Page 27 of D for Dead

Jake turned at the cocksure voice, took a glance at the owner: a guy of about his own age, dark suit, unruly hair, slightly smug grin. The pain in the ass? He’d put money on it.

The man came to a halt beside Rebecca, helped himself to the coffee in her hand, took a large mouthful and almost choked, spitting it straight back in the cup.

Nice.

‘Jeez, Angell, how much sugar did you put in this thing?’ Ignoring the fuming look she gave him; he turned his attention to Jake. ‘Sullivan, right?’

Jake shook the offered hand guardedly, while Rebecca looked on, seriously pissed off.

‘I worked a case with your old partner, Frank Logan, down in Atlanta last year. Heard good things about you.’

Heard good things. Jake wondered briefly if his previous partner would’ve shared the same sentiment and quickly quashed the thought.

‘Logan’s a good cop,’ he said instead.

The other man nodded.

‘Special Agent Joel Hickok. Good to meet you.’

Hickok.

The name was familiar and it only took a second to click into place.

The Alphabet Murders.

They had happened about six years ago. Jake had been serving with the Atlanta PD at the time, and hadn’t moved to Oregon until a couple of years later. The case had been big and he’d heard the details time and again since joining Juniper PD. Hickok had been one of the FBI agents Rebecca had worked with and, on the occasions she had mentioned his name, it had been through gritted teeth. He had never questioned why before. Now he made a mental note to ask her about it later.

‘Likewise,’ he told Hickok, playing it carefully, remembering what Rebecca had said about it spelling trouble for their investigation.

The Feds were here because of the church murder, of that there was no doubt. Jake had worked with the Bureau before on a couple of homicides back home and didn’t have a problem so long as everyone played ball. His partner’s problem was more personal. Whether it was down to plain dislike or something more, he intended to find out.

‘So, are we going to get down to business?’ Rebecca asked tartly, still looking unimpressed. ‘You said you brought your new partner, right?’

‘Good to meet you, Detective Angell.’

She whirled round, surprised by the voice behind her.

The guy holding his hand out was late twenties, Jake estimated, lanky in build and baby-faced, wearing a navy suit that swamped him, and a syrupy smile.

‘Special Agent Declan Rivers. I’ve read all about your work in the Alphabet Murders and been looking forward to meeting you.’

He pumped Rebecca’s hand enthusiastically, then Jake’s, while Hickok looked on, his expression one of pure irritation.

‘When you’ve finished your love fest, maybe we can get to work,’ he snapped.

The four of them met with Captain Krigg before heading down to the office Jake and Rebecca shared with two other detectives.

‘So, what have you got so far?’ Hickok asked, taking a seat and getting straight to the point.

They talked Hickok and Rivers through the crime scene, told them about the book found in the car and its author, Amy Gallaty.

‘So what’s your take on her?’ Hickok wanted to know. ‘You think she’s somehow involved?’

‘Not directly involved,’ Rebecca told him. ‘She was working the night of the murder.’

‘Doesn’t mean she didn’t get someone else to do it.’

‘True. My instincts say otherwise.’