The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,68

she’d come back inside and grab another guy. And then she would go home and tell Wade all about it. Wouldn’t that just be fitting?

Instead, she drained her glass, paid for her drink and left without another word. Right now she just wanted to get home and stand in a hot shower.

She drove back the way she had come, past the hidden dirt lane, and turned up the road to home. She saw that Derek was already home, and she was surprised when she looked at the clock on the dash. She had been gone almost six hours.

She stepped out of the truck, suddenly wobbly from exhaustion and the rum, and was just about to head into the house when she remembered Abby’s license in her pocket. She pulled it out, rubbed both sides of it with her shirt and flicked it into the darkness under the seat. Let the bastard explain that one.

And now she stretched in the sun, feeling the warmth deep in her muscles, and closed her eyes. Tonight she just might head back to O’Connell’s. She might find the guy in the ball cap. And this time she wouldn’t run away.

* * *

4:45 PM

Joel had just pulled up to the stoplight when his cellphone rang. He looked at the screen and felt a rush when he saw Dana’s name. “Hey, girl.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know. Okay, I guess.”

“What’s new with Wade?”

He filled her in with what he knew regarding Wade being denied bail. “I think something else is going on, though,” he said. “I don’t believe Marla’s told me everything.”

“Why would she keep anything from you?”

“I don’t know.” Truth was, he wondered if Marla was involved somehow with the girl’s disappearance. He had seen how Wade treated her, and if she had the chance to even the score, he thought she might take it. “I’m on my way home right now. I’m going to stop by there and see if she heard anything else from the attorney today. I know this has all got to be a big misunderstanding.”

“Why don’t you let me fix dinner for you tonight?”

He smiled. The traffic light turned green, and he pulled on through the intersection. “That’s awfully sweet of you,” he said. “What time do you want me?”

“Why don’t I come over to your place?” she said. “I’ll bring all the stuff and fix it there.”

“Sounds good.”

“You like spaghetti?”

“This is sounding better all the time,” he said.

“I’ll try to be there about six-thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He hung up the phone stared at the road ahead. He could feel the silly grin that was plastered to his face. He imagined what he looked like to other drivers and that made him laugh. Tonight would be just what he needed to get his mind off everything else.

* * *

5:03 PM

Halloran leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath and closed his eyes. Tomorrow they would formally charge Wade Roberts in connection with Abigail Saunders’ disappearance and the murder of Sarah Jo McElvoy. Even though most of their evidence was circumstantial, Halloran was sure they could get a conviction. They had not even told Roberts yet; the plan was to meet with him and his attorney, then hold a press conference and make the announcement.

It had been a godawful couple of weeks. No one in the department had slept much since Sarah Jo’s body had been discovered, and now that they were all seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, a sense of relief had swept through the office. People seemed a little happier, a little friendlier. It was almost like Christmas.

“Taking a nap?”

Halloran opened his eyes. Chapman stood in the doorway with a smirk on his freckled face. “I could sleep for two weeks,” Halloran said.

“I know what you mean,” Chapman told him.

Halloran rubbed his eyes. “I really hope this is the end of it. The only thing that would make this any sweeter would be a full confession.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Chapman said.

“You’re probably right.”

“Hey, how about you come over to our house for dinner tonight?”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” Chapman said. “I’ll call Sheri and tell her you’re coming over. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Honestly, all Halloran really wanted to do was go home, strip down to his boxers, and relax in front of the television with his cat and a cold Bud Light. But he hated to turn down any invitation for a free home-cooked meal. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

Chapman gave him a wide grin.