Read Online Damage by Mark Feggeler - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Feggeler
Tags: Fiction, murder mystery
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reporter's forced baritone voice carried over the grounds.
"Former county manager and local business leader Evan Wallace was found dead this morning at his luxurious estate here in the quiet horse community of Wilkston Creek, just north of Glen Meadows..." Not bad, Ray thought. Straightforward. Better than usual. "...Local police are not issuing any statements at this time as to whether foul play is suspected..."
Watching the two man TV crew work jogged Ray's brain into recalling he, too, was a reporter who had an obligation to submit a story by today's deadline. He lifted his arm but found he had forgotten to put on a watch before leaving his apartment. The time on his cell phone read quarter past eight. He also noticed he had seven missed calls, three new emails, and his ringer was silenced.
"Shit," he yelled.
Pritchard and Billy stopped talking. The detective popped his head around the corner.
"Something the matter, Raymond?" he asked.
"Oh, um... No," Ray said. "I just noticed the time. My deadline is in fifteen minutes."
Pritchard looked at his watch. "You'd better call your boss. I don't think you're going to make it." He disappeared back into the great room.
Ray mimicked Pritchard's effeminate voice in a quiet whisper as he unlocked his phone and placed a call to the Citizen-Gazette. Through the window he saw Garry Vincent had paused to fuss at his cameraman about something. From the passenger side of the police car that had pulled in ahead of the WGRC minivan stepped Sheriff Redmond. He looked pissed off, but then he always looked pissed off. Deputy Dean, the wiry deputy with the stupid smile Ray met earlier that morning in the break room at the Sheriff's Department in Whitlock, had been the sheriff's driver. Apparently, he always looked stupid.
When Ray's call finally rang through to the Citizen-Gazette, the receptionist barely gave him a chance to say hello before she launched into a fast-paced lecture on how crazy everyone at the paper was acting because no one could get hold of him and everyone was so worried. Well, maybe not Toni and Walter, but definitely Becky, who was snapping at anyone who spoke to her because the production staff was yelling at her for holding off on the front page until she heard from Ray. The girls in advertising were getting upset because the circular in today's paper would be delayed if Becky held up going to press because of Ray. Even Scott was annoyed because he needed his new camera back by noon for a photo op at a Chamber ribbon cutting for the new motel opening down in Oxton.
"Tammy!" Ray barked. "Please let me talk to Becky."
"Becky! Ray's on the phone!" The receptionist yelled without bothering to take the phone away from her mouth. A quick click and he found himself assaulted by his equally frantic managing editor.
"What the hell are you trying to do to me?!"
"Becky, I'm sorry," Ray pleaded. "This is the first chance I've had all morning to call."
"Like hell," she countered. "Where are you?"
"I'm out in horse country at Wilkston Creek," he said. "Somebody shot Evan Wallace."
"Holy shit," she said, the edge coming off her tone ever so slightly. "Shot, or shot and killed?"
"Shot and killed," Ray said. "I was on rounds with Billy for the feature when we found Wallace sprawled over the hearth at his house."
Becky was silent for several long seconds. "He's really dead?"
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when someone shoots you in the chest and you're careless enough to let all your blood pour out onto the floor," Ray said. "His wife is barely any better."
"She got shot, too?"
"No. It looks like she tried to see if she could fly from a third-story window."
"Holy shit."
He could picture Becky staring blankly at the wall in her office as she processed the information to determine exactly what to do with it. Her bottom lip was probably drawn up into her mouth and her eyes would be practically popping from their sockets.
"You're making that face again," he
"Former county manager and local business leader Evan Wallace was found dead this morning at his luxurious estate here in the quiet horse community of Wilkston Creek, just north of Glen Meadows..." Not bad, Ray thought. Straightforward. Better than usual. "...Local police are not issuing any statements at this time as to whether foul play is suspected..."
Watching the two man TV crew work jogged Ray's brain into recalling he, too, was a reporter who had an obligation to submit a story by today's deadline. He lifted his arm but found he had forgotten to put on a watch before leaving his apartment. The time on his cell phone read quarter past eight. He also noticed he had seven missed calls, three new emails, and his ringer was silenced.
"Shit," he yelled.
Pritchard and Billy stopped talking. The detective popped his head around the corner.
"Something the matter, Raymond?" he asked.
"Oh, um... No," Ray said. "I just noticed the time. My deadline is in fifteen minutes."
Pritchard looked at his watch. "You'd better call your boss. I don't think you're going to make it." He disappeared back into the great room.
Ray mimicked Pritchard's effeminate voice in a quiet whisper as he unlocked his phone and placed a call to the Citizen-Gazette. Through the window he saw Garry Vincent had paused to fuss at his cameraman about something. From the passenger side of the police car that had pulled in ahead of the WGRC minivan stepped Sheriff Redmond. He looked pissed off, but then he always looked pissed off. Deputy Dean, the wiry deputy with the stupid smile Ray met earlier that morning in the break room at the Sheriff's Department in Whitlock, had been the sheriff's driver. Apparently, he always looked stupid.
When Ray's call finally rang through to the Citizen-Gazette, the receptionist barely gave him a chance to say hello before she launched into a fast-paced lecture on how crazy everyone at the paper was acting because no one could get hold of him and everyone was so worried. Well, maybe not Toni and Walter, but definitely Becky, who was snapping at anyone who spoke to her because the production staff was yelling at her for holding off on the front page until she heard from Ray. The girls in advertising were getting upset because the circular in today's paper would be delayed if Becky held up going to press because of Ray. Even Scott was annoyed because he needed his new camera back by noon for a photo op at a Chamber ribbon cutting for the new motel opening down in Oxton.
"Tammy!" Ray barked. "Please let me talk to Becky."
"Becky! Ray's on the phone!" The receptionist yelled without bothering to take the phone away from her mouth. A quick click and he found himself assaulted by his equally frantic managing editor.
"What the hell are you trying to do to me?!"
"Becky, I'm sorry," Ray pleaded. "This is the first chance I've had all morning to call."
"Like hell," she countered. "Where are you?"
"I'm out in horse country at Wilkston Creek," he said. "Somebody shot Evan Wallace."
"Holy shit," she said, the edge coming off her tone ever so slightly. "Shot, or shot and killed?"
"Shot and killed," Ray said. "I was on rounds with Billy for the feature when we found Wallace sprawled over the hearth at his house."
Becky was silent for several long seconds. "He's really dead?"
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when someone shoots you in the chest and you're careless enough to let all your blood pour out onto the floor," Ray said. "His wife is barely any better."
"She got shot, too?"
"No. It looks like she tried to see if she could fly from a third-story window."
"Holy shit."
He could picture Becky staring blankly at the wall in her office as she processed the information to determine exactly what to do with it. Her bottom lip was probably drawn up into her mouth and her eyes would be practically popping from their sockets.
"You're making that face again," he
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