Page 112 of D for Dead

The killer had to have been waiting for Peterson when he’d left Amy’s apartment building. They hadn’t yet checked, but Rebecca suspected they would find the officer’s car still in the garage.

She hadn’t anticipated this murder scenario. Amy Gallaty’s fifth book had been about a cop killer who used various methods of dispatch. The car scene had only been described in the story as a threat; the murder hadn’t been carried out.

It seemed their killer was improvising and trying to make the deaths more sadistic. And he was speeding up the time frame, having gone from a week to four days and now two between murders, which meant he could strike again as soon as tomorrow.

‘You can ride back with me and we’ll get your statement,’ Hickok told Rivers. He glanced around, seeing Greg Withers pull up at the scene. ‘I need to speak with the pathologist. Clean yourself up and go wait in the car.’

Rivers nodded, didn’t attempt to argue.

As they headed over to Withers, Jake stepped into Hickok’s path. ‘I’ve got Amy tonight.’

It wasn’t a question or a request. Rebecca recognised her partner’s tone; knew the matter wasn’t open to debate.

Hickok glanced around, saw Amy already sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s car.

‘Okay,’ he agreed after a moment of hesitation. ‘You want her, you’ve got her.’

Nodding, Jake started to walk back to his car.

‘Sullivan?’

He stopped, glanced back at Hickok. ‘Yeah?’

‘There’s one book left.’ Hickok gave a twisted smile. ‘Keep her safe.’

* * *

Sullivan wanted to swing by his apartment before going back to Amy’s, to feed his dog and grab an overnight bag.

She followed him up the communal stairs in a building not dissimilar to her own, mind tired from trying to analyse the day’s events, but also curious to see where he lived. Officer Peterson’s murder was playing on a loop in her head. She wished she could make it stop, that she could block out the image of his body lying in the middle of the road. One moment he had been in her apartment drinking coffee and talking to his wife on the phone; the next he had been under the car, powerless to stop them as they drove out of the garage, dragging him behind, as the noose tightened around his neck.

Peterson was dead and it was her fault. She had created the method of execution, had put the idea into the killer’s head and an innocent man was dead because of her.

She thought about his last moments, knowing how terrified he would have been waiting for the inevitable.

How could another human being do something so horrific?

It was your sick idea in the first place. You might as well have handed the killer a loaded gun.

Amy shivered, wrapping her arms around her body.

Sullivan unlocked the door to his apartment and she followed him inside.

The narrow entrance hallway led into an open-plan living area, about the same size as hers. Neutral walls were offset by stainless steel and walnut furnishings and a large picture window overlooked the same park Amy’s apartment did, but from a different angle.

She heard the tap of nails on the hardwood floor, saw the golden retriever, who’d been with him the night they’d met, mosey over to greet him. He dropped down to her level and fussed her for a moment before glancing at Amy.

‘Grab a seat. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.’

She watched him disappear, went to sit on one of the two large leather couches, not unhappy when the dog followed, leaning up against her leg as Huckleberry often did. She stroked her soft velvety ears, felt herself relax slightly.

So this was where Sullivan lived.

The place had a comfortable, homey feel about it. Two framed photographs sat on a bookshelf filled with paperbacks. The titles were mostly biographies, but Amy recognised a couple of James Patterson and Michael Connelly novels among the mix.

Curious, she got up and went to view the photos. Were they of his family?

One she guessed to be a family shot: Sullivan was in it, younger, maybe mid-twenties, with an older couple she guessed to be his parents, another guy and two girls. All shared the same dark hair and eyes. It looked like it had been taken at a party, maybe a barbecue, the dad wearing a cowboy hat and all of them holding bottles of beer.