The Killing Vision

FRIDAY, JULY 13

8:35 AM

Derek wiped a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead and took a sip of his watery Dr Pepper. F*ck, it was hot. He leaned back in the seat and hung his head out the window, straining to catch even the slightest hint of a breeze.

At seven-thirty he had awakened and thought immediately about the angel he had seen yesterday at the Gas-N-Pack, and once she was in his head he knew it would be impossible to get back to sleep. He lay there listening to his mom and dad down in the kitchen, talking and arguing until the cable truck roared up in the driveway and honked and Wade burst out the back door. When he heard the TV blare on, he crawled out of bed and pulled on some clothes. As he passed through the kitchen on his way out the door he called, “I’m going into town,” and emerged into the heavy air. He climbed into his Escort and headed toward Cedar Hill, stopping at the 7 Eleven on the edge of town for a drink and a package of donuts. He drove through the bustling morning traffic toward the college campus and turned onto Woodside, and when he saw the house and the angel’s car parked in the drive, he pulled over to the side of the street about half a block away. He positioned himself where he could keep an eye on the house and car in his side mirror, and he had been here ever since. In the last forty-five minutes, only two vehicles had passed by.

He had no idea why he was sitting here like some damned stalker. It wasn’t like he was actually going to go up and talk to her. Somehow, just sitting here close to her house where he might catch a quick glimpse of her was almost enough. But if nothing happened in the next thirty minutes, he was heading back home.

He had just pressed the cold cup against the side of his face when movement caught his eye. It was her. The angel. She had walked around the corner of the building and was just getting into her car. He watched as she perched a pair of sunglasses on her face and backed out into the street. She passed by without noticing. He started the engine and pulled out behind her, staying as close behind as he dared. He certainly didn’t want her to see him following her.

They passed through several lights and she pulled into a parking lot on the campus. The lot was by permit only, but after coming this far he wasn’t going to just drive on. He whipped in behind her and took an empty space a couple of rows away.

He hunkered down in his seat as she got out of her car, locked it, then shouldered her book bag and headed for the cluster of buildings that comprised the campus quad. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Should he follow her? He sure as hell didn’t want to sit and roast in his car, and otherwise this whole thing had been pointless.

He eased out of the Escort and watched her cross the street. He followed. She tossed her long curls and greeted several other students as she made her way along the walk. He wondered what the other people on campus would think of him roaming around, but no one seemed to pay him any attention. Everyone was either intent on making their way to class or clustered in small groups talking. He took a deep breath and walked on.

The angel slipped into the Social Sciences building and disappeared. For a brief moment he thought of going in, but he stopped himself. She was going to class. He couldn’t very well go in there without attracting some attention. There was a bench over by the walk in the shade. He took a seat and sipped his drink. He would just stay here for a little while. It wasn’t too hot and there was a good breeze. He leaned back on the bench and waited.

* * *

10:15 AM

Halloran had drained his coffee cup. He sat staring at the computer monitor in front of him, looking over the crime scene photos of the Santos girl’s dumpsite. He’d been studying them for a good half hour, enlarging them and searching for any small thing they could have missed. So far he was coming up with zilch.

He rubbed his eyes. They felt weak and strained. He pushed away from the desk, grabbed his cup, and headed down the hall for more coffee. As he rounded the corner, Chapman nearly ran him down. “Slow down, cowboy.”

Chapman’s eyes were bright and excited. “I was just coming to see you. We got something.” He was waving around a sheaf of papers. “The tire track we lifted by the river? The tread belongs to a Michelin Cross Terrain tire. Standard on the Lincoln Navigator.”

Halloran studied Chapman’s face. “Something tells me you’ve got more.”

“Guess who has a Lincoln Navigator? Larry Carver.”

Halloran felt his stomach drop to his knees. “You’re kidding.”

Chapman headed back down the hall. “I’m going to see the chief. I think we got enough for our warrant.”

* * *

11:08 AM

He had been planning what to say to her for the past hour. The Dr Pepper had finally run through him, and he’d made a mad dash to the nearest building to take a leak, terrified he would miss her while he was gone. He had taken as little time as possible in the restroom and had dribbled urine down the front of his shorts in his haste, but he tried not to care. He wanted to catch her when she headed back to her car. “Great day,” he was going to say, and when she responded he would ask her name. What happened after that, he had no idea. He would just go with it.

He sat up straight. The angel had emerged from the building and popped on her sunglasses, squinting in the bright sunlight. She was heading toward his bench. This was it. His heart thudded dully in his chest. He stood.

She was just a few feet from him, and Derek had opened his mouth to say “Great day,” when her cell phone rang. She stopped to dig it out of her bag and answered it, brushing past him without a glance. He watched her walk away from him, his lips still parted to say the words.

He expected her to head toward the parking lot, but instead she crossed the grassy quad toward the library. On impulse he followed. She was still chatting on the phone and laughing girlishly as she climbed the steps and pushed through the double doors.

He stood on the walk for a moment, then followed her into the library. The cool air and scent of old books greeted him. The workers behind the front desk were busy with paperwork. No one saw him. He spotted the angel as she disappeared behind the far shelves, and he headed toward her.

“Hey,” said a male voice off to his right. He turned to see a slender bearded guy with glasses and a black knit cap looking at him.

Derek froze. “What?”

“Like your shirt,” the guy said, nodding toward him.

Derek looked down and realized he was wearing a Green Day t-shirt. “Thanks,” he said.

“My favorite band.”

Derek glanced back toward the corridor behind the shelves. “Really?”

The guy leaned forward. “Are you in my psych class?”

“No,” Derek said. “Sorry.” He moved on toward the shelves, craning his neck to spot the angel.

Just when he was afraid he had lost her, he heard her laugh, and turned just in time to see her slide into one of the study cubicles in the corner. She hung up her phone and starting pulling books out of her bag. He watched her from behind one of the shelves for a moment, and when she had settled in he approached her. “Hey,” he said.

She looked up, and his breath was nearly taken away by her green eyes. She gave him a puzzled smile. “Hey, yourself,” she said, and her voice was like music.

“Great day,” he said. “Outside, I mean.”

Her smile grew wider, and she tried to hide it. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.” He moved up beside the cubicle. “I’m Derek. Derek Roberts.”

“Hey, Derek Roberts,” she said. “I’m Abby.”

Abby. An angel named Abby. “So,” he said, “how’s it going?”

“Just got out of calculus.” She motioned to the pile of books and paper spread out in front of her. “Got some problems to work on before I grab a bite to eat and head to my next class.”

“Want some company? For that bite to eat, I mean.”

She smiled at him again. “Look, you’re cute, but I’m seeing someone right now.” She looked back at the desk. “And I’ve got a ton of stuff to do.”

He nodded. “Sure.” He grabbed one of her notebooks. A pen was stuck into the spiral and he uncapped it. “I’ll give you my phone number.”

She blew out an amused breath. “That’s okay, I don’t— ”

“You might change your mind,” he said. He jotted down his cell number on the front cover, then handed it back to her.

She took it with a smirk. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Derek Roberts.”

She smiled and turned away. “I’ve really got to get to work, Derek,” she said. She turned away from him.

“I hope I hear from you,” Derek said, stepping back, and when she didn’t respond, he turned and headed out of the library. He wasn’t exactly sure what just happened, but he felt like an idiot.

* * *

3:34 PM

Halloran stood with Chapman and two police officers outside Larry Carver’s office, drumming the rolled-up warrants against his closed fist. He could see Carver through the office window; he was talking on the phone, standing behind his desk and shooting them black looks over the top of his reading glasses. Halloran met the mayor’s eyes. He knows, Halloran thought. Carver’s secretary busied herself with her files, but Halloran could tell she was only pretending to work. She had barely spoken to them since they arrived, and when she did, she refused to meet Halloran’s gaze.

After an eternity, Carver hung up the phone and made his way to the door of his office. He opened it slowly and nodded at the group in the foyer. “Gentlemen,” he said coldly.

Halloran held up the paper. “Mayor, I have warrants to search your office, your vehicles, and your home with regards to the Sarah McElvoy case.”

Carver’s face turned ashen, and a muscle worked in his jaw. “I assumed that’s why you were here,” he said evenly. “You’ll be glad to know I was on the phone with my attorney.”

“That’s a good idea,” Halloran said. “Detective Chapman and I will be going over your office. Chief Pettus has another team at your home. You’re welcome to wait out here with these officers. But we will need to ask you some more questions.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Carver spat. “I will own you.”

“We just have some questions,” Halloran said.

Carver looked at him hard. “I’m not answering shit until my attorney gets here. You’re going to regret this.”

Halloran shrugged. “Just make yourself comfortable for now.”

* * *

5:38 PM

Joel was nervous as hell. A dull throb had begun behind his eyes, and he rubbed his temples to try to push it away.

He had planned on leaving at 5:30, but just now as he got a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he saw massive sweat stains on his shirt under the arms. In the bedroom, he ripped off the dirty shirt and fumbled through his closet for a clean one. He thought briefly of ironing it, but realized he wouldn’t have time. Besides, it didn’t look that bad.

God, he needed a cigarette. He’d smoked his last one at lunch, and he’d been jittery for the past hour. Whether it was from the lack of nicotine or his impending date, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want to meet Dana with cigarette breath.

He’d tried several times over the years to quit smoking. He’d used patches and gum, and once he’d even bought one of those electronic cigarettes off of television. Nothing had helped. The longest he’d been able to survive had been thirteen days last winter. That had been horrible. He had packed on ten pounds and had endured days of feeling as if he could crawl out of his skin and cling to the ceiling. By the time he gave in and finally had a smoke, his skin was sallow and his eyes were sunken in like a junkie’s.

He fumbled with the pack on top of the bureau now, crinkling the cellophane on the box. He held it up to his face and breathed in the mellow aroma, feeling his pulse quicken as he did so. He tossed the cigarettes back where he found them. That would have to do.

On his way into town, he slowed down as he passed Wade’s house. It looked like everyone was home. Joel wondered what kind of weird shit Wade had planned for the evening. He thought again of last Saturday, when Wade had been stoned and drinking. What kind of example was that for Derek? He remembered Marla calling him, teary and angry and. . . wounded. That was it. She had sounded wounded. It all made Joel’s stomach burn. Wade didn’t know how good he had it, and he was pissing it all away.

He thought of the night ahead of him, and the anger in his belly turned to panic. He hoped he didn’t screw this up. Dana was the first girl that had shown any interest in him ever. And whether she was going tonight out of pity or because she genuinely liked him he didn’t know. He didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted to get through tonight and see what happened.

He pulled up to the address Dana had given him. It was a modest craftsman-style house with a wide front porch and a patriotic wreath on the door. The yard was immaculate, and a trellis of roses climbed to the second story. All very middle class.

Joel climbed out of the Explorer and made his way up the walk to the steps of the porch. There was a swing and a couple of wicker chairs, and he wondered if they all sat out here drinking lemonade and discussing the neighbors.

He rang the bell, and from behind the door came the sound of yapping. The door opened and Frank greeted him. He was a balding, pudgy man in his mid-fifties, much shorter than Joel, and his blue eyes were bright and friendly behind his glasses. “Hey, Joel.” The dog, a Yorkie, continued to yap.

“Mr. West.”

“Please. Call me Frank.” The Yorkie was barking furiously at Joel. Frank nudged him with a sock-clad foot. “Shut up, George.” The dog wandered off and Frank leaned in toward Joel. “I hate that dog,” he whispered. “Come on in.”

The living room was neat but not fussy. A newspaper was sprawled over the arm of the recliner and an old episode of CSI: Miami played on the ancient console television. A fireplace dominated one wall of the room, and Joel spotted a framed school picture of Dana sitting on the mantle. She appeared to be about twelve, though it was hard to say knowing she looked younger than her actual age.

Frank motioned to the couch. “Have a seat.” He leaned through the doorway that led to the rest of the house and called for Dana, then sank back into the recliner. “So how’re things going?” he said to Joel.

Joel nodded. “Good.”

“What do you do again?”

“I work for the cable company. Service and installation.”

Frank smirked. “Ah, so you’re the one that bilks me out of ninety bucks every month and still can’t keep the service from going out every time we have a thunderstorm.” Joel felt his face flush, and Frank laughed. “Relax, I’m just kidding. I’ve been with the water department for thirty years, so I understand public disdain.”

Joel laughed and felt himself loosening up. Frank seemed like an all-right guy. He leaned back into the couch and glanced at the TV screen. David Caruso was strutting around with his sunglasses in his hand, making some lame pun about a freshly-discovered body. Joel thought of his meeting with Halloran; he couldn’t picture a detective from Cedar Hill parading around like an a*shole. Halloran seemed like a man with more important things to do.

Frank picked up the newspaper and folded it, then picked up the remote and turned down the set. “I don’t even like that show. I just keep the TV on for the noise.”

“Hey, Joel.”

Joel looked up to see Dana in the doorway. She was wearing a gray silk top with a blue paisley pattern and a pair of jeans, and her face was bright and flushed. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she looked, how the sight of her made his heart feel like a small bird trapped in his chest, how he was suddenly light-headed and exhilarated. Instead, he stood and managed to choke out, “Hey.”

“So where we going?” she asked. “I’m starved.”

“You like Chinese?”

“My favorite!” She leaned over and gave Frank a kiss on his bald spot. “See ya later, Daddy.”

Frank had unfolded the newspaper and spread it out on his lap. “Have fun, you two.”

* * *

8:48 PM

“Holy shit,” Halloran said.

Three police cruisers plus the Chief’s unmarked sedan were parked in the mayor’s driveway. The windows of the house blazed with light, as if a grand party were going on inside. Halloran counted three officers milling around the front door, which meant there were at least three more inside, plus the two behind Halloran’s car bringing home the mayor. If a criminal wanted to strike somewhere in Cedar Hill, tonight was the time.

They had found nothing in Carver’s office. He and Chapman had combed through every drawer, every cabinet, every niche. They had looked in every file, had thumbed through every paper, had looked at every entry in Carver’s calendar. Nothing. Not even any cryptic notes. The state crime lab had hauled off Carver’s computer, but there would be no word on that until at least the middle of next week.

Likewise, Carver’s Navigator had come up clean. No stray hairs or visible bodily fluids anywhere. Even running a blacklight over the interior of the vehicle failed to come up with anything.

“I hope we’ve got something here at the house,” Chapman said.

Halloran grunted. The last thing the department needed was to come up empty after this circus. He and Chapman would both be lucky to have jobs.

He parked behind the chief’s car and watched as the mayor climbed out of the police cruiser behind. Carver was red-faced and exuded anger like heat waves. Halloran met his gaze but didn’t let his face betray the turmoil he was feeling in his gut.

Officer Brooks met Halloran and Chapman at the front door. “Lieutenant, the Chief wants to see you in the basement.”

A spark of hope lit up Halloran’s chest. “Have we got something?”

Brooks shrugged. “Not sure.” He led the detectives through the massive living room down a short hallway to an open door. Brooks point toward the door. “He’s down there.”

Halloran ducked down the narrow stairs into the jumbled basement. He heard Chapman blow out a breath behind him and suppressed a grin; he knew Chapman hated tight spaces.

“Halloran!” The chief waved them over to a dark corner. “What’d you find at the office?”

“Nothing,” Halloran said. “The office and the vehicle are as clean as a whistle. You find anything here?”

Pettus grunted and gave him a hard look, then shined his flashlight down at a pile of newspapers in the seat of a straight-back chair. “Here are the clippings.”

Halloran leafed through them, reading the headlines. “Just like Joel Roberts said.” He looked at the top one, at the fuzzy photograph of Carmelita Santos, and felt a shiver as he remembered their visit to give the family the bad news. He dropped the pile back into the chair. “Anything else?”

“Just this.”

Pettus reached behind him and swung open a section of the paneled wall, revealing the sex sling suspended from the ceiling in the vinyl-covered room behind. Halloran squinted against the maddening flicker of the strobe light. “Lab guys were here and took some swabs off the floor and walls, but I can tell you what they found wasn’t blood.”

Halloran gave a humorless chuckle. “So the mayor and his wife are a little kinky.”

Pettus shook his head. “Evidently not. We talked to Mrs. Carver. She had no idea the room was even here.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She was as surprised as your man probably was when he stumbled over it.”

“Interesting.”

Pettus closed the door and looked at Halloran. “Look, I want to catch this perp as much as anyone, but I’m beginning to think this lead is as good as dead. All we’ve managed to do so far is piss off the man in charge.”

“There’s got to be more,” Halloran said. “This can’t be all.”

Pettus lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’d better hope so. Otherwise the whole goddamned department’s going to be looking for work.” He left them and made his way up the stairs.

Halloran blew out a breath. It was going to be a long night.