Page 61 of M for Murder

That was the problem with people these days, they all seemed to have the attitude that it couldn’t happen to them. Sipping his coffee, he smiled, thinking how very wrong they were.

As they walked into the precinct, Joel saw Rebecca Angell glance up from her desk. As soon as she realised it was him, she scowled. Grinning broadly, he waved in her direction, expecting to get a snide comment. She didn’t bite though and, glowering silently instead, turned back to her work.

He guessed that he deserved it. Ever since their conversation following the discovery of Emma Keeley’s body, he’d felt a little uncomfortable around her and, in the end, had decided it was easier just to go back to giving her a hard time.

He was being a jerk and he knew it, but he carried on regardless, reminding himself that it was the best course of action in the long run. He didn’t need the trouble of falling for someone like Rebecca Angell. Most women were trouble enough, but this one was too smart and sassy for her own good.

Strolling past her desk, he pulled open the second drawer of the filing cabinet where they had been keeping all the information on the murders committed by Boone and started flicking through the files.

Angell watched him suspiciously.

‘You know we’ve been through that entire cabinet already.’

‘I know, I know.’ Finding what he was looking for, Joel pulled out the file and closed the drawer. As he walked past her, he dropped the file on her desk.

‘Victim I?’ she said, studying the front page and glancing up at him, her eyebrows raised questioningly.

She had made the suggestion to him that they try to contact Boone’s one surviving victim, when she’d seen him out in the parking lot first thing that morning. At the time, Joel hadn’t really paid attention. He’d been in a foul mood since learning that Lawrie Parker’s prints didn’t match those on the vodka bottle. That, and knowing they now had another two unsolved murders, was enough to make him unnecessarily irritable. He recalled how he had snapped at her, telling her to quit wasting his time with stupid ideas, and how she had responded with a barrage of abuse, before storming off ahead of him into the office, letting the door slam in his face.

He had watched her go, loving how sexy she looked when she got mad and hating the fact that he noticed. It was almost worth pissing her off just to watch her cheeks flush and her green eyes flash angrily.

Throughout the morning he had thought about her suggestion more and more, realising that it wasn’t really such a bad one and, although he wasn’t sure they would gain anything from talking to Boone’s one surviving victim, at this stage it seemed they had nothing to lose. Except of course his pride, which he now had to swallow in front of Angell by admitting she was right.

‘I was thinking maybe we should call her after all,’ he grudgingly conceded, not prepared to stoop to a full apology. ‘See if she’s living locally and, if she is, then maybe we’ll bring her in for a chat.’

Angell nodded, though chose not to say anything. She didn’t have to. The gloating smile on her face was enough to let him know that she had won.

He watched as she opened the file, knew there wasn’t much information on Boone’s one surviving victim, just a police report on the attack and a copy text of the witness interview. Picking up the telephone, she began to punch in the number at the top of page.

23

JUNIPER, OREGON, SATURDAY 11TH JULY 1989

W hen she heard that the police had found the body of Marcus Hyde, Jennifer went up to her room and started to pack.

Things were getting a little too close for comfort and she was more than a little scared. Ever since the conversation she’d had with Miranda a week earlier, she’d been on edge. Marcus’s death had just pushed her over. At first, she had told herself she was being paranoid. Miranda’s theory that the killer was working through the alphabet was crazy and it was no more than pure coincidence that the surnames of the seven victims matched the first seven letters of the alphabet. The more she thought about it, though, the more she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it might be true. Marcus Hyde, her ex-boyfriend and the eighth victim, had just about confirmed her fears and now she was worrying herself silly about who the next intended victim was.

Miranda Ingram or Jennifer Isaac.

Of course, there were probably close to a hundred students at the college whose surname had the initial I, but with twenty-five letters taken out of the alphabet, things had been narrowed down just a little too much for her liking. If she went home for a while, waited until it was all over, everything would be okay, and she could return safe in the knowledge that her life was not in danger.

She had just about finished packing when Miranda walked into the room. Until now, Jennifer had kept her plans to leave a secret, knowing that her friend would try to stop her, and she was right. Miranda eyed the case suspiciously.

‘What’s that for?’ she asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed. Jennifer avoided looking at her.

‘I think I’m gonna go visit my folks.’

‘In the middle of the week?’

‘Yeah, I figured I’d leave today.’

There was silence for a moment. Jennifer could feel Miranda’s eyes watching her. Eventually she asked, ‘Why?’

‘My mom’s not feeling too good,’ Jennifer lied. ‘I said I’d go home and help out until she’s back up on her feet.’

Another silence followed.

‘I don’t believe you. You’re going home because of the murders. You think you’re going to be the next victim, don’t you?’