Page 13 of M for Murder

‘Hell, no, I can’t wait. I’m sure we’ll have a ball.’

Rebecca watched Hickok and Sutton exchange a knowing glance. From the looks on their faces, they couldn’t wait either. As for herself, she wasn’t sure what she felt. Any thought of parking tickets and barroom brawls were right out of the window now and that was good. This was a real murder investigation, with real dead bodies and a real killer ready to strike again at any time. And she was involved. This was everything she’d ever dreamt about and more. Still, she had feelings of apprehension.

Maybe because she wasn’t looking forward to working with the FBI either. Particularly Special Agent Joel Hickok. Deep down, though, Rebecca knew it was more than that. Murder seemed so much more fun on the TV, when there were great minds like Sherlock Holmes and Columbo on hand to solve the case. This time it was different. This time it was real life and there were no geniuses around to count on.

Screw up now and you’ll be right back on your ass in Swallow Falls.

Swallow Falls. The place had never seemed so inviting.

4

R ebecca’s shift finished at six, and not wanting to hang around the precinct she stopped only long enough to change from her uniform into her jeans and T-shirt, before heading out to the parking lot.

She reflected on the day’s events, still finding it hard to believe that a few hours ago she had been out on patrol with Vic, handing out traffic citations and taking down the witness statements from a bungled jewellery store robbery, and now she was involved in a murder investigation. Of course, it was more than likely that Sutton and Hickok just wanted a couple of errand boys to fetch their coffee and carry their files. It would be interesting, though, to see first-hand how a murder investigation worked. She didn’t plan on being a street cop forever and hoped that once she had a few years’ experience she might be promoted to detective.

Although she had already made up her mind to hate Hickok, Rebecca had a feeling she could grow to like Max Sutton. His rumpled appearance and laid-back charm reminded her of her favourite uncle, her father’s younger brother, Louis. With the exception of Jess, he was the only one in the family who hadn’t disapproved of her tomboy ways, had encouraged her to climb trees and play football then endure her mother’s wrath when she came home with her clothes dirty and covered in cuts and bruises. She had fractured her arm on three occasions, each time falling from the large oak tree that stood at the foot of Uncle Lou’s garden; after the third time she had been banned from visiting him unless her mother was present.

Rebecca wondered whether or not it would be a good idea to tell her parents about the murder investigation. In the three weeks that she’d been in the city her mother had called her at least once a day to check on her well-being, convinced that the next time her daughter came home it would be in a body bag. The mention of the word ‘murder’ would probably be enough to send her into one of her fits.

The fits amounted to no more than tears, headaches and dizzy spells, but they were often enough to keep Sarah Angell in bed for a couple of days and, although Rebecca didn’t doubt for a second that her mother exaggerated and sometimes invented the symptoms, she didn’t feel it fair to leave her father and sisters with the burden of looking after her.

She decided that it would be better if she didn’t tell them anything.

Approaching her Jeep, parked at the far end of the lot, Rebecca reached into her pocket for her keys. She had bought it with savings from her first job five years ago and it was one of her most prized possessions.

She had learned to drive in Uncle Lou’s almost identical one. Her mother complained that she had picked up all Lou’s bad habits, taking corners too fast and braking at the last minute, but Rebecca had still learned enough from him to pass her test first time. The one thing she hadn’t been able to get the hang of was parking. No matter where she was or how many times she tried, she never failed to get a wheel stuck on the curb or the nose of the Jeep poking into someone else’s parking space.

Looking at how she had left it this morning, parked haphazardly across two spaces, she groaned loudly, her attention immediately drawn to the front flat tyre.

‘Shit!’ she muttered under her breath.

She had been looking forward to getting home and having a relaxing shower while she decided what to with her evening, but it looked as though her plans were going to be delayed. Unlocking the driver’s door, Rebecca dropped her sports bag onto the seat and went around the back to fetch the spare wheel.

She glanced up at the sound of footsteps and saw Special Agents Hickok and Sutton heading across the parking lot. Sutton raised a hand in greeting. He looked at the wheel and the crowbar she was holding and frowned.

‘Car trouble, Officer Angell?’

Rebecca pulled a face.

‘Flat tyre,’ she grumbled. ‘Had to happen on a Friday night.’

She saw Hickok smirk at her. ‘You need a hand to change it?’ Although he was offering, there was something patronising in his tone.

Rebecca glared at him. ‘I can manage, thank you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Defiantly dropping the wheel and crowbar on the ground near the front wheel of the Jeep, she went back to get the jack. Sutton slapped Hickok on the shoulder.

‘Come on, buddy, let’s go.’

Rebecca watched him cross the lot to where a black Lincoln was parked. Instead of following him, Hickok remained where he was, arms folded and an amused expression on his face as he continued to watch her. Ignoring him, she set about changing the wheel, glad that Uncle Lou had insisted on giving her basic lessons in vehicle maintenance. It had been one of the many things he’d taught her. Jess had been too busy partying to be interested in his lessons and Wendy far too girly, so Rebecca had been the only willing candidate. By the age of sixteen, aside from learning the basics of vehicle maintenance, she had also been taught self-defence and shown how to properly use a firearm.

It irritated the hell out of her that Special Agent Hickok didn’t seem to think her capable of changing a wheel. He was probably one of those sexist stone-age men like Vic, who seemed to believe that women should be kept at home baking and cleaning and raising their children. A role Rebecca couldn’t see herself ever filling.

With the front of the Jeep jacked up, she glared at him. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’