The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,53

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.

SATURDAY, JULY 14

7:47 AM

Joel came awake slowly as the early morning sunlight peeked in through the crack in the blinds. He rolled over and looked at the clock, then started to reach for the cigarettes. He stopped himself and lay back down but continued to stare at the pack. He hadn’t given in even after he got home last night, even though he had been dying for a smoke. But something about being with Dana had made his willpower stronger. He wondered if it was love.

Dinner had been great. They talked over their meal as if they had known each other all their lives. Dana told him all about growing up with her gift, how many of her schoolmates had avoided her out of fear or mistrust, how she had felt like a freak most of her life, how she hadn’t really begun to find herself until after graduation when she entered college. “That’s when I found the group,” she