The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,11

to his feet. “We’ll be in touch,” Halloran told her. “Call us if anything changes.”

He made to give her a reassuring touch on the shoulder as he passed, and she grabbed his arm. She looked up at him with pleading, dazed eyes. “Tell me one thing before you go. Tell me the truth. I want to know. I need to know.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She swallowed and looked away. “Was…was she raped?”

He saw no reason to keep it from her. “Yes, ma’am, she was. In a manner of speaking. She was violated with an object.”

Mrs. McElvoy, nodded, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now, her face contorted with agony. He patted her shoulder, and Chapman followed him out the door.

Outside, last night’s rain had made the heat more intense, the air heavy. Halloran’s forehead broke into an instant sweat. They reached the sedan, and he was just opening his door when Mrs. McElvoy’s voice surprised him. “She was comin’ home from band practice, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

She stood on the front porch, leaning against one of the peeling posts, her arms crossed over her chest. “The day she disappeared. She had band practice after school. She left the schoolhouse walking. Like she always did.”

Halloran nodded. He remembered writing that in the report himself. “She always walked past the water treatment plant and up by the cemetery, didn’t she?”

Mrs. McElvoy wasn’t listening to him. She was gazing at the sky. “She played clarinet.” She looked at him abruptly. “Did you ever find her clarinet?”

Halloran shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Without another word, Mrs. McElvoy turned and disappeared into the house.

Halloran blew out a breath. It would be a two-beer night.

* * *

5:22 PM

When Joel dropped him off at home, Wade pulled the pack of Winstons from his shirt pocket, stuck one between his lips, and lit it. It was the first thing he did every afternoon when he got out of the truck, since the company wouldn’t let them smoke in the goddamn thing. Like it was made of gold or something.

He stood for a moment in the front yard, savoring the taste of the nicotine and the humid weight of the afternoon air. Part of him didn’t want to go inside, even though his stomach was growling for dinner. He just didn’t want to look at Marla today, listen to her bitch and complain, see whatever stupid thing she’d done today. He really just did not want to deal with it.

He walked past the house and down to the barn. Inside, he stripped the cover off the Mustang and looked at it. Ran his hands over the hood. He’d wanted one of these for so long, he could hardly believe he now owned one. A muscle car—that’s what it was, plain and simple. Like a body builder without one ounce of fat on him. Pure power.

Marla had sure bitched when he bought the thing. God, how she had bitched. But one pop to the mouth had shut her up.

His plan was to get the Mustang restored in time for Derek’s high school graduation. It sure would be a hell of a present. He could picture it parked out behind the house, all freshly-waxed and shimmering, with a big bow tied around it, and the look in Derek’s eyes when Wade dropped the keys in his hand, knowing how hard they had all worked on it together.

Maybe it would help the kid grow up, help him become more of a man. He sure as shit hoped so. His greatest fear was that Derek would grow up to be a faggot. That was just something he would not be able to live with. Hell, the kid was sixteen and still hadn’t ever had a girlfriend. Derek was a big kid. And good looking, too. He should have been surrounded by girls.

Wade sure as hell didn’t want Derek to turn out like Joel. Now there was a pathetic bastard. Twenty-nine years old, still living by himself, mooning over girls he couldn’t have, eating himself into an early grave. A freewheeling bachelor, able to play the field with as many women as he wanted, yet living alone without even a fucking dog to keep him company. The poor ugly son-of-a-bitch had never had much luck with women, though, even in high school when he played football. But now that he was older and fatter and losing his hair, well… Wade knew he probably couldn’t get laid unless he paid for it.

Wade had never had a problem getting women, even