Pivoting quickly, she half expected to find someone behind her.
No one.
Cursing under her breath, she returned to her desk, sat down, and -
When her cell phone went off, she jumped and put her hand to her throat. "Oh, shut up."
Hard to tell whether she was addressing her BlackBerry or her adrenal gland.
Grabbing the thing and accepting the call, she barked, "Reilly."
"How're you doing."
At the sound of Detective de la Cruz's voice, she took a deep breath. "I've been better."
"Sarge called me."
"What a mess." Apparently, that was her new theme song.
"Yup."
There was a long pause, filled by the same kind of silence that had marked the drive back from the hospital for her and Bails: What the hell happened was all over the line without a word being spoken.
"Did anyone tell you the other part of it?" she asked.
"That you and Veck were ... ah ..."
She had to grimace. "It was incredibly poor judgment on my part. I thought I knew him, I really did."
"And that's the rub, isn't it." This was said with the kind of exhaustion that came from personal experience. "In the end, you can only really know yourself."
"You're so right ... and I'm glad you called. When this gets out - and it's going to - "
"All people are going to do is think he's an ass**le. And that's a best-case scenario for him."
Killer was the other word they would be batting around, no doubt.
"You're going to get through this," de la Cruz said. "I just wanted you to know you can call me if you need anything."
"You're being really ... kind."
"Partners are tricky shit. I've been through a few."
Bet you've never slept with one, though, she thought. "Thanks, Detective."
After Reilly cut off the connection, she stared into space. God, had that story about Veck finding his mother murdered even been true? Or had it just been another way to play on her emotions?
Well, there was one way to find out ...
It didn't take long for her to locate some amateur blog entries that covered that particular chapter in DelVecchio family history. She read all about how Veck had discovered the body, been questioned, and been cleared of any involvement based on the physical evidence: Although his fingerprints were all over the house, there had been none on the victim; there also had been no blood under his nails, on his clothes, or in and around his bathroom or bed.
Sissy Barten's body was the same: no evidence to tie him to the killing.
Then again, Veck was a detective who knew exactly what to do to leave nothing behind. Which made her wonder about his mother. And worry.
God ... what if he got away with this? The threshold for being fired for planting evidence was so much lower than that of a successfully prosecuted murder charge. He could be out of a job, but free on the streets. And if he was building on his father's foundation of slipping out of the hands of law enforcement, then it could be years before anything stuck to him.
Disgusted with so much, and apparently looking for more to get sick about, she went to Facebook and typed in Thomas Delvecc -
She didn't have to go any farther than that to find a line of results. Idly going from page to page, she stared at the fan clubs Veck had spoken about.
At least he hadn't lied on this one.
The largest group had twenty thousand members, and she went to the wall and looked at the lineup of photographs on the top and then the postings that ran vertically. All about the execution. All about the adoration.
She sat back and just stared at the screen.
It was a long time befoe she shut her computer down and grabbed her coat.
"Who is the 'she,' " Veck demanded from behind the wheel of Heron's truck. "The one that my father went on about?"
As Jim sat beside the guy, he didn't look over. They had at least another hour before they were back in Caldwell, so there was plenty of time to frickin' chat it up - but he wasn't in a big hurry to talk about the weather, much less Devina and Sissy.
She wants you to know she suffered.
That demon was such a bitch.
Veck cursed hard. "Damn it, one of the pair of you had better get talking. And if you don't want to tell me about the chick, then you'd better f**king explain that exorcism reference."
Jim tapped the tip of his cigarette out the crack of the window, and decided to tackle the latter rather than the former. "You're not our first trip through the park. The first soul we saved - we did it by serving Devina an eviction notice."
"Devina?"
"Devil in a blue dress, buddy."
"Is she the one who suffered?"
"We wish," Adrian muttered from the back.
Jim couldn't agree more on that one. "Here's the way it works. Devina is a demon - and if you need more of an explanation about that, think of collective wisdom and you've got a pretty good picture of it. She gets into a person and gradually takes over, influencing their choices and decisions. Eventually, you get to your crossroads, and you have to pick. Depending on the way you go, what you follow, what action you take - that determines where you're going to end up. And downstairs is a roasty, toasty f**king place, if you get what I'm saying."
"Hell."
"You got it."
On that note, Jim thought about the guy's father. Man, that one was pure evil. And if that was what bound Veck's flesh?
"Am I going to end up there?" Veck said softly, as if he were talking to himself.
"Not if we can help it."
Although how the hell were they going to pull that off? Especially given that Veck had seemed darker since he'd left that visiting room. Angrier. Farther away even though he was just as close by.
Why the hell did Eddie have to die, Jim thought. They needed him on this one.
Devina was such a bitch.
"Is Reilly in danger," Veck asked harshly.
"The more distance between the two of you, the better."
The man cursed again, and muttered, "Mission accomplished there."
"It really is safer. She'd be nothing more than collateral damage, and Devina's into that shit."
At the side of the highway, a green sign with white lettering read, CALDWELL 55.
How many cigarettes did he have left?
"So who is the 'she.' The one who suffered?"
Oh, yay. That question was so going to help his mood. "Someone I care about."
"Sissy Barten." Veck looked over. "Right? Krer said the same thing, in exactly the same words, when he was talking to Reilly about her. And you already told me it was personal."
"That I did."
"So what were those markings on the girl's stomach?"
"Devina doesn't know from ADT. She uses virgins." Jim stretched in his seat, his muscles going rigid as the urge to kill rang his motherfucking bell. "What you saw on Sissy was the way she does it."
"Fucking ... hell. So my father's first victim ..."
"Maybe Devina made him do it for her as a pledge of faith. Maybe he just helped her work. Who knows."
"How long has this been going on? Between you and the ..." The pause that followed suggested the man was still getting used to the word demon on his tongue.
"Only a couple of weeks. But there were people before me - and going to be none after me unless I make sure that you don't go the way she wants you to."
Jim glanced over at the detective's hands. They were wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel, it was a wonder the damn thing hadn't snapped off.
Okay, that kind of pissed was not going to work in their favor: It gave Devina a flashpoint - if she hit the vein correctly, they'd be dealing with an explosion. And Veck was a big, powerful guy who was capable, and probably trained, to kill with his bare hands.
Goddamn it, Jim hated this waiting around. "By the way, we're staying with you tonight."
"I figured. I only have one bed, but I got a couch."
"I'm mostly interested in some version of a 7-Eleven." He flipped open the box of Marlboros. "Running low."
"There's a Stewart's close to my house."
"Cool."
Veck reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. "Might as well turn this back on."
While Jim seethed in frustration, he looked out the side window at the highway's dark shoulder, wondering when in the hell things were going to -
"What the hell," Veck muttered. "My damn phone blew up."