"He panicked and drove around looking for a place to hide her body. He was never planning on telling anyone what he'd done." John glanced at Olivia. "Pull up the video for me, yeah?"
She did as he asked and handed the phone back over. Devon didn't watch, but he listened to the words. He heard the betrayal and hurt in his voice and the pleading bullshit in Vince's. He heard the scuffle and the sickening sound of flesh ramming into flesh as he beat the shit out of Vince.
"Well, his bail has been revoked for his conduct. He'll stay in county lockup until his trial is over and he's sentenced." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish I had some clever words for you, but I don't."
"I don't think anyone does. There's no way to make sense of this."
"No, I don't think there is."
Devon stared out the window as the wind whipped through the barren trees. He couldn't come to grips with why Vince would do what he'd done and, even worse, why he thought Devon was to blame for the consequences to his actions. He struggled to picture the years he'd been friends with Vince and how he'd missed the signs of a man with deep mental deficiencies. He didn't blame himself for Vince's actions, but he sure as hell blamed himself for overlooking the type of man Vince truly was deep inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Even as he did it,Devon knew it was wrong. He left the house, left his Hailey, and drove to the bar downtown. There was a never-ending buzz in his ears and an anvil on his chest. He needed to feel numb, and he wouldn't find that at home. Sitting on a barstool, he ordered a drink, doing his best to dredge up the void he’d utilized after they’d found Hailey. At that point in time, he’d known how to stuff the overwhelming anger and sadness down deep, and he yearned for that to come back to him.
The burn of the drink slid down his throat, settling in his gut. Staring at the wall of bottles and tuning out the surrounding noise, he ordered another. The cacophony drifted away until nasty thoughts consumed his brain. He had known Vince for most of his life. He’d been his friend, his companion, his confidant. They'd shared so much of life’s difficulties. Devon didn't think Vince had an actual, diagnosable mental health issue before October. He had no idea if it could manifest in the middle of committing a crime, but he sincerely doubted it could be the case.
More alcohol would wash away the bitterness of betrayal. He gave it a try, not minding the odd look from the bartender as he slurred his request. Somehow, he had to find a way to escape from reality. It used to be he didn't enjoy the taste of anything other than the occasional beer, but now he slammed back shot after shot in an excellent imitation of an alcoholic.
“Hey, buddy, lemme call you a cab.”
Devon attempted to focus on the face in front of him. It wavered, split into two, then rearranged itself back into a solid form. “No thanks. I gotta car.”
“No way I’m letting you drive home.”
Devon just smiled as he tipped back the glass in front of him. Nothing came out, so he shook it over his open mouth.
“I’ve cut you off,” the two-headed man said.
Devon snorted. “I can drink at home,” he sneered. But when he tried to get up, his legs wouldn't support him. Bewildered, he sank to the floor.
“Look,” the bartender said as he came around the bar to help Devon up. “I’ve seen your face on the news. I know who you are. I can help you get home.”
“Home,” Devon slurred, “is not my home anymore.”
“What?” He squatted to help Devon up and back on the stool.
