the end of the day."
"I can send them now from the camera," Ray said. "It has wifi. Give me your address and I'll get it to start sending you the pictures."
Pritchard spelled out his email address which Ray scribbled on the notepad he took from his back pocket. The detective then ordered Billy to remove his shoes and lead him to Evan Wallace, leaving Ray outside to scan through the pictures on the camera, selecting those he had taken that morning. As he scrolled through, a chill shot down his back when he came to the last photo from the day before. He had taken it as the handsome couple left the groundbreaking tent hand in hand, backs to the camera, stepping out into the blinding sunset. He knew it was probably the last picture anyone would ever take of the Wallaces together before whatever happened later that evening to leave one of them dead and the other clinging to life. He included that last picture with the rest. Just before sending the email and its many attachments off to Pritchard, he added his own email address in the blind copy field. It took several minutes for the message to register as sent, time Ray spent catching glimpses of the two deputies in the barn as they came in and out of sight and watching the female deputy with the camera meticulously go about her job photographing every last shimmering shard of glass.
The sound of another vehicle approaching caught Ray's attention. A sleek white sedan emerged from the trees and parked in the clearing between the house and barn, close to the fence enclosing the pasture. Following closely behind was a yellow minivan with an aerial antennae mounted on the roof and the words "WGRC -- News You Can Count On" in gigantic purple lettering across the driver's side. It came to rest a short distance behind Billy's cruiser with the engine running. The passenger door opened and a stocky man with perfectly parted black hair sprang out of the minivan. He sported a dark blue blazer over a stiffly pressed white shirt that hung down over wrinkled pajama pants. The strange outfit was complimented by worn out flip-flops.
Garry Vincent began covering Tramway County for WGRC-TV short after Ray joined the Citizen-Gazette, nearly seven years ago. He received all the same invitations to events and meetings as Ray and the rest of the local media, but he was sure to be a no-show unless there was the promise of a major story, such as the random killing of a community leader.
"Get off your ass and get the gear ready, Daryl!" Garry yelled into the minivan as he scrambled to tuck in his shirt and affix a crimson red clip-on tie.
Daryl popped out of the driver's seat and, in a blur of neatly orchestrated panic, managed to fix his reporter's collar, unload a large video camera from the back of the van, set up two background lights, and run a quick sound check before handing over the microphone. The reporter commented on the process impatiently while his eyes bounced between Daryl, the house behind him, and the police car that had pulled in ahead of them in which the passenger and driver were deep in discussion.
"Come on, come on, come on," Garry grumbled.
The lights came on. Daryl silently counted down from five with his fingers as the reporter buttoned the blazer to hide his plaid pajama pants. With only one digit remaining before the camera rolled, Garry turned and hollered, "God dammit, Waugh, get out of my shot!"
Ray quickly ducked into the foyer out of sight of the news camera. He could hear Detective Pritchard and Billy talking in the great room on the other side of the dividing wall as they reviewed the scene. Pritchard, apparently still perturbed at the way in which the deputy and his guest had disturbed evidence, was mostly asking questions clarifying what items might have been moved or handled. Ray thought it best to remain out of that conversation. Through a gap in the curtains, Ray could see Garry Vincent standing ramrod straight in his ridiculous outfit. The television
"I can send them now from the camera," Ray said. "It has wifi. Give me your address and I'll get it to start sending you the pictures."
Pritchard spelled out his email address which Ray scribbled on the notepad he took from his back pocket. The detective then ordered Billy to remove his shoes and lead him to Evan Wallace, leaving Ray outside to scan through the pictures on the camera, selecting those he had taken that morning. As he scrolled through, a chill shot down his back when he came to the last photo from the day before. He had taken it as the handsome couple left the groundbreaking tent hand in hand, backs to the camera, stepping out into the blinding sunset. He knew it was probably the last picture anyone would ever take of the Wallaces together before whatever happened later that evening to leave one of them dead and the other clinging to life. He included that last picture with the rest. Just before sending the email and its many attachments off to Pritchard, he added his own email address in the blind copy field. It took several minutes for the message to register as sent, time Ray spent catching glimpses of the two deputies in the barn as they came in and out of sight and watching the female deputy with the camera meticulously go about her job photographing every last shimmering shard of glass.
The sound of another vehicle approaching caught Ray's attention. A sleek white sedan emerged from the trees and parked in the clearing between the house and barn, close to the fence enclosing the pasture. Following closely behind was a yellow minivan with an aerial antennae mounted on the roof and the words "WGRC -- News You Can Count On" in gigantic purple lettering across the driver's side. It came to rest a short distance behind Billy's cruiser with the engine running. The passenger door opened and a stocky man with perfectly parted black hair sprang out of the minivan. He sported a dark blue blazer over a stiffly pressed white shirt that hung down over wrinkled pajama pants. The strange outfit was complimented by worn out flip-flops.
Garry Vincent began covering Tramway County for WGRC-TV short after Ray joined the Citizen-Gazette, nearly seven years ago. He received all the same invitations to events and meetings as Ray and the rest of the local media, but he was sure to be a no-show unless there was the promise of a major story, such as the random killing of a community leader.
"Get off your ass and get the gear ready, Daryl!" Garry yelled into the minivan as he scrambled to tuck in his shirt and affix a crimson red clip-on tie.
Daryl popped out of the driver's seat and, in a blur of neatly orchestrated panic, managed to fix his reporter's collar, unload a large video camera from the back of the van, set up two background lights, and run a quick sound check before handing over the microphone. The reporter commented on the process impatiently while his eyes bounced between Daryl, the house behind him, and the police car that had pulled in ahead of them in which the passenger and driver were deep in discussion.
"Come on, come on, come on," Garry grumbled.
The lights came on. Daryl silently counted down from five with his fingers as the reporter buttoned the blazer to hide his plaid pajama pants. With only one digit remaining before the camera rolled, Garry turned and hollered, "God dammit, Waugh, get out of my shot!"
Ray quickly ducked into the foyer out of sight of the news camera. He could hear Detective Pritchard and Billy talking in the great room on the other side of the dividing wall as they reviewed the scene. Pritchard, apparently still perturbed at the way in which the deputy and his guest had disturbed evidence, was mostly asking questions clarifying what items might have been moved or handled. Ray thought it best to remain out of that conversation. Through a gap in the curtains, Ray could see Garry Vincent standing ramrod straight in his ridiculous outfit. The television
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