Page 122 of Our Daughter's Bones

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’sthe 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 evenimagine––”

“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.”

Bishop fiddled with the shears in his hands, clinging to his politeness. But meeting their hardened stare, he dropped the shears and his disingenuous smile. “Frankly, I don’t know what happened to her.”