The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,51

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