Page 5 of D for Dead

Amy was fuming.

‘If you’re done, Doctor Doolittle, I think I can take it from here.’ She snatched the leash and gave Huckleberry a sharp yank. He didn’t budge and she yanked again.

‘Huckleberry!’

Reluctantly the dog got to his feet with a whine. Heat crept into Amy’s cheeks, as, with as much dignity as she could muster she turned and headed back up the path to the road, her feet slipping on the now muddy ground, a sulking Huckleberry trailing along behind her. She was aware the man was still watching her, no doubt amused he’d made her look an idiot, but she was oblivious to the second pair of eyes watching from within the bushes.

* * *

Vic had the key to the rear door of the church and, too lazy to follow the path round to the back of the building, he decided to cut across the graveyard. He might be doing all this church stuff, but dead was dead and anyone spouting baloney about it being disrespectful to walk over graves was full of shit. Of course these were views he had never shared with Pastor Ralph. No need to go upsetting him.

If he fell out with the pastor he could kiss goodbye to any chance of getting into Ralph’s daughter’s pants.

With the faint beam of the flickering flashlight guiding him, Vic made his way across the graveyard. He took care not to step directly on old Mrs Jacoby’s plot, knowing her daughters tended it weekly with fresh flowers. He was almost halfway, busy wondering what treats Mrs Michaels would be baking for after the morning service and whether Brooke would be wearing the blue flowery dress with the low neckline, when the flashlight cut out completely.

‘Damn, fuck.’

Standing in the middle of the graveyard in the dark, Vic waited for his eyes to adjust. Feeling a damn fool, he cursed himself about the batteries again and slowly started to pick his way forward, careful to avoid the headstones.

Not such a great idea now, hey buddy?

Up ahead he could make out the shadow of the church. There were maybe six or seven more gravestones in his path. Feeling his legs bump the next one, he cautiously stepped around it. As his foot came down he realised too late there was no ground beneath it.

Crying out as he lost his balance, he toppled forward into the hole in the ground, landing with a thud.

Something squelched beneath him. It wasn’t earth. He had landed on something in the grave.

Not something – someone.

And he could smell blood.

Lifting his hand, he could feel icky stuff all over it.

He was on top of a body: cold, unmoving and dead.

As the realisation hit him, Victor Boaz started screaming like a baby.

2

Jake Sullivan was getting out of the shower when the phone rang. Grabbing a towel he made his way through to the bedroom and snatched up the handset as the message kicked in, trying his best to ignore Roxy’s pitiful look.

‘Sullivan.’

Moments later he was redialling his partner.

Rebecca Angell answered after six rings, sounding groggy. He glanced at the alarm and grinned. 5.45am. Rebecca had been sinking shots of bourbon when he’d left her a few hours ago.

‘You sober?’

‘Of course,’ she muttered unconvincingly.

He heard the creak of the mattress.

‘Jeez, Jake, it’s not even six yet. This had better be good.’

‘We’ve got a dead body in the graveyard over at the New Hope Church.’

‘We’ve got a dead body in the graveyard?’ Rebecca repeated, her tone dry. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’