The Killing Vision

SATURDAY, AUGUST 4

12:38 PM

Halloran put the last of his bags in the back of the Trailblazer and shut the hatch. It was beautiful out. The velvet breeze stirred the summer air and brought the sounds of lawnmowers and kids playing at the park. It would be a fine day to drive. He hadn’t driven his own vehicle in a while, and he was looking forward to getting behind the wheel and letting the Chevrolet stretch its legs on the interstate. He hoped to make the outskirts of Kansas City before stopping for the night.

Since Chapman’s arrest and confession, Halloran had been buried in paperwork and red tape. He had been questioned extensively, as had Chief Pettus and every other officer that had worked with Chapman. No one had seen it coming. The idea that one of their own had committed those atrocious acts was horrifying.

No one, however, had been more devastated than Sheri Chapman. The realization of what had been going on in the shed behind their house, what was stored in the old second-hand freezer, was more than she could take. She and Isabel had left the house and were now living with Sheri’s parents in Springfield.

Halloran understood the need to get away. When the investigation wrapped up, the first thing he did was call Mark Miller in Wyoming. Yes, the invitation to visit was still open. Yes, the fishing was good. And yes, there was a spare bed Halloran could have for a few weeks. Miller hadn’t asked any questions and Halloran hadn’t offered any reasons. There would be plenty of time to fill him in later.

Brooks pulled up and parked his Impala behind the SUV. He stepped out, straightening his ball cap. He was wearing jeans and a Jason Aldean t-shirt. It was the first time Halloran had ever seen him out of uniform. “Thought you forgot,” Halloran told him.

“You know my daughter wouldn’t let me forget anything this important,” Brooks said.

Halloran picked up the pet carrier and Mel meowed at him through the wire door. “Just for a little while,” Halloran said. “You’ll get to play with another cat for six whole weeks.” He handed the carrier to Brooks. “Tell your daughter to take good care of him.”

Brooks took the handle. “You sure I can’t talk you out of this crazy thing?”

Halloran chuckled. “Positive.” He leaned back against the Trailblazer. “I need this. I need to clear my head. When I come back to work I want a clean start.” He looked at Brooks. “With my new partner.”

Brooks gave him a glance, then looked away with a shy grin. “Pettus hasn’t made the decision yet.”

“He will,” Halloran said. “You’re a good cop, Greg. And you’ll make a damn fine detective. Pettus knows that, too.”

“Thanks,” said Brooks. “I appreciate that.” He stuck out his hand and Halloran shook it. “Take care.”

Halloran nodded. “I’ll see you.” He bent down and peered into Mel’s face in the carrier. “See you in six weeks, you stupid cat.”

He climbed into the Trailblazer, started it, and pulled out, heading toward the interstate. He had an eight-hour drive ahead of him, a full tank of gas, and some good eighties rock on the satellite radio.

He was already feeling better.

* * *

3:45 PM

After a light lunch and an early matinee, Dana had wanted to go out to the park and enjoy the outdoors. After being cooped up in the house for two weeks, Joel was more than happy to go along. His arm was still in a sling, more for the break he sustained when he tackled Chapman than the gunshot, and though everything appeared to be healing nicely, he had been told to expect some type of surgery in his future. Monday he planned on returning to work, and Betsy had already assured him he could have some light duty desk work for a while. There would be no climbing cable towers for several weeks.

Marla had crumpled fairly quickly when faced with the evidence in Abby Saunders’ murder, and now she sat in the county jail awaiting her sentence—the same jail she had tried to send Wade to. Although he understood her motives, twisted as they were, Joel was hard pressed to feel any sympathy for her. He knew that her attorney would play up the abused spouse angle, even though Wade was not the direct target of her actions.

For his part, Wade had stayed closer to home the past couple of weeks, although Joel wondered how long that would last. He and Derek were spending a lot of time together, and that had to be good for both of them. He knew Derek faced a hard road ahead, and having Wade around, even if he hadn’t been much of a father, was better than the alternative.

Beside him, Dana took his hand. He was becoming used to it now, this touching. He was able to control the feelings, to minimize the barrage of sensations that until now had always overwhelmed him. He supposed it had been a matter of desensitizing himself, something he had never had the opportunity to work on until he met Dana. But being with her day after day, touching her—tentatively at first—had given him the courage to explore those feelings without fear.

“What’cha thinking about?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just everything.”

“That’s a lot to think about.”

They reached one of the big oaks and stretched out in its shade. Joel leaned back against the trunk, and Dana cuddled against him, her head resting on his chest. Across the grassy knoll, two little girls played on the swings, giggling and squealing as they rose higher. Suddenly he understood how they felt—light and free and happy with no worry and only the now to contemplate. He wanted this moment to last forever.

He looked down at Dana and her eyes met his. And then he was kissing her, tasting her. And he could see everything—her hopes, her dreams, her fears. Her deepest secrets and private thoughts. He could see into her soul. And he knew this was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Will Overby writes books for kids, adults and teens. He and his wife have two grown children. They share their Kentucky home with three neurotic cats and an obsessive-compulsive dog. Connect with him at his website, willoverby.com or find him on Twitter, @Will_Overby.



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