The Killing Vision (17 page)

He jumped into the oven of his car and started it. 
Godsmack came blaring out of the speakers.  Derek put the air conditioner on
maximum and sat there with his eyes closed.  The hot air blew in his face, and
the bass of the music pounded through him, almost like a massage. 

When the air finally cooled, Derek popped on his
sunglasses and headed down the street toward home.  Tonight he was looking
forward to watching some TV and just vegging.  He was off tomorrow, thank God,
and he hoped to catch up on his sleep.

He glanced at the dash and noticed his gas gauge was
on empty.  Fuck.  So much for his last twenty dollars.  He wheeled into the Gas-N-Pack
on the corner and pumped in what he could.  If gas got much higher he’d have to
get a horse.  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and headed toward the
store.

That’s when he saw her.  He didn’t know who she was,
but four words floated through his mind:
“fine piece of ass.”
  Her
angelic face was framed by dark curls that bounced with her step, and as she
stepped through the door in front of him, his gaze fell on the mound in the
back of her jeans.  At the same time, he caught her scent, feminine and clean,
and he wondered if he smelled like a sweaty deep fryer.

He moved down one of the aisles of the store and pretended
to look at chips and candy bars.  She was at the drink fountain filling a cup
with ice and Mountain Dew.  Another girl—a
sista
, not nearly as perfect
as the angel he was following—came up behind her.  “Hi, girl!”

The angel turned and gave her a smile that melted
Derek to his core.  “Hey!” she said.  “I haven’t seen you since last semester. 
How’d you make out with econ?”

The sista shook her head and waved her hand.  “Tell
you what, if you hadn’t helped me I’d’ve flunked that class for sure.”  She pulled
out a cup and began filling it.  “So what’re you doing this summer?”

“Taking some classes,” the angel said.  “I already
took two and now I’m taking two more, and then I can graduate in December and
not have to wait ’til the spring.”

The sista shook her head.  “You better than I am. 
Summer classes suck.  You still living on campus?”

The angel snapped a lid onto her cup and stabbed it
with a straw.  “Nope.  Shelley and I got an apartment over on Woodside.  Nice
old place.  Big rooms and cheap rent.”

The angel and the sista headed toward the register
to pay.  They were still chatting, not paying him the least attention.  He
moved up behind them and watched as they paid and walked out.  He flung two tens
at the Indian behind the counter and followed the girls into the heat of the
lot.  He heard them saying goodbye as he reached his car, and when the angel
pulled out into the traffic in her Volkswagen Beetle, he was right behind her.

He followed her through several traffic lights and a
couple of turns, and when they made a right onto Woodside, he felt his heart
start hammering in his chest.  He eased off the accelerator and put some
distance between them, then slowed to a crawl when the Beetle pulled to the side
of the street in front of an old Victorian house.  That had to be her apartment
building.

He sped up and drove past her just as she was
getting out of her car with her drink and a stack of books.  She never even
looked up at him.

He sat at the stop sign on the corner and watched
her in the rearview mirror as she headed toward the building and disappeared. 
His heart was still pounding, and he wondered how he would ever manage to see
her again.

* * *

5:45 PM

Mayor Larry Carver sat down behind his massive desk
and motioned for Halloran and Chapman to take the two overstuffed leather
chairs opposite him.  “So what can I do for you gentlemen?  How’s the
investigation going?”

“We’re getting a few leads,” Halloran said.

Carver nodded.  “Excellent, excellent.” 

Halloran took a deep breath.  He knew he was going
to have to be careful.  “I need to ask you something, Mayor.”

Carver shrugged.  “Certainly.”

“It’s a bit. . . personal.” 

Carver stiffened, though his expression remained
neutral.  “Yes?”

“We’ve received an anonymous tip that you have a
collection of newspaper clippings in your basement.  Clippings about the
McElvoy case.”

Carver blinked.  “What do you mean, ‘anonymous
tip?’”

Chapman shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Halloran
glanced at him, then met the mayor’s steady gaze.  “We’re following up any and
all possible leads, no matter how far-fetched they might seem.”

Carver’s eyes narrowed.  He looked back and forth
between Halloran and Chapman.  “Am I being accused of something?”

“No, sir,” Halloran said, holding up his hand.

“Because if I am, you better make damn sure you know
who you’re dealing with here.”

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Halloran said. 
“We’re simply asking a question.”

Carver leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the
desk.  “Yes.  I’ve got the clippings.  I keep newspaper clippings on anything
that could potentially impact the city’s image.  It’s part of my job.”

Halloran nodded.  “I understand.”

Carver gave him a hard look.  “I don’t think you
do.  You think this is a cushy job?  That all I do is go around making speeches
and cutting ribbons?”

“No, sir, I—”

“You have no idea what it takes to run a town the
size of Cedar Hill.”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“I have to know
everything
that goes on in
this city.  I have to be able to market this town.” 

“I get it,” Halloran said.  Carver’s face was
blossoming red, and Halloran knew he had hit a nerve.  “Like I said, we’re just
following up on a tip.  Surely you must understand that we’ve got to cover all
the bases.”

“Sounds like someone’s got too much time on their
hands.”  Carver stood.  “I think it’s time for you leave.”

Halloran blew out a breath.  “So I take it you
wouldn’t consent to a search of your home.”

“Get out of here before I call your chief and have
you both thrown off the force.”

Chapman was already on his feet and out the door. 
Halloran stood and nodded at Carver.  “Have a good evening.”

Chapman was waiting for him in the hall.  A smirk
played across his lips.  “That could have gone better.”

* * *

9:08 P.M.

Joel twisted the cap off his second beer and sank
into the recliner.  He picked up his phone and stared at it, then set it back
on the arm of the chair and took a sip from the bottle.  He had told himself he
would call Dana, just to make sure everything was still on for tomorrow night,
but every time he started to punch in her number, panic seized his gut.  He had
been struggling with himself for half an hour now and had already drained one
beer trying to settle down.  But hell, it wasn’t like he went out on dates all
the time.  This was new territory.  New experiences for Joel. 

On the television, an old Chuck Norris movie was
playing with the sound off.  Chuck Norris never had women problems he would
bet.

With his heart thudding dully, he took one more
drink of beer and keyed in Dana’s number before he could stop himself.  And
when she answered on the third ring, time seemed to stop.  “Hello, Dana?”

“Hi, Joel.”  She sounded pleased to hear his voice. 
“What’s up?”

“Not much. Watching TV.  Just got out of the
shower.”

“You’re not calling to break our date are you?”

“No!” he said, a little sharper than he meant.  “I
wanted to make sure we were still on for tomorrow night.”

“Of course.  Wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled.  “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

Later, as he lay in bed, staring into the blackness,
he remembered her soft hair and the way her nose crinkled when she smiled, and
he found himself thinking he could really fall for this girl.  He pictured the
two of them going on more dates, actually being a couple.  The thought both
thrilled and terrified him.  A week ago he hadn’t even considered such an
idea.  Love seemed as likely to find him as a winning lottery ticket.  He
realized he was smiling.

The passing lights of a car played across the
darkness of his bedroom, and as he caught a glimpse of the crack in the
ceiling, he again thought of Mars.

(Did you know there were canals
on Mars?)

He clutched his head in his hands.  He would not
think about this.  He would not.

(Real Martians?)

His stomach burned with fire.  He took a deep breath
and forced that night from his mind.  Nothing was going to spoil his thoughts
of Dana.  Especially not that.  He closed his eyes and pictured her and soon he
was drifting into sleep.

Friday, July 13

8:35 AM

Derek wiped a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead
and took a sip of his watery Dr Pepper.  Fuck, it was hot.  He leaned back in
the seat and hung his head out the window, straining to catch even the
slightest hint of a breeze.

At seven-thirty he had awakened and thought
immediately about the angel he had seen yesterday at the Gas-N-Pack, and once
she was in his head he knew it would be impossible to get back to sleep.  He
lay there listening to his mom and dad down in the kitchen, talking and arguing
until the cable truck roared up in the driveway and honked and Wade burst out
the back door.  When he heard the TV blare on, he crawled out of bed and pulled
on some clothes.  As he passed through the kitchen on his way out the door he called,
“I’m going into town,” and emerged into the heavy air.  He climbed into his
Escort and headed toward Cedar Hill, stopping at the 7 Eleven on the edge of
town for a drink and a package of donuts.  He drove through the bustling
morning traffic toward the college campus and turned onto Woodside, and when he
saw the house and the angel’s car parked in the drive, he pulled over to the
side of the street about half a block away.  He positioned himself where he
could keep an eye on the house and car in his side mirror, and he had been here
ever since.  In the last forty-five minutes, only two vehicles had passed by.

He had no idea why he was sitting here like some
damned stalker.  It wasn’t like he was actually going to go up and talk to
her.  Somehow, just sitting here close to her house where he might catch a
quick glimpse of her was almost enough.  But if nothing happened in the next
thirty minutes, he was heading back home.

He had just pressed the cold cup against the side of
his face when movement caught his eye.  It was her.  The angel.  She had walked
around the corner of the building and was just getting into her car.  He
watched as she perched a pair of sunglasses on her face and backed out into the
street.  She passed by without noticing.  He started the engine and pulled out
behind her, staying as close behind as he dared.  He certainly didn’t want her
to see him following her.

They passed through several lights and she pulled
into a parking lot on the campus.  The lot was by permit only, but after coming
this far he wasn’t going to just drive on.  He whipped in behind her and took
an empty space a couple of rows away.

He hunkered down in his seat as she got out of her
car, locked it, then shouldered her book bag and headed for the cluster of
buildings that comprised the campus quad.  He wasn’t sure what to do now. 
Should he follow her?  He sure as hell didn’t want to sit and roast in his car,
and otherwise this whole thing had been pointless.

He eased out of the Escort and watched her cross the
street.  He followed.  She tossed her long curls and greeted several other
students as she made her way along the walk.  He wondered what the other people
on campus would think of him roaming around, but no one seemed to pay him any
attention.  Everyone was either intent on making their way to class or
clustered in small groups talking.  He took a deep breath and walked on.

The angel slipped into the Social Sciences building
and disappeared.  For a brief moment he thought of going in, but he stopped
himself.  She was going to class.  He couldn’t very well go in there without
attracting some attention.  There was a bench over by the walk in the shade. 
He took a seat and sipped his drink.  He would just stay here for a little
while.  It wasn’t too hot and there was a good breeze.  He leaned back on the
bench and waited.

* * *

10:15 AM

Halloran had drained his coffee cup.  He sat staring
at the computer monitor in front of him, looking over the crime scene photos of
the Santos girl’s dumpsite.  He’d been studying them for a good half hour,
enlarging them and searching for any small thing they could have missed.  So far
he was coming up with zilch.

He rubbed his eyes.  They felt weak and strained. 
He pushed away from the desk, grabbed his cup, and headed down the hall for
more coffee.  As he rounded the corner, Chapman nearly ran him down.  “Slow
down, cowboy.”