Page 134 of D for Dead

Benson was being sarcastic with him now and it was pissing him off.

How he would like to wipe that jaunty smile off her face.

‘Nice spot, Deputy Benson.’ Sullivan locked the car door, glanced at Declan. ‘We’d better touch base with Hickok and Rebecca.’

* * *

The clues were there, but the dots weren’t quite linking.

Joel had spoken with Sullivan and Rivers and they had exchanged information. They now knew Ryan Caparelli and Troy Cunningham knew each other. They also knew Troy had lived in Melford during the time Danielle Colton was murdered, that he may have known Amy. And Nadine Williams had also lived in Melford, had been Danielle’s cousin.

It had become clear Amy’s ex-boyfriend had been in contact with Tucker Johnson, the man who had killed Danielle, and that Gavin, Johnson and Caparelli had all vanished without a trace, as had the twins, Leslie and Crystal Rooney.

And in order for Gavin to know about Danielle’s murder, Amy had to have told him.

Why had she lied about what had happened to Danielle, gone through the ruse of hypnotherapy, and why hadn’t she come forward sooner? It didn’t make sense.

And at the centre of everything sat Troy Cunningham – yet what part did he play in all of this?

He was the first port of call on Monday morning after Joel picked up Angell from her home, where he hadn’t expected to see Alan come storming out as he went to knock on the door. The man barely glanced his way as he pushed past him, walking stiltedly to his car. The expression on his face suggested he’d just been dumped.

Joel felt a little bad. The man was a nerd, but he was harmless and hadn’t deserved to be humiliated. Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to regret what had happened. Alan hadn’t been right for Angell and she needed a good shake for even indulging the notion he could have been.

So who is right for her, Joel?

He ignored the nagging question, telling himself he’d done her a favour. There was no need to justify his actions.

Angell stomped out of the front door seconds after Alan, her expression not much happier.

‘Stop gawping, Hickok. This isn’t a sideshow.’

‘No, but it’s just as entertaining.’

She had already brushed past him and was getting into the passenger seat of his car; he went to join her, ignoring her insistence that she didn’t want to talk about it. By the time they had reached Cunningham’s beach house, he had wheedled out of her that Alan was history, a revelation that brightened his morning more than he cared to admit.

Troy wasn’t home. Or at least he didn’t appear to be. A quick check of the perimeter of the property revealed the patio door was ajar and Joel eased it open, stepping inside and calling out.

‘Mr Cunningham, this is the FBI. Are you home?’

It was while glancing around the room when there was no answer that he saw the blood: a pool of it congealing on the wooden floor of the living room. There were three red handprints leading towards the couch, a fourth on the arm of the couch itself and a final partial print on the wall behind. Joel drew his sidearm, pointed to the prints and signalled for Angell to do the same. Together they conducted a search of the beach house, and came up empty.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked when they reconvened in the living room a few minutes later. ‘Troy Cunningham’s blood?’

‘No sign of forced entry, the door was already open, too much blood to be an accident, but no body, which pretty much rules out suicide. There are a few more drops of blood leading through in the front hall and out on the front step, but his car is still here.’ He glanced at Angell, mulling the possibilities over in his mind. ‘I think we’d better get Withers over here as soon as. We need to get a match on this blood.’

* * *

Deputy Wayne Rawlins was the one to find David Gavin’s car, while out on patrol in the early hours of Monday morning.

At first no one realised it was Gavin’s car. A vehicle had crashed off the road heading out of town and was found floating upside down in a ditch. The driver appeared to have escaped and it wasn’t until later in the morning the gruesome discovery was made of two bodies in the trunk of the car.

They would need to make an official identification, but the remains appeared to be those of Leslie and Crystal Rooney, while a trace on the car showed it belonged to a rental company back in Juniper and the man who had paid cash for it was none other than David Gavin, though he had used a false name. A copy of Amy’s sixth and final book had been found sealed in a plastic bag in the trunk with the dead girls.

With the car registered to Gavin, all evidence seemed to point to him being the killer. A spurned lover out for revenge, as Sheriff Wagner put it, and Rivers was quick to agree. To Jake it all seemed too convenient. Sure, Gavin had done a vague cover-up job by paying cash for the car and giving a fake name, but he had to have known they would quickly uncover his true identity. It didn’t fit the pattern of a killer who had so far proven creative, smart and elusive, always staying one step ahead. And Gavin being the killer brought Jake back to the question that had been eating at him much of the day. How had he known about the basement and what had happened to Danielle Colton, unless Amy had told him?

If Amy had been lying then she was a damn good actress. He had been with her in Paul Shinnick’s office, had known her reservations about the hypnotherapy and had woken her from her nightmare. It made no sense, and what would she have to gain from the lie anyway?

You’re blinded because you’ve fallen for her.