D for Dead, page 25
‘Leave it, Angell,’ Hickok warned. ‘Now is not the time.’
Rebecca got that and understood Amy’s turmoil. It didn’t stop her worrying for the safety of her partner. The closer he got to Amy, the more worried she became his guard would slip. Like her, he had worked with Peterson on numerous occasions, had shared a beer with him down at Mahoney’s. She knew the anger flashing in his eyes wasn’t directed at her, but at the person who had murdered one of their own.
Just be careful, Jake.
This murder came from Amy’s book about the cop killer, but it didn’t mean any of them were out of the woods yet. The killer was still on the loose and there was one final novel in the series. They were all connected to Amy, making every one of them a target. Jake had gotten closest and the killer knew that. He was going to want to end on a high, and her partner needed to watch his back.
Hickok headed over to Rivers. Rebecca could tell he was reining in his temper, trying to cut the younger agent some slack.
‘So what happened, Declan?’
Rivers wasn’t sobbing, but he was close to tears and the cockiness had gone. Peterson was dead and he had been the man to end his life.
‘I don’t know. One minute we were going out for food, the next he was in the road behind us. There was something wrong with my engine, I could feel it. I didn’t know he was under the car.’ He glanced up at Hickok, face distraught, his eyes huge and glassy. ‘I swear to God, I didn’t know. Oh jeez, I killed him. I killed a cop.’ He leant forward, throwing up fresh puke on the pile of sick already dripping into the gutter.
Rebecca screwed up her nose, waited until he had finished.
‘When did you last see Peterson? He was in Amy’s apartment when you arrived, right?’
‘Yeah, I told him about Boaz going sick and that I would be stepping in.’ Rivers caught a shaky breath. ‘He left. Told Amy he would see her tonight. I thought he’d gone home.’
The killer had to have been waiting for Peterson when he’d left Amy’s apartment building. They hadn’t yet checked, but Rebecca suspected they would find the officer’s car still in the garage.
She hadn’t anticipated this murder scenario. Amy Gallaty’s fifth book had been about a cop killer who used various methods of dispatch. The car scene had only been described in the story as a threat; the murder hadn’t been carried out.
It seemed their killer was improvising and trying to make the deaths more sadistic. And he was speeding up the time frame, having gone from a week to four days and now two between murders, which meant he could strike again as soon as tomorrow.
‘You can ride back with me and we’ll get your statement,’ Hickok told Rivers. He glanced around, seeing Greg Withers pull up at the scene. ‘I need to speak with the pathologist. Clean yourself up and go wait in the car.’
Rivers nodded, didn’t attempt to argue.
As they headed over to Withers, Jake stepped into Hickok’s path. ‘I’ve got Amy tonight.’
It wasn’t a question or a request. Rebecca recognised her partner’s tone; knew the matter wasn’t open to debate.
Hickok glanced around, saw Amy already sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s car.
‘Okay,’ he agreed after a moment of hesitation. ‘You want her, you’ve got her.’
Nodding, Jake started to walk back to his car.
‘Sullivan?’
He stopped, glanced back at Hickok. ‘Yeah?’
‘There’s one book left.’ Hickok gave a twisted smile. ‘Keep her safe.’
Sullivan wanted to swing by his apartment before going back to Amy’s, to feed his dog and grab an overnight bag.
She followed him up the communal stairs in a building not dissimilar to her own, mind tired from trying to analyse the day’s events, but also curious to see where he lived. Officer Peterson’s murder was playing on a loop in her head. She wished she could make it stop, that she could block out the image of his body lying in the middle of the road. One moment he had been in her apartment drinking coffee and talking to his wife on the phone; the next he had been under the car, powerless to stop them as they drove out of the garage, dragging him behind, as the noose tightened around his neck.
Peterson was dead and it was her fault. She had created the method of execution, had put the idea into the killer’s head and an innocent man was dead because of her.
She thought about his last moments, knowing how terrified he would have been waiting for the inevitable.
How could another human being do something so horrific?
It was your sick idea in the first place. You might as well have handed the killer a loaded gun.
Amy shivered, wrapping her arms around her body.
Sullivan unlocked the door to his apartment and she followed him inside.
The narrow entrance hallway led into an open-plan living area, about the same size as hers. Neutral walls were offset by stainless steel and walnut furnishings and a large picture window overlooked the same park Amy’s apartment did, but from a different angle.
She heard the tap of nails on the hardwood floor, saw the golden retriever, who’d been with him the night they’d met, mosey over to greet him. He dropped down to her level and fussed her for a moment before glancing at Amy.
‘Grab a seat. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.’
She watched him disappear, went to sit on one of the two large leather couches, not unhappy when the dog followed, leaning up against her leg as Huckleberry often did. She stroked her soft velvety ears, felt herself relax slightly.
So this was where Sullivan lived.
The place had a comfortable, homey feel about it. Two framed photographs sat on a bookshelf filled with paperbacks. The titles were mostly biographies, but Amy recognised a couple of James Patterson and Michael Connelly novels among the mix.
Curious, she got up and went to view the photos. Were they of his family?
One she guessed to be a family shot: Sullivan was in it, younger, maybe mid-twenties, with an older couple she guessed to be his parents, another guy and two girls. All shared the same dark hair and eyes. It looked like it had been taken at a party, maybe a barbecue, the dad wearing a cowboy hat and all of them holding bottles of beer.
The other photo was of the two girls in the picture: one wore a wedding dress and they were hugging and smiling for the camera. Had to be sisters. Amy recognised the smile.
‘That’s Julianne and Peyton.’
Amy jumped, hearing him behind her, feeling a little guilty snooping at his stuff.
‘Sisters?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, it was taken on Julianne’s wedding day. Peyton, she’s the baby of the family, she was her maid of honour.’
‘Is that your mom and dad in the other pic?’
Sullivan nodded, picked up the frame.
‘And the bozo on the end is my brother, Kenny. That picture was taken back home at a family barbecue.’
Amy looked at the picture, at the smiling faces. As an only child she couldn’t imagine what it was like to have one sibling, let alone three.
‘Where’s home?’ she asked.
‘Arden, Georgia. It’s just south of Atlanta.’
Ah, that explains the accent.
‘They look like nice people. You’re lucky. And I like your dad’s cowboy hat.’ She turned to face him, a half smile on her face. ‘Have you got one of those?’
‘Yeah.’ His lips curved. ‘I’ve got one around somewhere.’
For a moment he was silent as he studied her. Amy’s heartbeat quickened and the loop of Peterson’s murder stopped playing in her head.
‘Is all of your family back in Georgia?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yeah, my parents have a farm and my brother and sisters all live nearby.’
‘You’re close to them?’
‘Very.’
‘So why did you move away? What brought you to Oregon?’ She wanted to understand him, know why he had left a home he clearly loved. Immediately she felt him backing off.
‘Work: I got a transfer.’
‘How come?’
He was still looking at her, but the smile had gone, replaced with a look of irritation.
‘It’s not important.’ And then he was stepping away, the moment broken. ‘Give me a couple more minutes. I need to feed Roxy, see if my neighbour will take her out, then we can go.’
Amy watched him disappear into the kitchen, the dog hot on his heels, feeling a mixture of disappointment and frustration.
What was his story she wondered and why was he so damn cagey about his past?
The mood within Juniper Police Department was sombre. Peterson had been a popular cop and his fellow officers were in shock over his death, particularly the cruel manner in which he had been killed. A few of his colleagues had approached Joel, asking if they could help, making it clear they would be prepared to put in unpaid overtime to help catch the cop killer.
After taking his statement, Joel gave Rivers the rest of the day off, telling him to lie low at the hotel and avoid any reporters who might come snooping around. Word spread quickly that a cop had been murdered and the last thing Joel needed was for them to find out the driver had been an FBI agent who’d been brought in to help work a murder case. They would have a field day.
Until Leon Pruitt, the case had been flying fairly low on the press radar. Sure, there had been a few reporters at each of the murder scenes, but they hadn’t made any connection, until
Pruitt, probably due to the differing styles of death.
Although Sullivan was watching Amy, he was still working the case from her apartment and liaising with them over any developments. The Melford police had been unable to locate Tucker Johnson; the man seemed to have vanished into thin air. And they had yet to speak with Leslie and Crystal Rooney, though they had managed to talk with the twins’ parents.
Deanna and Pete Rooney were shocked at the developments and unwilling at first to believe either of their daughters had been involved. They clearly remembered the night of Amy’s car accident, had assumed she had been sleepwalking when it happened. They hadn’t seen her after she’d been released from hospital. Amy’s parents had held them responsible for what had happened and severed ties. Hopefully their daughters would be able to provide more information.
Leslie Rooney worked as a teaching aide and was away on a school skiing trip in Colorado. She was due back at the weekend, while Crystal lived a few miles out of town but hadn’t returned their calls. A drive out to the house where she lived alone following her divorce suggested she was also away, but no one was sure where.
Danielle Colton’s stepfather still lived locally; her mother having passed away a few years back. He had been of little help: a daytime drinker with vague memories of the night in question and still firmly of the belief Danielle had run away and the police were wasting his time. It was unlikely they would get anything useful from him.
Angell had taken over the search for Gavin from Rivers and spent much of the afternoon trailing round hotels showing Amy’s ex-boyfriend’s picture, but to no avail. She met Joel back at headquarters early evening, looking despondent and frustrated. He understood how she was feeling.
When were they going to catch a break?
She was in the middle of updating him when her cell phone starting buzzing in her pocket. Pulling it out, she glanced, annoyed, at the screen and killed the call.
‘Where was I?’ she asked, slipping the phone back into her pocket, gathering her train of thought.
‘Who was that?’
‘No one.’ She still looked irritated. ‘So I’ve covered all of the hotels and motels on the east side of–’
Her phone buzzed again; she pulled it roughly from her pocket, put it to her ear.
‘What do you want, Alan? I’m kind of busy here.’
Joel stifled the smirk. She had no idea quite how exasperated she looked or sounded. Alan wasn’t right for her. She just couldn’t see it. He listened in on her side of the conversation, able to make out that she was supposed to have done something for her boyfriend and had forgotten. Rather than apologise, she tried to turn the situation around.
‘Okay, okay. I will drop everything and head home now. Your samples are clearly more important than a murdered police officer.’ Another long pause. She had twisted the argument, making Alan the bad guy. ‘I’m on my way.’
Without saying goodbye, Angell killed the call and threw a furious glance at Hickok, as she realised he had heard everything.
‘What the hell are you smirking at?’
‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Okay.’ He broke out into a broad grin at the flustered look on her face. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’
She shook her head, looking annoyed at herself for biting. ‘I need to get home. He’s got a delivery arriving I need to be there to collect.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘It’s a friend of his dropping off some samples he needs.’ Angell shrugged. ‘I guess they might have called by earlier, but I wasn’t there so they’re coming back. Hell knows why it’s so important I have to be there.’
‘Why’s he out of town again? How many of these plastic spoon conventions do they have a month? If I were you I’d start questioning if maybe Alan is fooling around on you.’
‘He’s not fooling around. Don’t be stupid.’
‘Why wouldn’t he be? He never seems to be at home. You not considered it?’
He could see from the look on her face that she hadn’t but now was.
‘Can you give me a ride?’ she asked, ignoring the question.
Joel’s grin widened further.
‘A ride home, Hickok. A ride home,’ she snapped, cheeks reddening at his deliberate misinterpretation of her question.
She had ridden in with Sullivan and used a patrol car to visit the hotels in her hunt for Gavin.
Joel was tempted to tease her some more, but it was getting late and he was hungry. Besides, Angell was going to be home alone, and he was thinking about picking up takeout and then working his way through her front door. If Alan was going to keep being out of town, he might as well take advantage of it.
‘Sure. Let me shut down the computer.’
Angell slipped on her jacket and was standing by the door waiting for him when Louise Barton, one of the younger officers in the department, appeared.
‘Hey, Detective Angell. I checked out that guy you asked me to.’ Joel frowned, looking up.
What guy?
‘Yeah?’ Angell was looking interested. ‘You turn anything up?’
‘I did. I checked the cell phone number you gave me with the phone company and got them to trace the signal. You said this guy was in Europe, right?’
‘That’s where he’s supposed to be, yeah.’
‘Well he’s not.’ Barton looked pleased with herself. ‘They triangulated the signal and it was last used right here in Juniper.’
‘No shit.’
‘Who are we talking about?’ Joel asked, irritated he wasn’t in on the loop.
Angell turned to face him, her green eyes glittering with excitement. She had something; had caught a break. He remembered that look fondly.
‘Ryan Caparelli, the friend Amy is dog-sitting for.’
‘What about him?’
‘Amy and her friends think he’s in Europe. They haven’t been able to contact him so I said I’d look into it. Turns out he’s right here in Juniper. Now what are the chances of that?’
34
Jake worked from his laptop at the dining table throughout the afternoon, doing research and making calls, trying his best not to disturb Amy who had crashed and burned on the couch, the coffee she had made untouched on the table in front of her.
She was exhausted – the case now taking its toll on her – and he had slipped a cushion beneath her head, smoothed tawny brown locks of hair from her cheek and left her to it.
When she awoke just after eight thirty, glancing around sleepily, she seemed surprised that dusk was already settling outside.
‘You sleep okay?’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Wow, sorry, I didn’t realise I’d been out so long. I didn’t mean to doze off.’
‘You needed the rest. Besides I’ve been busy.’
Amy glanced at his laptop, at the pile of notes beside it.
‘It really happened, didn’t it? Officer Peterson is dead.’
‘Yeah, he is.’
She looked thoughtful for a moment before getting up, padding into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging in the refrigerator. ‘You want a glass of wine?’
Jake glanced at the cup of coffee he’d recently made. Although wine was tempting, he needed to keep his mind alert and active. ‘No thanks.’ He looked over at Huckleberry who was lying patiently in his bed considering he hadn’t peed in hours. ‘We should probably take the dog out before it gets dark.’
Amy sat the wine bottle and glass down on the counter. ‘Damn, Huckleberry. Sorry, buddy, I forgot about you.’
‘I’d take him myself, but I don’t think leaving you here alone is a good idea.’
‘It’s fine. I could do with the fresh air.’ She smiled tightly and Jake knew she was thinking about the implication of his words: that she was no longer safe in her own home. ‘I’ll go get his lead.’
While he didn’t want to scare her, she needed to be prepared. They would keep her safe as best as they could, but she needed to be on her guard. He thought back to the last conversation he’d had with Rebecca, before Amy had woken up. The developments with Ryan Caparelli were worrying and it was difficult to believe he wasn’t somehow involved. Until they found out how, they had made the decision to keep the news from Amy. She would find out sooner or later, but right now it would be something else she didn’t need to deal with.
As they walked along the riverbank he broached the subject of therapy.
‘Paul Shinnick called me this morning.’
‘Okay.’
‘He says he’s been trying to get hold of you and you’re not returning his calls.’
