’t reply.
Mackenzie looked around the spacious room. There was a four-poster bed, a television, a mini fridge, and a balcony. It was a standard room decorated with cheap showpieces. There was nothing of Jane’s. Not even a suitcase. She was wearing a ratty old T-shirt with poppies on it, and baggy track pants.
“Do you need anything else?” Mackenzie asked. “I can bring you more clothes, maybe a phone?”
Jane shook her head and crossed her arms, bowing her body inward. But her eyes wouldn’t leave Mackenzie.
“I thought it would be nice for Detective Price to join us.” Andrew settled in an armchair. “What do you think, Jane?”
She nodded mutely, not even throwing him a glance, then sank onto the bed, while Mackenzie sat on the other chair and shrugged off her jacket. Jane’s eyes veered all over her yearningly, from toes to throat.
“Mackenzie, why don’t you tell Jane what you were doing at the carnival when you met?”
“I was there with my partner and his daughter,” she explained, following Andrew’s lead.
“Detective Price has a knack with kids.” Andrew smiled. “Do you like kids?”
Jane shrugged, playing with her tattered sleeve.
Andrew looked at Mackenzie, resigned, before turning his attention back to Jane. “How about tomorrow I bring a drawing book? We can do some art together.”
The hem of Jane’s pants rode up, revealing the barcode tattooed on her ankle. Once again it made Mackenzie shiver. Like a string of live wire had grazed her skin, leaving sizzling burns. What did it mean?
“I have a scar,” she blurted. She raised the bottom of her pantsuit and twisted her leg to show the bullet wound from over a year ago. It was a small scar, a permanently bruised patch of skin. A remnant of a betrayal that cut deep. The culmination of a decades-old lie. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. But it’s there.”
Jane’s eyebrows knotted and she raised her ankle, pointing at the tattoo.
“Yes, I can tell that means something to you,” Mackenzie said. “Mine is the price I paid to learn the truth. The price I paid for closure. What does yours mean to you?”
It was the first time she had heard Jane’s voice. She had expected it to be soft and mouse-like. A voice that would suit her demeanor and appearance. But instead it was throaty and rough. Like she was a smoker. Or someone who had screamed a lot. She said only one word that evening.
