‘So he is your dog now?’
‘Come on, Huckleberry,’ she said to the dog, ignoring the man.
The collie made no attempt to move so Amy went to him. As she reached to slip the collar over his head, Huckleberry quickly moved out of her way.
‘Huckleberry!’
She made another couple of unsuccessful attempts to catch hold of him before glancing up to see the man watching her. The rain had slicked his dark hair down to his forehead and was soaking the shoulders of his T-shirt, but he didn’t appear to notice. He looked amused.
‘What’s so funny?’ Amy demanded.
Instead of answering her he gave a sharp whistle. Huckleberry’s ears pricked and to Amy’s surprise – and annoyance – he came charging over to where the man stood, sitting obediently before him.
‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
The man held out his hand for the collar. ‘Hey, you want me to help or not?’
Grudgingly, Amy passed it to him.
Good as gold, Huckleberry allowed the collar to be slipped over his head. He even had the nerve to glance up adoringly at the man who in turn bent down and scratched his ears. Meanwhile, the placid Labrador sat by patiently watching.
Amy was fuming.
‘If you’re done, Doctor Doolittle, I think I can take it from here.’ She snatched the leash and gave Huckleberry a sharp yank. He didn’t budge and she yanked again.
‘Huckleberry!’
Reluctantly the dog got to his feet with a whine. Heat crept into Amy’s cheeks, as, with as much dignity as she could muster she turned and headed back up the path to the road, her feet slipping on the now muddy ground, a sulking Huckleberry trailing along behind her. She was aware the man was still watching her, no doubt amused he’d made her look an idiot, but she was oblivious to the second pair of eyes watching from within the bushes.
Vic had the key to the rear door of the church and, too lazy to follow the path round to the back of the building, he decided to cut across the graveyard. He might be doing all this church stuff, but dead was dead and anyone spouting baloney about it being disrespectful to walk over graves was full of shit. Of course these were views he had never shared with Pastor Ralph. No need to go upsetting him.
If he fell out with the pastor he could kiss goodbye to any chance of getting into Ralph’s daughter’s pants.
With the faint beam of the flickering flashlight guiding him, Vic made his way across the graveyard. He took care not to step directly on old Mrs Jacoby’s plot, knowing her daughters tended it weekly with fresh flowers. He was almost halfway, busy wondering what treats Mrs Michaels would be baking for after the morning service and whether Brooke would be wearing the blue flowery dress with the low neckline, when the flashlight cut out completely.
‘Damn, fuck.’
Standing in the middle of the graveyard in the dark, Vic waited for his eyes to adjust. Feeling a damn fool, he cursed himself about the batteries again and slowly started to pick his way forward, careful to avoid the headstones.
Not such a great idea now, hey buddy?
Up ahead he could make out the shadow of the church. There were maybe six or seven more gravestones in his path. Feeling his legs bump the next one, he cautiously stepped around it. As his foot came down he realised too late there was no ground beneath it.
Crying out as he lost his balance, he toppled forward into the hole in the ground, landing with a thud.
Something squelched beneath him. It wasn’t earth. He had landed on something in the grave.
Not something – someone.
And he could smell blood.
Lifting his hand, he could feel icky stuff all over it.
He was on top of a body: cold, unmoving and dead.
As the realisation hit him, Victor Boaz started screaming like a baby.
2
Jake Sullivan was getting out of the shower when the phone rang. Grabbing a towel he made his way through to the bedroom and snatched up the handset as the message kicked in, trying his best to ignore Roxy’s pitiful look.
‘Sullivan.’
Moments later he was redialling his partner.
Rebecca Angell answered after six rings, sounding groggy. He glanced at the alarm and grinned. 5.45am. Rebecca had been sinking shots of bourbon when he’d left her a few hours ago.
‘You sober?’
‘Of course,’ she muttered unconvincingly.
He heard the creak of the mattress.
‘Jeez, Jake, it’s not even six yet. This had better be good.’
‘We’ve got a dead body in the graveyard over at the New Hope Church.’
‘We’ve got a dead body in the graveyard?’ Rebecca repeated, her tone dry. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
Jake smiled, appreciating the irony. ‘I wish.’
Reaching in his closet he pulled out a pair of dark suit pants and a grey shirt. He might not have the hangover, but at least Rebecca had managed a couple of hours sleep. He had arrived home, crawled into bed and found himself wide awake an hour later, unable to settle in the heat of the night. He was tired, but at least sober.
He crossed to the window, drew up the blind. It was already light outside and hurt his tired eyes. He glanced over the lush green of the parkland where the silvery trail of the river snaked a path between the trees.
It was the view that had sold him on the apartment, when things had turned bad with Lara and he had needed to find somewhere fast, and had they not pulled this case he would have been changing into his running gear and heading over to the park before there was too much heat in the sun.
When he was stressed with a case, needed to mull things over or clear his head, that was his thing; he liked to run. Unfortunately, there was no time now, so it would have to wait.
‘Probably best if I drive, eh?’
Rebecca made a grunting sound down the phone which he took to be an agreement.
‘Pick you up in fifteen.’
‘Jake?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Can you bring coffee? I’m out.’
Rebecca was dressed and functioning by the time Jake arrived twenty minutes later, but still not feeling quite human. She had taken the quickest of showers, tied her dark hair back in a low ponytail, and was finishing off a cold slice of pizza she’d found in the refrigerator, when she answered the door.
Spying the two cardboard Starbucks mugs Jake held, she snatched one and took a long luxurious sip.
‘Oh man, this is the best cup of coffee in the world. Thank you, Jake Sullivan. You are my hero.’ She grinned and winked at him.
Jake followed her inside, removing his sunglasses and screwing up his nose at the pizza crust still in her hand.
‘You’re eating cold pizza for breakfast, seriously?’
‘Hey, you said fifteen minutes. I had to improvise.’
‘Is that onions I can smell?’
‘Maybe,’ Rebecca confessed sheepishly, cramming the last bite into her mouth.
‘For breakfast? That’s gross. You’d better not stink out my car.’
‘It’s not cold out. You can open the window.’
The man was way too pedantic about his dumb car.
She pushed past him into the kitchen, running through a mental checklist to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.