Page 132 of D for Dead

‘Seriously?’

‘He won’t return my calls.’

‘So?’

‘So the man has feelings, Hickok. He wanted to marry me.’

‘Yeah, I kind of got that from our Friday night audience. How is your mom by the way?’

‘Your name is mud.’

‘She’ll come around.’

Rebecca scowled when he smirked. ‘Don’t count on it. And anyway, who says I’ve come around? Don’t think I’m not wise to your little set up here. Jake and Rivers conveniently out of town.’

‘Well you seemed as if you had pretty much come around when you were trying to rip my pants off Friday night.’ When her scowl deepened, he added, ‘But don’t flatter yourself, Angell. This is about the case, not you.’

‘Sure it is, Hickok. And when we’re done with this case, we need to talk, about us.’

When she shot him a knowing look, he merely grinned again, running his knuckles down her arm.

Rebecca pulled away, not wanting to be distracted. ‘Okay, enough. Cool it, Romeo, and watch the tape. Here he is.’

They watched the footage of Caparelli arriving at the gym, signing in. Rebecca fast forwarded an hour and a half before they found him again in the reception area, getting ready to leave. He was talking with someone: another guy. As they headed out into the parking lot, Rebecca glimpsed his face.

‘Holy shit, you see who that is?’

Hickok had and was already leaning forward, had his finger on the rewind button. He paused and zoomed in the camera, before glancing at Rebecca, the expression on his face satisfied and a little smug.

The net was closing in.

‘So what are the chances of that?’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘Ryan Caparelli is pals with Troy Cunningham.’

39

Tucker Johnson lived like a slob.

The furniture in his house, at least what little there was of it, was threadbare and covered in a film of dust. Dozens of empty beer cans lay on the floor beside the couch and the ashtrays on the coffee and side table were full to spilling over.

Declan Rivers screwed up his nose in disgust when he opened the refrigerator door and was hit by the stench of long-expired milk and gone-off fruit. Dirty dishes lined the counter and filled the sink, and the dish towels were filthy. The man was a pig. There was no order or efficiency, no method, just mess. How had he managed to kill undetected for so long when his life was in such a state of disarray?

The basement was a different story. There were blood stains on the floor and the walls, but the room itself was the most orderly in the house: neat and devoid of mess, the tools he had used to torture and kill his victims hanging neatly from hooks in the wall, all meticulously clean and sharp. The man had taken pride in his tools.

Declan noticed Sullivan went quiet when they entered the basement, taking in the room and probably thinking about Amy and how she had once been in here. How she had managed a lucky escape. Personally he wasn’t sure he believed the bullshit that she hadn’t remembered that night. No, Declan was convinced Amy Gallaty knew more than she was letting on. It would be interesting to find out how much she remembered.

Wagner was convinced the bodies of the victims, Danielle Colton included, were hidden in the well on the property. Fifteen victims he had predicted. Declan figured it would be interesting to see if he was right.

So far Johnson’s place had given the sheriff’s office no clue as to his whereabouts and it was assumed he had somehow become alerted to the investigation and fled into the woods. Declan was the one to produce the big find of the morning. After what had happened with Peterson he needed the vote of confidence to show he was up to the job.

Wagner and his deputies had already been combing the house for evidence of victims, and while they had uncovered plenty, nothing had led to Johnson. The letter Declan found in the foot of one of the man’s boots sitting in the bottom of his closet wasn’t exactly a map to his whereabouts, but it did offer up an important link and was the biggest clue they had found so far.

It was addressed to Johnson, giving details of the night of Danielle Colton’s murder. In exchange for silence, the blackmailer wanted Johnson to help him get revenge on Amy Gallaty.

It was written a week before the murders started and came from David Gavin.

Sullivan was dubious at first. If the contents were true, Amy must have told Gavin what had happened to her, which meant she had lied about that night, about not remembering. The letter implied Johnson and Gavin were partners, or at least that was Gavin’s intention.

Declan watched the flicker of doubt in the detective’s expression, knew he wanted to believe Amy, but also that the evidence didn’t lie.