Page 107 of Our Daughter's Bones

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?”