Read Online Damage by Mark Feggeler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Feggeler
Tags: Fiction, murder mystery
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cigarette at Ray. "You think you're going to do any better? Good luck. Too bad that little queer Pritchard isn't here. All you have to do is point a camera in his direction and he's good for five or six sound bites inside a minute. At least I got a decent shot of the house. What are you gonna do, draw a picture for the paper? You don't even have a camera."
"I must have left it at your mother's house last night," Ray said. "Did you say a family member called 911?"
"No," Vincent said in a mocking tone. "I just had this premonition when I woke up this morning to come to this very place and find a couple dead bodies. How else would I know to be here if Daryl didn't pick it up on the police scanners, you frickin' moron? Or did you just happen to show up for a pony ride and get lucky?"
"I've been here from the start," Ray said. "Who do you think found Correen Wallace laying in the bushes? I'm the one who called for help."
Vincent was speechless, but only for a moment. He grabbed Ray by the arm and pulled him behind the van, out of sight of the ever-increasing number of deputies wandering the grounds, including Deputy Dean who leaned lazily on the split rail fence encompassing the large open pasture.
"Give me something I can use," Vincent begged.
Ray thought about the more meaningless nuggets he could offer to Vincent for his newscast in exchange for a ride to the Citizen-Gazette office in Glen Meadows. Another check on his cell phone told him he was quickly burning through the forty-five minutes Becky had bought him.
"Waugh!" the sheriff barked. Stepping out from behind the van, Ray saw Redmond glaring at him from the porch and pointing at the front door. "Inside."
"What the hell?!" Vincent stood behind Ray, his arms outstretched. "You're kicking me out, but you're gonna give him an exclusive?"
Redmond took one step down from the porch and addressed Deputy Dean.
"Deputy," he commanded. "Escort that van from the premises immediately. You." He pointed at Ray. "Inside, now."
Monday, Part VI
The familiar sour rotting odor hit Ray before he crossed the threshold. The Wallaces and their daughters smiled happily at him from the portrait as he passed through their foyer. Entering the great room with his camera in hand, he tried to keep his eyes from the corpse on the hearth and focus instead on Sheriff Redmond, who stood in the center of the room quietly conversing with Billy. Billy looked like he was ready to throw up. Pritchard was nowhere to be seen. The phone in Ray's pocket began to vibrate. He didn't have to bother checking to know it was Becky wanting to know how his story was coming along. When Redmond had finished with him, Billy shuffled over to the staircase. He climbed the stairs like a condemned man making his way to the gallows. The sheriff dropped himself on a leather sofa on and sank deep into the pleats of overstuffed cushions.
"Take a chair," Redmond instructed.
The most convenient seat was a low, brown armchair only ten feet from the body. Every movement seemed to stir the sickly aroma in the air around him. A shaky uneasiness settled over Ray as he stared at Redmond, who simply sat there and stared back at him from his sunken perch on the sofa. Despite what Garry Vincent thought, this was going to be a grilling, not an interview, and his extended deadline was slipping quickly away. The room felt warm.
Redmond withdrew a small spiral notebook, similar to the one Ray carried, from his shirt pocket and pulled a mechanical pencil from its coils. He searched for a page, scratched two hard lines, turned a few more pages, then looked across at Ray.
"Did you place the 911 call?"
"Yes," Ray answered immediately.
"The first one or the second one?"
"I only called once," Ray said. "About a quarter to seven when we found Mrs. Wallace outside in the bushes."
Redmond looked down at the notebook. "You didn't place a call before that at five-seventeen?"
Ray thought about what Vincent had asked Redmond out on the
"I must have left it at your mother's house last night," Ray said. "Did you say a family member called 911?"
"No," Vincent said in a mocking tone. "I just had this premonition when I woke up this morning to come to this very place and find a couple dead bodies. How else would I know to be here if Daryl didn't pick it up on the police scanners, you frickin' moron? Or did you just happen to show up for a pony ride and get lucky?"
"I've been here from the start," Ray said. "Who do you think found Correen Wallace laying in the bushes? I'm the one who called for help."
Vincent was speechless, but only for a moment. He grabbed Ray by the arm and pulled him behind the van, out of sight of the ever-increasing number of deputies wandering the grounds, including Deputy Dean who leaned lazily on the split rail fence encompassing the large open pasture.
"Give me something I can use," Vincent begged.
Ray thought about the more meaningless nuggets he could offer to Vincent for his newscast in exchange for a ride to the Citizen-Gazette office in Glen Meadows. Another check on his cell phone told him he was quickly burning through the forty-five minutes Becky had bought him.
"Waugh!" the sheriff barked. Stepping out from behind the van, Ray saw Redmond glaring at him from the porch and pointing at the front door. "Inside."
"What the hell?!" Vincent stood behind Ray, his arms outstretched. "You're kicking me out, but you're gonna give him an exclusive?"
Redmond took one step down from the porch and addressed Deputy Dean.
"Deputy," he commanded. "Escort that van from the premises immediately. You." He pointed at Ray. "Inside, now."
Monday, Part VI
The familiar sour rotting odor hit Ray before he crossed the threshold. The Wallaces and their daughters smiled happily at him from the portrait as he passed through their foyer. Entering the great room with his camera in hand, he tried to keep his eyes from the corpse on the hearth and focus instead on Sheriff Redmond, who stood in the center of the room quietly conversing with Billy. Billy looked like he was ready to throw up. Pritchard was nowhere to be seen. The phone in Ray's pocket began to vibrate. He didn't have to bother checking to know it was Becky wanting to know how his story was coming along. When Redmond had finished with him, Billy shuffled over to the staircase. He climbed the stairs like a condemned man making his way to the gallows. The sheriff dropped himself on a leather sofa on and sank deep into the pleats of overstuffed cushions.
"Take a chair," Redmond instructed.
The most convenient seat was a low, brown armchair only ten feet from the body. Every movement seemed to stir the sickly aroma in the air around him. A shaky uneasiness settled over Ray as he stared at Redmond, who simply sat there and stared back at him from his sunken perch on the sofa. Despite what Garry Vincent thought, this was going to be a grilling, not an interview, and his extended deadline was slipping quickly away. The room felt warm.
Redmond withdrew a small spiral notebook, similar to the one Ray carried, from his shirt pocket and pulled a mechanical pencil from its coils. He searched for a page, scratched two hard lines, turned a few more pages, then looked across at Ray.
"Did you place the 911 call?"
"Yes," Ray answered immediately.
"The first one or the second one?"
"I only called once," Ray said. "About a quarter to seven when we found Mrs. Wallace outside in the bushes."
Redmond looked down at the notebook. "You didn't place a call before that at five-seventeen?"
Ray thought about what Vincent had asked Redmond out on the
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