Page 33 of D for Dead

* * *

The crime scene was intact when they arrived.

Beaver Creek was a trail popular with hikers: a picturesque area of woodland backing on to farmland, and it was two hikers who had found the body as they made their way along one of the routes that eventually wound down to the coast.

The victim, female, maybe late thirties Rebecca guessed at first appearance, was suspended by her left foot, swinging from the branch of a giant maple tree. She was blonde, may have been pretty before death, and wore a skirt suit, suggesting she’d come to the forest straight from work. Come to the forest on her own; perhaps been lured or tricked, or been brought here?

Her white blouse was shredded and bloody. Rebecca counted at least three bullet holes.

The responding officers, Peterson and Chalmers, had taped off the scene and led Rebecca and Hickok to where the hikers were waiting. They were young: a guy and a girl, and both nervous and eager to get away. The girl was particularly pale, and they later learned she had barfed her breakfast after finding the body. Aside from that, the couple were unable to help further and Hickok cleared them to go home.

Wrong time, wrong place.

Rebecca guessed the same could be said for the victim. Unless she had been specifically targeted.

They would need to establish her identity first and see if this new murder yielded any further clues as to their killer’s motive or identity. But the more she thought about it, the more likely it was.

As they waited for Greg Withers to arrive, Hickok glanced at the body and then at Rebecca.

‘So, what are your thoughts, Angell?’

Rebecca shot him a look, still wary that this acting professional business was all a mask. For no other reason than she figured she would look an idiot calling his bluff, she decided to roll with it.

‘Our killer is focused on Amy Gallaty,’ she told him. ‘Whether it is because he has a thing for her books, or has a more personal connection, we don’t know. But it would make sense the victims aren’t random.’ She glanced at the woman suspended in the tree. ‘She’s wearing a suit. She wasn’t hiking dressed like that, so our perp had to have brought her here. He could’ve picked off a hiker more easily. Why take the risk? I think this victim was intentional, which suggests she is somehow linked to Amy. We need to find out how.’

Hickok nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. ‘Ditto.’

11

He watched her walking the dog along the bank of the river. She was a creature of habit and had her routines. Although there were other people out and about, taking advantage of the warm June morning, he remained hidden within the safety of the trees. He couldn’t risk her bumping into him, and that damn collie was too nosey, having already nearly sniffed him out and exposed his hiding place a couple of nights ago.

As she eventually turned and headed back towards him, he lifted the camera that hung around his neck and snapped off a couple of shots. Dressed casually in combats and a dark T-shirt that fitted snugly, showing off the shape of her small breasts, she threw a Frisbee for the dog. He took a couple of steps closer, certain she was too distracted to notice him as the dog caught the Frisbee and headed for the water.

‘Huckleberry, don’t you dare.’

He zoomed the lens in on her. She wore sunglasses, large round ones that swallowed her face. As she watched the dog, chewing on her full bottom lip – a trait of hers he recognised as anxiety – she lifted a hand and tucked strands of tawny brown hair behind her ear.

Click. Click.

The collie stopped and looked at her, orange Frisbee in his mouth, summing up the situation. After a long moment of hesitation, he dutifully returned to where she waited.

First time she hadn’t had to go after him. Huckleberry was learning.

As she hooked the lead on to the collar, he slipped back into the bushes. She couldn’t see him. That would ruin everything. A couple of nights ago, following her home from the Velvet Lounge, he’d taken a risk. She had realised she was being followed and instead of crossing the road, throwing her off track, he had pursued her to the pizza place. It had been foolish. She could have stopped at any point to confront him and his plans would have had to change, but she hadn’t, and he had gotten off on scaring her. On the high of knowing she realised he had been following her.

Thinking back to how much he had enjoyed the feeling, he decided maybe it was time to up the ante.

An idea came into his head and he smiled. It was time to give Amy a scare.

* * *

Leaving an unhappy Huckleberry in her apartment Amy headed into town to run a few errands. After banking the latest cheque from her publisher and stocking up on groceries, she stopped at her favourite coffee shop for a latte and a chocolate chip cookie.

It was routine. She hated chores and the coffee shop treat was her motivation and reward for doing them.

When she returned to her apartment she would get stuck into the new book. No work at the Velvet Lounge tonight and so the opportunity was there to write as late as she wanted. Bearing this in mind, she had bought a pizza for dinner. Should she find her flow, she would not want to be interrupting it to prepare a laborious meal.

Mabel’s was her coffee shop of choice. More personal than Starbucks and selling home-made baked goods. When she was in a rush, Amy would get her coffee and cookie to go; at other times she would settle herself into one of the booths and people watch out of the window.