The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,39

even his ears were white-hot. “Yes.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to.”

* * *

2:55 PM

Halloran and Chapman sat in the conference room looking over all the faxes that had been sent to them in the past few hours. After Joel Roberts had left the office, Halloran had ordered a criminal records check on him. He had also ordered one on Larry Carver.

But Halloran wasn’t finding anything too unusual in either man’s record. One speeding ticket in 1987 was the extent of Larry Carver’s brush with the law. Similarly, Joel Roberts had had one DUI six years ago. That was it.

Halloran threw the papers on the conference table. “Nothing,” he announced.

Chapman looked up from his files, shaking his head. “Same here.”

Halloran fingered his cigarettes through his shirt pocket. Somehow, knowing he wasn’t allowed to smoke in here made him need one all the more. “What do you make of the newspaper clippings?”

Chapman looked at him. “Weird.” He chewed the tip of his pen. “What would he be doing with those?”

“Don’t know.” Halloran reached for his coffee. It was cold. “I’d give anything to see them for myself.”

Chapman raised his eyebrows. “You think this guy’s telling the truth?”

Halloran shrugged and took a sip of the cold coffee. “I’d just like to see, is all.”

“You think the mayor would consent to that?”

“Don’t know.”

“If he didn’t, you’d need a search warrant.”

“Yep.”

“For the mayor’s house.”

“That’s right.”

Chapman leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got some damned big balls, Mike.”

* * *

11:15 PM

At ten-thirty he had come suddenly awake, thinking of Carmelita. He thought of her black hair and her brown thighs waiting for him and instantly he was hard.

Carefully and quietly, so as not to wake anyone, he went to her. And he knew it was the last time. He had kept Sarah Jo too long, and he had left himself open to discovery. He did not want that to happen again. Even though Carmelita was smooth and beautiful as porcelain, he could not take chances. So, as he touched her, he knew he was saying goodbye. Knew this was the last time he would stroke her face and brush his lips across her breasts. It was a beautiful moment, tender and poignant.

When he was finished, he quietly got dressed and began cleaning Carmelita up just as he had Sarah Jo. He was very careful to brush her hair and to scrape beneath her fingernails with a knife. He combed out her pubic hair and her eyebrows, then wiped her skin down with alcohol. He folded the sheet up around her body. The river would take care of the rest of the evidence.

Sweat was pouring down his neck and chest, soaking through his shirt. He stopped to rest, looking at the shrouded body in the semi-darkness. He slid to the floor, never shifting his gaze.

He remembered the other day when he had seen her walking down the road toward the park, how instantly alive he had felt. The mere sight of her swaying hair, her light step, seemed to send a rush of desire, a hungering lust, through his veins. That urge, that need, more powerful than the instinct to breathe, had consumed him like fire. As soon as she smiled at him, he had known what he would do. What he would have to do.

Watching his hands inside the gloves was like watching the hands of a stranger. They seemed to be beyond his control, like small savage animals writhing in desperation. The feeling of her throat under his thumbs, however, even through the gloves, was enough to ground him in reality. The throb of her pulse—strong and quick at first like the heart of a bird, then slowing and erratic—pounded through him as if she were linked to him. Her fists flailed against him vainly, striking against his chest and giving his head a glancing blow. And as her gasping stopped and the light faded from her eyes, the sense of power, of lust, was stronger than ever in him, and he had to kiss her, even as the life ebbed from her.

And now, as he crouched in the darkness, looking at the shrouded form beside him, he realized he was weeping. Why had he done this? What was inside him that made him do it? And why was he so powerless to control it?

He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He had to get himself together. He had to stop crying and control himself.

He had work to do.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 11

8:05 AM

Wednesday