Page 100 of D for Dead

‘I’m an atheist.’

‘So was I before. Pastor Ralph helped me see things clearly. I think he could help you if you wanted to talk to him.’

‘I think the last thing Amy needs is the church, Vic.’

‘And what would you know?’ Vic snapped defensively.

Rebecca crossed her arms, steadily losing patience.

‘Enough to know it won’t help her at this moment in time.’ She didn’t bother to remind Boaz her own father was minister of the parish church back in her home town of Swallow Falls.

‘I appreciate the sentiment, Officer Boaz, but I think Detective Angell is right.’

‘Well… if you change your mind.’

‘Then I will let you know. Thank you; I do appreciate the thought.’

Boaz pulled his sulky face, topped up his cup and headed back to the couch.

‘What about Mr X?’ Amy asked, turning back to Rebecca.

‘Sorry?’

‘Mr X, the guy who wrote me the fan letters. You think the killer is the same person who wrote me the letters, right?’

‘We strongly suspect a connection.’

‘It doesn’t make sense that David would write them.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Rebecca agreed. She gave a twisted smile. ‘But then, how well can you say you really knew your boyfriend?’

* * *

He stopped at McDonald’s before heading out of town, and ordered a Big Mac meal to go. The storage unit he had rented was a few miles out. There were closer ones he could have used, but this one offered more privacy.

Leaving his car, he took the paper bag of food, unlocked the door to the unit and slid it open. Although it was quiet and no one was about, once inside he closed the door before turning on the light.

He had hidden the car here, knowing he couldn’t afford for the police to trace it, and had left the camera sitting on the front seat, along with the photographs of Amy Gallaty. He spent a moment flicking through them again, looking at the shots of her playing in the park with her dog, with the cop on the balcony of the apartment; all copies of the pictures sent to her.

Things were working in his favour, better than he could have hoped. With the photographs and the murders, he had her scared and was enjoying feeding on her fear. Same as he’d enjoyed slitting the throat of the doorman from her bar, and, although he’d regretted having to do it, same as he’d enjoyed pouring the acid down Nadine’s throat.

Setting the photographs to one side, he took the bag of food round to the trunk. He was aware of the muffled sounds coming from inside before he popped it open. This one was going to be a struggler, but he couldn’t kill yet. It wasn’t time.

Smiling down at the blinking face, he waved the bag. ‘Play nice. I brought you lunch.’

30

Five summers passed before Troy Cunningham returned to the house in the woods, and this time he wasn’t alone.

Sure, he had biked past the place on numerous occasions. Had even paused at times, drawn to the house and the memories of what had happened there, staring at the dirty, dark windows, and wondering if Johnson had any more victims locked up inside.

He had never told anyone.

After Amy had made her escape he’d run all the way home. The twins were gone. He suspected they had left after sending her into the house.

His plan while running home was to wake his parents, tell them what had happened and get them to call the police. But then he’d started thinking about the consequences. They would be mad at him for sneaking out and would probably ground him for a year. And if they did call the police he could end up being arrested for breaking into Tucker Johnson’s house. Worse still, if Tucker wasn’t arrested and he knew Troy had seen what he did, he might come after him.

He was best to stay quiet. The twins would raise the alarm. No one ever had to know he was there.