The Killing Vision (22 page)

“This is bullshit, you know,” Roberts told him.

“Maybe it is,” Halloran said.

Roberts, his wife, and his son waited outside on the
lawn while several men entered the house with Pettus.  Chapman and another cop
took the vehicles, and Halloran headed toward the barn and outbuildings with
Brooks.

Inside the barn was a vehicle beneath a stained
tarp.  Halloran pulled the tarp off and Brooks whistled softly.

It was a Mustang.  A ’sixty-four-and-a-half or a ’sixty-five
from the looks of it.  It appeared Roberts was in the process of restoring it.

“Nice car,” Brooks said.  “I always wanted a
Mustang.”

“I had one,” Halloran told him.  “A ’sixty-seven.”

“No shit?”

“Damn thing was always breaking down.  It was in the
shop more than it was on the road.”  He ran his fingertips along the ridge of
the front fender.  “They’re nice when they’re fully restored, but unless you
got a boatload of money to sink into one, they’re more trouble than they’re
worth.”

“You still have yours?”

“Nah.  Sold it a year or two after I bought it.  I
was fresh out of college and struggling to make it to my next paycheck.  I
couldn’t afford to work on my car all the time.”

“That’s a shame.”

Halloran stared at the car.  “Yeah, it is.”  He
opened the door.  “Might as well start here.”

But the Mustang came up clean, and he and Brooks
turned their attention to the boxes and crates stored around it.  There
appeared to be nothing here but tools and rusted paint cans. 

Halloran had just shoved a cardboard box back under
the workbench when he spotted something stuck behind one of the wall studs.  He
reached for it and pulled out a worn cigar box.  Inside was a small bag of
marijuana and some rolling papers.  “Well, well, well,” he said.  He held up
the bag for Brooks to see.

“If nothing else, we got him on possession,” Brooks
said.

Halloran set the box and its contents on the hood of
the car and pulled out his digital camera to get a shot of it.

“Lieutenant?”

Halloran looked up to see one of the younger
officers at the door of the barn.  “Yes?”

“Detective Chapman sent me to get you.  He says
there’s something you need to take a look at.”

Halloran snapped the picture and pointed to Brooks. 
“Get that tagged and bagged.”  He followed the younger officer outside.  “Find
something in the Escort?”

The cop shook his head.  “Kid’s car was clean.  Got
something in the dad’s truck.”

Several officers and Chapman were huddled around the
passenger side of blue Ford pickup.  Halloran came up behind them and laid a
hand on Chapman’s shoulder.  “What’s up?”

Chapman turned and held up something in his gloved
fingers.  It was Abigail Saunders’ driver’s license.  “It was under the
passenger seat,” he said.  “Just laying there.”

“Get it bagged,” Halloran said.

“There’s something else,” Chapman said.  He lifted
his other hand.  He was holding a pair of tweezers, and when Halloran saw what
was in them he felt his knees go weak.

“I’ll be goddamned,” he said.

* * *

5:42 PM

It had been a damn fine day, Joel thought.

He and Dana had spent the remainder of the afternoon
walking through the park and talking.  Dana had chatted on and on about the
murders like she was discussing a mystery novel.  And while her enthusiasm and
her wanting to help out were charming and energizing, Joel had been glad when
the conversation had turned to something else.

They talked about their futures. Dana would graduate
college next spring and hoped to become an elementary teacher.  Joel could see
her doing that.  She was so much like a child herself—full of imagination and life. 
Little kids would love her.  But as much as he enjoyed hearing her hopes and
plans, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of jealousy.  She knew what she wanted
out of life.  She knew where she was going.  All he would ever be was a lowly
peon, doomed to an endless dead-end job until he was worn down and able to draw
his retirement.

But maybe with the right woman to spend the rest of
his life with, it would be all right.  Maybe the banality of life would be
easier to take.  Maybe Dana was that woman.  He smiled to himself.  Maybe she
was the answer he had been searching for.

He still didn’t know why he hadn’t told her about
Barry’s call, but he knew she would worry, and worrying Dana was not something
he wanted to do.  He smiled at that.  Having a woman worry over him was not
something he was used to.

He had just turned the corner below Wade’s house
when the flashing lights caught his attention.  Lots of them.  He slowed the Explorer
down to a crawl as panic filled his gut.  Cop cars all over Wade’s lawn.  What
the hell was going on?  Was someone hurt?

Then he spotted them—Wade, Marla and Derek—standing
beside one of the cop cars.  Wade was smoking a cigarette.  Marla’s face was
puffy, as if she’d been crying.  Derek wore a fuck-all expression, like he had
been mightily inconvenienced.

Joel turned into the drive and a heavily muscled cop
raised a hand to stop him.  “You can’t come in here,” he shouted.

Joel lowered the window.  “This is my brother’s
house.  Is everything okay?”

The cop looked around behind him, then back at
Joel.  “Everything’s under control.  Everybody’s all right.”

“Can I see him?”

The cop looked around again, then nodded.  “Park
over there out of the way,” he said, motioning to an empty area close to the
road.

Joel pulled the Explorer over and climbed out, then
threaded his way through the maze of lights and cars to where the three of them
stood.

Wade spotted him first, and his face changed from
indifference, to annoyance, to relief in a matter of seconds.  “What are you
doing here?”

“What’s going on?” Joel asked.  “Is everything
okay?”

“Some girl’s disappeared,” Wade said flatly.  “They
think me or Derek had something to do with it.”

“What?  Who?”

Wade looked at him for a moment, then dropped his
gaze to the ground.  “Just a girl I know, okay?”

Joel glanced at Marla and saw fresh tears welling up
in her eyes.  She stared straight ahead as if she could wish herself out of
here.

“They think she’s dead,” Derek said.

Joel looked at him and saw that what he had first
thought was an expression of defiance was actually fear.  The boy’s hands were
trembling and Joel could see he had bitten off most of his fingernails.

Wade dropped his cigarette butt and ground it into
the dirt with the heel of his boot.  “Fucking cops.  I didn’t have anything to
do with this.  Derek didn’t have anything to do with it.  This is all a bunch
of bullshit.”

Joel stared at Wade.  He knew Wade had been involved
in some heavy shit over the years, and he also knew Wade had been partying more
than usual lately.  But could he actually be involved in something else?

There was one way to know, and even though Joel
didn’t want to do it, he knew he had to.  He moved over to Wade and leaned
against the car beside him.  “Everything will be okay,” he said.  Then he
placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder in a display of brotherly concern.

As many times as he had done this, he was still
unprepared each time for the waves of sensations that tore through him.  He saw
it all, felt it all.  He saw the endless stream of women, saw the
barely-contained violence toward Marla, saw the drugs and booze and sex.  Felt
the claustrophobic existence of home and family.  And he saw with sickening
clarity what Clifton had done to him all those years ago.  But there was
nothing at all to indicate Wade had been involved in anyone’s disappearance. 
Wade was a partier and an adulterer, but he was not a killer.

Joel let go and slumped against the car.  He was
drained.  For a moment he thought his legs would give out and he would tumble
to the ground, but he managed to brace himself against the hood of the Crown
Victoria.

Wade looked at him.  “You okay?”

Joel nodded.  “Just tired.”

“Mr. Roberts?”

Coming across the yard was the detective Joel had
spoken with last week, Halloran.  He was with a younger lanky man in a white
dress shirt and tie, presumably another detective, and a stocky police officer. 
Halloran met Joel’s gaze, and Joel noticed the flash of recognition in his
eyes.  He nodded and Joel nodded back.  But now he realized Halloran had been
addressing Wade.

Wade stood up straight.

“Mr. Roberts, I’m gonna need you to turn around,”
the stocky cop said.

“Wait,” said Wade, “what?”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

Wade’s eyes grew round with fear and anger.  “What
is this?”

“We found your stash in the barn,” Halloran said.  “We’re
taking you in for possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia.  We’re also placing
you under arrest in the disappearance of Abigail Saunders.”

“What the
fuck
?” Wade cried.  “I didn’t do
anything!”

“We found Miss Saunders’ license in your truck,”
Halloran said.

“That’s impossible,” Wade said.

Joel could only stand there as the burly cop,
reciting Wade’s rights, led his brother over to one of the squad cars.  Beside
him, Marla began to sob into her hands.  Derek was frozen as if made of stone.

“Get me a lawyer!” Wade shouted, and Joel wasn’t
sure if he was telling him or Marla.

“We’re taking him downtown,” Halloran said to Marla. 
“You won’t be able to see him tonight.  Come down in the morning.  In the
meantime, your husband gave you some good advice.  I’d get an attorney as soon
as possible.”

* * *

10:57 PM

He had asked her name as soon as
she had slid into the car.

“Brittany,” she said.

“What a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.”

“Where do you live, Brittany?”

“Munson Street.  It’s about four
blocks—”

“I know where it is.”

And when he sailed past Munson
Street without even slowing down, he noticed her tense up and shoot him a
worried glance.  “You just passed it.”

He said nothing and kept his eyes
on the road.

“Turn around!  You passed my
street!”  She tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.  It was designed
that way.  She beat on the glass, but it was shatterproof and her hands bounced
off as if they were made of rubber.  She had backed up against the door, crying
in panic now.  “Let me out of here!  Let me go!”  And with that, she twisted in
the seat and kicked him in the side, and his kidney exploded in pain.

They weren’t quite at the park
yet, but he managed to pull off the road into a secluded drive and throw the
car into park.  She was still kicking, but he managed to grab her ankles and
hold her feet still.  He could tell she didn’t expect him to be so strong— none
of them ever did.

She only screamed once more
before he was on top of her, before his fingers wrapped around her throat,
cutting off her voice.  The gloves were thin, and he could feel her pulse
pounding against his fingertips.  Pounding and pounding until it began to peter
out and she went limp beneath him.

Even through the pain in his
side, he managed to drive home and carry her inside with little effort.  He
stripped her clothes and positioned her inside the freezer like the others,
closed the lid and secured the room.

So far he had heard nothing of
her disappearance, and he wondered if she had lied about being out past her
curfew.  Surely by now someone would be missing her.  Unless her parents or
whoever she lived with was used to her not coming home.

He gazed upon her now in the soft
yellow glow of the freezer’s light.  So beautiful, so perfect.  He couldn’t
imagine anyone not caring about her.

Monday, July 16

8:45 AM

Joel had been sitting at the table watching Marla on
the phone now for thirty minutes.  She had been calling and calling, but none
of the attorney’s offices were open yet.  “Just give it up for a few minutes,
Marla,” he told her.  “They’ll be in after nine.”

Joel had called into work and told Betsy he and Wade
had some family issues going on.  She had said little, but he could tell she
had not been happy.  He left her with the promise he would explain everything when
he came in later.

In truth, he felt hung over.  He had barely slept,
and when the room began to lighten around five, he had climbed on out of bed,
exhausted but wired.  He had allowed himself one cigarette—the first since
Friday—but had stubbed it out before he was halfway done with it.