Page 152 of D for Dead

Women were all the same: vile creatures with hidden agendas. They pretended to be weak and helpless, luring men in with the promise of sex.

He hated them all.

He had written off that summer before it began, determined to sulk his way through it, causing trouble wherever he could. Then he met Troy Cunningham, a boy a couple of years older than him and someone he could identify with. He recognised the darkness within Troy, was drawn to it. And the two of them bonded, growing close.

Then came the day when Troy told him about the Johnson house and what had happened to Danielle Colton in the basement. Instead of feeling fear when he visited the house, Declan experienced excitement. He also felt disappointment, wished it had been he who had witnessed what happened, not Troy. Danielle had been the prey. How would it have felt to end her life? He wanted to know. He wanted desperately to know.

He returned to New York, took his first kill on his seventeenth birthday.

Chuck had bought him a Ferrari and as he took it for a drive, he saw her. She was a prostitute, reminded him of Elizabeth to look at, and his mind went into autopilot, picking her up and driving her to a desolate spot on the edge of the city where he strangled the life out of her. He wished he’d had a knife; regretted she was dead and he hadn’t been able to cut her. Next time he would be prepared. Next time would be different.

Next time turned out to be with Troy.

They had run into each other in New York. Troy was attending Cornell, while Declan was hanging out at his dad’s apartment. They reconnected instantly, the bond between them as strong as before. Again, Declan saw the darkness, and understood that Troy hadn’t yet accepted it. He invited Troy to his father’s cabin for a weekend of fishing and hunting, taking with him a gift in the form of Melanie, a girl he had picked up the night before.

At first Troy had been in denial, still conditioned to believe killing was wrong. Declan had to show him, had to force him to take the knife, but once he had gotten a taste, had understood the beauty of being in control, he had gone a little crazy with the blade, and then Melanie was dead and Troy was sobbing, trying to come to terms with who he was.

After Melanie they took trips to the cabin a couple of times a year, each time with a different girl. Declan taught Troy they had to pick girls who wouldn’t be missed and girls who didn’t live anywhere near the cabin. If a hooker went missing in New York City, no one would think to look for her upstate. They used acid to destroy the bodies, kept the teeth as souvenirs.

But then as always, Declan grew bored.

Killing was enjoyable, but it was all too easy. He wanted for people to notice, he wanted a challenge. He wanted to prove he could get away with the perfect murder. Around the same time he started looking at a career in law enforcement. Chuck wanted him to go into the family business, but Declan’s mind was set.

He found murder fascinating, loved studying cases, learning about serial killers, their drive and their methods, what their downfall had been. There was a perverse craving to be on the inside looking out, to track other murderers, understand what made them tick and use what he learned to harness his own skills. He applied to join the FBI, almost flunked out, and had to rely on his father’s influence and his close friendships within the Bureau to get him through the door.

Not long after being accepted he decided to pay a surprise visit to Troy at his home in Juniper, Oregon.

The two of them had a rule never to socialise together, to lead their lives separately outside of the weekends away at the cabin. It was for safety, Declan had insisted. If people weren’t aware they knew each other, they could never be connected and linked to any murder. Troy had his life in Oregon and Declan had his back east and that was how it should stay.

But rules were made to be broken, so when he was in Oregon on business, he decided to look his old friend up at his beach house.

Troy hadn’t been home and he soon learned his killing buddy had been holding out on him, as Nadine Williams had invited him in, told him to make himself at home until her boyfriend returned. He passed himself off as an old school friend, introduced himself as Cap, and she was quick to welcome him.

Declan was surprised at the woman his friend had chosen to spend his life with, knowing he had a type, liked the pretty but quiet girls with soft features, long hair and little make-up. Nadine was sharp and brash and there was nothing understated about her at all.

What had drawn Troy to her?

And then he learned, over coffee with her on the deck, that they had met in Melford, that she had been the cousin of Danielle Colton, and it all made sense. Nadine was Troy’s connection to the past, to what he had witnessed in the basement. That was why he kept her close.

It was following her back into the beach house, as she took their cups through to the kitchen, that he noticed the books. There were six books and they were the only ones on the shelf. It was too much of a coincidence for it to be a different Amy Gallaty.

This was the girl from the basement, the one who had gotten away, and Troy knew who she was, knew she was an author. Rage simmered as Declan understood his friend had kept this from him.

‘Have you ever read any of her books?’ Nadine had asked, wandering back into the living room where he stood with one of them in his hand, glancing over the back cover.

‘No, I’ve never heard of her,’ he lied.

‘She’s brilliant. I love her stories. They’re so suspenseful and keep you on the edge of your seat. I’ve met her a few times, you know.’

‘Have you, now?’

Nadine took down a framed photograph in which she stood beaming next to a pretty woman who had wide almond shaped eyes, a warm smile and long tawny brown hair. She was exactly Troy’s type.

‘This is Amy Gallaty?’

‘Sure is. Troy was the one who introduced me to her; he bought me a copy of her first novel one Christmas. I’m her biggest fan and he takes me to all of her signings. He took this picture.’

What perverse little game are you playing here, Troy?