D for Dead, page 5
As she lay in the darkness in the tangled sheets, listening to the sound of the crickets buzzing through the open bedroom window, Amy had a premonition. It could be the nightmare had unsettled her, but she had an ominous feeling something bad was about to happen.
6
Rebecca held out on Alan until Wednesday, partly because she was pissed at him, partly because she felt guilty, and partly because she had been up to her neck with work.
They were struggling to catch a break on the church murders; the trail of clues had run cold.
Amy Gallaty’s alibi had checked out. She had been working from seven until one thirty and had about twenty witnesses who could verify her location during the murders. They had delved into her backstory too, and there was nothing suspicious that painted her as the kind of girl to be involved in a murder.
She was squeaky clean, and in her thirty-five years had never had any run-ins with the police, had no points on her licence, and everyone spoke highly of her. She had no family, except a distant aunt she never saw, her own parents having been killed in an automobile accident when she was twenty-two and, from all appearances, she lived quietly in the city, writing her books and waitressing at the Velvet Lounge, a job she had held down for six years.
Her publisher, a small local firm, had worked with her from the publication of her first book, Grave Encounters, and portrayed her as a talented writer who’d not yet managed to catch a break. Her employers at the Velvet Lounge also sang her praises, calling her punctual, professional and friendly; a girl with a positive outlook who loved her friends and her life in the city.
She didn’t come across as someone with enemies and definitely not as a psychotic killer or someone cold-blooded enough to plan pre-meditated murder.
The fan from the bookstore had also been checked out: Nadine Williams had an alibi for the night of the murder and denied vandalising Amy’s car. Rebecca and Jake had paid a visit to the home she shared with her boyfriend, Troy Cunningham, and had seen the signed pictures she had taken of herself with Amy at the launches of each book, while the novels themselves sat proudly on a bookshelf, flanked by A to Z bookends.
Nadine Williams was a little obsessed with the Zack Maguire series, but there was nothing to suggest she was anything more than an over-zealous and disappointed fan.
Rebecca felt most sorry for Troy, who undoubtedly had to live up to Nadine’s expectations of Zack Maguire on a day to day basis.
The dead kids weren’t throwing up any clues. Ben and Kasey had both been students at Juniper College, an establishment with its own grisly history. The campus had moved to a different location four years ago, but Rebecca doubted it would ever shake off its gruesome reputation.
Kasey had been a local girl, born and raised in Juniper, while Ben came from Virginia and was the nephew of Senator Blaine Hogan – an additional headache neither detective needed, as Hogan was already cranking up the pressure to make an arrest.
Ben and Kasey were both clean and nothing in their lives suggested enemies who might want them dead. Kasey had a jealous ex they were checking, but word suggested he was all talk and no action.
It could be a political connection to Blaine Hogan, but Rebecca and Jake didn’t think so. The killing was the work of a psychopath, not an assassin.
It was early evening Wednesday when Rebecca returned to her townhouse after a day of questioning more of Ben and Kasey’s friends, to find Alan waiting for her, his face partially hidden behind a bouquet of yellow roses.
Her heart sank as she pulled the car to a halt by the curb. It had been a long day and she yearned for a hot shower and a cold beer. She couldn’t avoid him forever though and, in truth, knew he didn’t deserve the treatment she was giving him.
‘You haven’t been returning my calls,’ he said, by way of greeting, getting to his feet and thrusting the flowers at her.
Her mother would be appalled at the way Rebecca had treated him. Sarah Angell thought highly of Alan and considered him to be by far the most suitable of her youngest daughter’s boyfriends. Definite marriage material, that’s what she had called him. Rebecca was the only one of her daughters who hadn’t yet settled down: her older sister, Jess, was now engaged and her middle sister, Wendy, already married with kids. As her mother liked to point out, Rebecca wasn’t getting any younger; if she couldn’t persuade her to move back to Swallow Falls, she would at least rest safe knowing she had a stable and solid man like Alan taking care of her.
‘I’m sorry, Alan, it’s this case. We’re crazy busy.’
To make her feel even more guilty he took a sympathetic tone. ‘I understand; I’ve seen the news.’
Ben Hogan’s high-profile connections had made it impossible to keep the gory details of the murders out of the press, but so far they had managed to suppress the link to the book.
‘As long as you’re not mad at me, that’s all that matters.’
Rebecca had been mad at him for a while, and it was ridiculous. Alan was a good man. He was kind, considerate and articulate, and he worshipped the ground she walked on. She didn’t deserve him.
‘I’m not mad at you, I promise. Just really busy.’
‘You’re not busy now. Let me take you to dinner, Becky. We can catch up and you can tell me about the case.’
Rebecca deliberated for a moment. She just wanted beer and TV, but she guessed she owed him after the way she had shot him down on Saturday night in front of her friends.
‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Give me half an hour to freshen up.’
While she showered and changed, Alan made reservations at the Winchester, an upmarket hotel and restaurant in the city centre. Rebecca would have been happy with a burger bar, but Alan preferred a la carte.
Thinking she had better make an effort, she selected one of the three dresses she owned, a slinky red number that flattered her curves but had a knee-grazing hemline to keep it demure. Freeing her ponytail, she ran a brush quickly through her hair, dabbed her favourite scent, and was good to go.
Her choice of outfit got Alan’s seal of approval and he gave her a low wolf whistle as she walked into the living room. Entering the restaurant fifteen minutes later he had his hand placed in the small of her back as he proudly guided her to their table, as if wanting to show her off to every other man in the room. This was what Rebecca hated, being made to feel as if she was some kind of prize. Still, she sucked it up and smiled.
Let Alan have his moment. She’d gotten out of stooping to a full apology and owed him one. For once she would play the dutiful girlfriend instead of being difficult.
The waiter brought menus and took their drinks order. Alan, who was teetotal, had his usual soda water with a twist of lemon, while Rebecca opted for a bottle of Heineken.
They were opposites in every sense of the word: Alan, who was seven years Rebecca’s senior, was calm, rational, wore suits for every occasion and liked the finer things in life. Her mother said he was a good influence and balanced her out, while Jake called him safe and stuffy.
Rebecca wouldn’t go as far as to call him stuffy, but she agreed he was a safe bet. Nothing wrong with that, as she had enough danger and excitement in her day job. Years of dating unreliable and unpredictable men made ‘safe’ appealing. And she guessed her mother was right: she was thirty-three now and wasn’t getting any younger.
The waiter brought their drinks and Alan took a sip of his soda water, clearly vexed when Rebecca chose to ignore the glass that had been left with her beer and instead drank straight from the bottle. She caught his look.
‘What?’
He shook his head, glancing around the busy restaurant as if a little embarrassed.
‘This isn’t a blue-collar bar, Becky.’ He nudged the glass towards her.
Instead of taking it, Rebecca picked up the bottle and took a defiant swig. She’d put on a dress for him, but no way was she going to let anyone tell her how she should drink her beer.
‘So how is work?’ she asked, diverting the conversation before they fell out again.
Alan relaxed back into his chair. Retrieving a cloth from his suit pocket he took off his glasses and began to clean them while he recounted his day.
Rebecca was only half listening, her mind still preoccupied with the case. There was something they were missing. Jake was still convinced Amy Gallaty was the key to everything, but how did the pieces fit?
‘Angell?’
The familiar voice broke through her thoughts and her back stiffened.
No way!
But she knew before she turned, immediately recognising the distinct New York accent even after all this time.
Joel Hickok.
‘Jeez, Angell, I thought it was you.’
He hadn’t changed. Maybe there were a couple more lines on his face, but the unruly hair remained and he still wore that cocky grin. And had no manners as, without asking, he pulled up a chair and sat down with them.
Rebecca was speechless, having expected to never lay eyes on him again, and now he was here sitting at the table… with her and Alan. Her boyfriend, Alan.
Alan. God, she’d forgotten all about him.
‘What are you doing here, Hickok?’ she hissed.
‘I’m staying here.’
‘Staying here?’
‘Staying at the hotel. It’s work.’ Without asking, he took a piece of bread from the basket in the centre of the table.
‘It’s work?’ Rebecca repeated.
His cocky grin widened. ‘What are you, a parrot?’ Tearing off a piece of crust he shoved it in his mouth.
Opposite her, Alan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. ‘Becky, are you going to introduce your friend?’
‘Becky?’ Hickok nearly spat the bread out. ‘Since when did you start going by Becky?’
Rebecca scowled, her flaming cheeks matching her dress. She hadn’t seen Joel Hickok in six years, yet he thought it was perfectly acceptable to waltz back into her life and start insulting her. Reining in her temper and not wanting him to see how flustered she was, she made the introductions.
‘Alan, this is Joel Hickok. He’s an FBI agent I worked with a few years back.’ She didn’t add that she’d also had a six-week fling with him at the end of their investigation. Alan did not need to know that. ‘Hickok, this is Alan, my boyfriend.’ She emphasised the last word for Hickok’s benefit.
The two men shook hands, appraising each other.
‘FBI agent? Really.’ Alan was impressed, but then it didn’t take much. He watched a lot of CSI and had been blown away when he’d first met Rebecca and some of her detective friends.
The waiter returned to take their order. He glanced at Hickok, then Rebecca and Alan.
‘Will this gentleman be joining you for dinner?’ he asked.
Rebecca started to say no, but Hickok was already talking over the top of her.
‘Yeah, sure, and I’ll have what she’s having,’ he told the waiter, pointing to Rebecca’s bottle of Heineken.
Rebecca was fuming. How dare he come in here and hijack their dinner. She glanced at Alan and shrugged her shoulders by way of apology, but he seemed unperturbed, gratified to be in the presence of an FBI agent.
‘FBI. Wow, that must be an interesting career,’ he was gushing.
Hickok leaned back in his chair, lapping up the attention. ‘So, Adam.’
‘Alan.’
‘Sorry, Alan. You’ve never fancied a career in law enforcement?’
Alan almost blushed. ‘Oh no, I don’t think I’d be cut out for a job like that.’
‘You don’t say. So what line of business are you in?’
‘Oh, I’m in plastics.’
‘What, you’re a surgeon?’ Hickok shot Rebecca a look, sticking another piece of crust in his mouth. ‘Moving up in the world, eh, Angell? Little bit different to six years ago, pizza and your couch.’ He winked and Rebecca flushed scarlet.
‘No, no…’ Alan jumped in, so eager to correct he was oblivious to Hickok’s insinuation. ‘I run a plastics firm. We do picnicking mostly. You know; plastic glasses, plastic plates and plastic cutlery. We’re planning a plastic decanter for this year’s range.’
Hickok threw another look at Rebecca, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Ignoring him, she took a long swig of beer.
‘So what’s the job, Hickok? Why are you in Juniper? Is Max with you?’
‘No, no, Max isn’t with me. He retired, bought a condo down in Miami. I have a new partner.’ The way he emphasised the word ‘new’ suggested he wasn’t particularly impressed.
The waiter returned with his beer and Hickok picked up the bottle, mirroring her as he took a swig; it didn’t escape Rebecca’s attention that Alan never berated him for not using a glass.
‘You’ve got a couple of dead kids we’ve been asked to take a look at.’
Rebecca felt her heart sink.
‘Are you talking about the church murders? But that’s my investigation.’
Hickok stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. She couldn’t figure out if he already knew that.
‘It’s Senator Hogan’s nephew. He’s been pulling strings at the top; wants the FBI personally involved.’
‘And so they sent you?’
He grinned at her. ‘And so they sent me.’
7
Shannon Castle lived her life by routine and Wednesday night was grocery shopping night.
Some people might call her boring, but Shannon liked things in boxes, everything in order. It made life so much less stressful. Monday evening was the gym; Tuesday she would stay home and catch up on her favourite TV shows, Wednesday night was for groceries.
As always she had her list and spent a pleasant half an hour perusing the aisles of the local grocery store, filling her cart with essentials and a few treats. At the checkout she made small talk with Marcie the cashier while the groceries went through, then loaded her bags, paid for her shop and exited the store, already planning her dinner.
Because Wednesday night was grocery night, it meant she would be home late, so it was also takeout night, and tonight Shannon was favouring Mexican. As she pushed her cart over to her car in the corner of the parking lot, she was trying to decide if she fancied a beef or a chicken burrito, and if it would be greedy to have a side order of nachos. Popping open the trunk of her car, she started to load the grocery bags.
A sound came from behind her.
Shannon started to turn, the nachos dilemma still on her mind, and caught a glimpse of black as something heavy smashed into her face.
The grocery bag in her arms dropped to the floor, cans spilling over the parking lot as she collapsed.
When she awoke the first thing she was aware of was the smell of soil: in her face, up her nostrils. Her head was groggy, then the pounding kicked in, bringing with it nausea. Shannon groaned and tried to roll over.
Her arms wouldn’t work. Panic kicked in as she tried to move her body. Her arms were behind her, pulled tight, and as consciousness crept back she understood why. Her wrists were tied.
Memories from the grocery store flooded back, of loading the bags from the cart into her trunk, the sound behind her and the glimpse of black. Someone had attacked her. Someone had brought her here.
Hysteria overtook panic and she started screaming.
This did not figure in her Wednesday night plans, did not fit in any of her boxes, and she had no idea how to cope with it.
Where the hell am I?
The earth beneath her told her she was outside, but she couldn’t see and the darkness enveloping her suggested she was in some kind of outbuilding or barn.
Who had taken her? What did they want?
Fear bubbled in her throat. She was a good girl. She never broke the rules and always played it safe. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to her.
Her car was at the grocery store. Someone must have found it and realised she was in trouble. They would be looking for her. They would find her, right?
Overhead came a creak: the sound of a door opening. With it came light. Not a lot, but enough to let her know it wasn’t completely dark outside and to see she was right about being in a barn. Shadows fell on hay bales stacked high and a wall lined with various rakes and shears.
Shannon shuddered, her eyes moving towards the doorway.
A figure stood silently watching her: dark clothing, features indistinguishable. For a moment she thought her heart had stopped, she was that frightened.
‘What do…?’ Her voice was a squeak and her mouth so dry she couldn’t finish the question. She heard a click; a harsh beam of light blinded her. She couldn’t see the figure, but was aware he – she assumed it was a ‘he’ – was moving towards her.
Shannon whimpered and tried to roll away.
The flashlight beam was in her face and she felt her attacker push her onto her back before straddling her, forcing her legs down and her bound arms to crunch uncomfortably beneath her.
Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s going to rape me.
She started screaming and the man smacked her hard in the face with the flashlight. The pain was sharp and white hot as her teeth smashed together; as she tasted blood, her screaming became moaning sobs.
He put the flashlight down and she was aware of him pulling something from a pocket. A knife?
No, dear God no, please don’t let him cut me.
Pathetically she wriggled beneath him, going nowhere.
The click of a lid, the shake of an aerosol can. Her heart thumped.
What is he doing?
He began to spray the can at her chest; the smell of fumes filled her nostrils, her sobbing becoming choking. When he was done he sat back for a moment, as if admiring his handy work, before roughly pushing her over onto her belly, forcing her face into the dirt as he sat on her thighs.
Shannon heard the spray of the aerosol again, this time on her back, and her brain scrambled to understand what was happening.
