‘It was dark,’ he pointed out to Sullivan. ‘I couldn’t see where I was going.’
‘So I see.’
‘What were you doing in a church graveyard in the middle of the night in the first place?’ Angell asked, still sounding incredulous.
Mrs Michaels answered before Vic had a chance. He was noticing she had an annoying habit of doing that.
‘Officer Boaz was in charge of setting up for this morning’s service and he decided to get here early.’
She left out that he had been planning to go home after setting up, probably because Vic hadn’t told her that bit. He had led her and the pastor to believe he had wanted to get to the church early to make sure he did a good job.
By now Angell was barely hiding her amusement at the situation. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a churchgoer, Vic.’
He was saved further embarrassment by the pathologist, who was standing over by the open grave and now called to Angell and Sullivan.
Sullivan waved back to him before turning to Vic. ‘You stay here and munch on those cookies, okay? We’ll be back with some questions in a bit.’
Watching the detectives cross the graveyard, Vic mumbled a few choice swear words through his mouthful.
Jake’s first thought on seeing the body in the grave was that whoever had inflicted the injuries had been in a hell of a rage. It didn’t help that Boaz had messed up the crime scene by landing on the body, smearing blood and mud everywhere, but nonetheless, the stab wounds were apparent and there were a lot of them.
The kid in the grave could have been wearing a Halloween costume. Dark hair, eyes open in terror in a ghoulish face drained of colour, except for the crust of dry blood running from his left nostril down to his top lip.
The pathologist, Greg Withers, had arrived on the scene about fifteen minutes before Jake and Rebecca. A burly man, still in good shape, he was fast approaching retirement and was familiar with both detectives from numerous cases they had worked on. He filled them in on what he knew so far.
The guy was young, probably late teens, and had taken the first stab wound to the chest probably before falling into the grave. Judging from the amount of blood, the wound hadn’t been fatal, and the killer had climbed down to finish the job. The death wound had most likely been the one to the throat.
The ground underfoot was still wet, the rain having only stopped an hour or so ago, and the air was fresh with the damp fragrance of flora.
Rebecca walked round the grave. ‘Poor kid. Not a nice way to go.’
Jake thought of his own nephews back home. Cody and Travis were about the same age. He imagined his sister’s reaction if this had happened to either of them. This kid had a family
somewhere and once they ID’d him, they would have the miserable task of breaking the news to his folks. It was a part of the job none of them enjoyed.
Raising his shades, he rubbed at his tired eyes. ‘How long before we can get him out of here?’ he asked.
Withers raked a hand through his greying-red hair. ‘Another hour, I guess. We can see you guys back at the morgue when you’re done here.’
Spotting one of his assistants arriving with his camera equipment, he excused himself and hurried over to greet her.
Jake glanced at Boaz, still sitting in the back of the squad car, cramming his face with cookies. ‘Guess we’d better get Officer Douchebag to tell us what he knows.’
‘There’s been a burial here recently,’ Rebecca said from behind him.
Jake turned to look at the grave she was studying. The freshly packed earth had been neatly smoothed, and lately. It didn’t look like the scene of a recent funeral. ‘No flowers,’ he noted, brain already on the same track.
‘And what about the gravestone?’ she said quietly.
Old, greying, weather-beaten with age. They both stepped closer, reading the inscription.
Maria Carpenter Beloved daughter
Taken too soon
RIP
1969 – 1985
A sliver of dread balled in the pit of Jake’s stomach. This grave had been dug over very recently. How long would a person be able to stay alive buried?
He looked grimly at Rebecca. ‘We need shovels.’
3
The book signing had been tediously slow for the first hour, with only one purchase and an elderly couple who had stopped for a chat, and Amy was beginning to think she had made a huge mistake.
One of the clerks had thrown her a couple of sympathetic glances between serving customers in the otherwise busy store, while she had sat at her book table, playing with her pen, trying her best not to look bored or embarrassed, and stealing glances at her wristwatch.
Perhaps she had been arrogant to think the small loyal audience who had been following her Zack Maguire series of murder mysteries would embrace her change of direction. Crime fiction fans wanted crime fiction. If Amy was no longer delivering it, there were plenty of other authors who were.
The series had run its course. She had six books under her belt and, while saying goodbye to her beloved characters had been anguish, she had been itching to turn her hand to something new.
Maybe a departure from genre hadn’t been such a smart move. Sure her new book was still a mystery, but it was supernatural instead of a straightforward smart and sassy police thriller. And of course it didn’t feature her recurring hero, Zack Maguire. Something a couple of her disappointed fans had already complained about.
Her publishers thought she was on to a good thing and had given the new novel their blessing. The Zack Maguire series of books had been moderately successful, but they were never going to make Amy into a household name, hence her decision to try something different.
Juniper’s largest independent bookstore, Too Many Books, had been more than delighted to host the signing. Amy wondered if they were maybe now regretting their decision.
Fortunately the first hour lull did not continue, and she was relieved to see faces, some new, some familiar, by late morning. By the time the signing was drawing to a close, she had sold over sixty copies of her new novel and the nagging doubts that she had made a terrible mistake had long vanished. She had thanked the store owner and was packing up her table when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
‘I can’t believe you went through with it.’
Oh crap.
Amy’s heart sank as she turned to face Nadine Williams. She forced a smile onto her face.
‘Hi Nadine, I was wondering if you would show.’
The woman hadn’t changed much since Amy had last seen her, which had to have been about a year ago, at the signing for the final Zack Maguire book. Her harshly bleached hair was still backcombed high off her forehead and her pointed face carefully, but heavily, made-up.
Right now she was staring at Amy, her eyes sharp and her scarlet lips drawn in a thin line.
‘It was hard for me to come here today, Amy. Knowing what you did.’
The last word was full of accusation.
Amy had known Nadine would be pissed when her series of books came to an end. She was always first in the queue to buy a copy of each novel, gushing about how much she loved Zack Maguire and how the release of each book was the highlight of her year.
At first Amy had been flattered. Knowing her books were being enjoyed and that she had a fan unable to wait for the next instalment gave her a real kick and made the years of struggling worth it. But over the past couple of years Nadine’s behaviour had become more obsessive. She was always at book signings, insisting on her having her picture taken with Amy, and the way she spoke about the novels and her attachment to the characters didn’t seem normal. She had written letters too. Gushing letters about how the books had changed her life.