The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,32
was fairly sure that Wade had probably been out with another woman; he didn’t need to touch him to know that. And Marla knew as well; you didn’t need to be psychic to know when your spouse was sleeping around.
Joel had microwaved a Hungry Man dinner, and he parked himself in the recliner with a TV tray and a beer, settling in to watch the news and eat his supper the way he did every night. He had just flipped on the television and scooped up a big forkful of mashed potatoes when the image blazed on the screen and he nearly knocked his tray over.
The mayor was on TV. He was standing behind a podium beneath a green tent, surrounded by flowers and men in dark suits. “I want to pledge to the people of Cedar Hill, and especially the McElvoy family, that justice will be served. The sanctity of our city’s children has been violated, and we will take action.” The tape cut back to a long shot, and Joel realized the mayor had been speaking at Sarah Jo McElvoy’s graveside service. A chill went through him. The son of a bitch might have killed her, and here he was trying to bolster the public. The station cut back to the studio, and the female anchor began giving the story of another girl, Carmelita Santos, who had been missing since Saturday. There was another tape, this time a press conference on the steps of City Hall. The mayor was speaking again, and Joel could only stare at him, entranced by his wagging beard and his stone-dead eyes, wondering if he were looking at the face of a monster.
Then some detective came on, detailing what the police had managed to find out so far. It wasn’t much, he admitted, and he was asking for any help the public could give, any tips or leads that might bear following up. The guy looked to be in his early forties, with thick dark hair and a mustache. His face was worn and haggard. Joel liked him at once; there was a sincerity to his voice, a grit in his demeanor that meant business. His name flashed on the screen: Michael Halloran. Joel scrambled to find a pen on the end table beside the recliner, and he scrawled Halloran’s name down on his napkin.
When he looked up again, the tape of the conference was over and the TV was showing a picture of the Santos girl. She was a pretty, black-haired child, her dark eyes shining in happiness and innocence, and Joel immediately knew she was probably dead. There was no flash of visions, no alarming voices or smells. It was just a sudden knowledge, like knowing he’d left the mail on the kitchen table or knowing that he would look outside his window and see the cable truck sitting in the driveway. He just knew.
Before him, his dinner began to congeal, untouched.
* * *
All evening Joel was restless and anxious, turning over in his head what little he knew. Even when he finally was in bed, his mind refused to turn off. It was like some damned blaring radio that had no volume control and was stuck on the same station.
And then, just before midnight, it hit him. He would go see the mayor at his office. He would drop by City Hall on the pretext of following up on the new cable hookup, just to see if they were satisfied with the work he and Wade had done at the house.
And he would shake the mayor’s hand.
* * *
11:55 PM
Sometimes on nights like this, he would go outside and stand naked in the yard, feeling the velvety touch of the summer night air on his bare skin. He would listen to the drone of insects, the occasional call of a whippoorwill, the soft hooting of an owl. He would feel the tickle of the grass beneath his feet, its surface wet with dew. He would sniff the heavy scents of earth and roses and, in the spring, cherry blossoms. Occasionally, when it was raining, he would stand in the downpour, letting the shower wash him clean and innocent as a newborn baby.
But tonight he had a mission, and he did not remain outside.
In a dark, dusty corner, buried beneath a mound of moldering junk was a rusting Maytag chest freezer. He had found it back in the winter, and on a whim, he’d plugged it in and was surprised to