“Did I say I meant for you to infer anything?”
“Would you just please stop being cryptic and tell us why you’re
treating me like this, like a suspect instead of a victim?”
Lowbock was silent.
Marty pressed the issue, “I know this situation is incredible, this
dead-ringer business, but if you’d just bluntly tell me the reasons
you’re so skeptical, I’m sure I could eliminate your doubts. At least I
could try.”
Lowbock was unresponsive for so long that Paige almost turned from the
window to have a look at him, wondering if his expression would reveal
something about the meaning of his silence.
Finally he said, “We live in a litigious world, Mr. Stillwater.
If a cop makes the slightest mistake handling a delicate situation, the
department gets sued and sometimes the officer’s career gets flushed
away. It happens to good men.”
“What’ve lawsuits got to do with this? I’m not going to sue anyone,
Lieutenant.”
“Say a guy catches a call about an armed robbery in progress, so he
answers it, does his duty, finds himself in real jeopardy, getting shot
at, blows away the perp in self-defense. And what happens next?”
“I guess you’ll tell me.”
“Next thing you know, the perp’s family and the ACLU are after the
department about excessive violence, want a financial settlement.
They want the officer dismissed, even put the poor sucker on trial,
accuse him of being a fascist.”
Marty said, “It stinks. I agree with you. These days it seems like the
world’s been turned upside-down but–”
“If the same cop doesn’t respond with force, and some bystander gets
hurt ’cause the perp wasn’t blown away at the first opportunity, the
department gets sued for negligence by the victim’s family, and the same
activists come down on our necks like a ton of bricks, but for different
reasons. People say the cop didn’t pull the trigger fast enough because
he’s insensitive to the minority group the victim was a part of,
would’ve been quicker if the victim was white, or they say he’s
incompetent, or he’s a coward.”
“I wouldn’t want your job. I know how difficult it is,” Marty
commiserated. “But no cop has shot or failed to shoot anyone here, and
I don’t see what this has to do with our situation.”
“A cop can get in as much trouble making accusations as he can shooting
perps,” Lowbock said.
“So your point is, you’re skeptical of my story, but you won’t say why
until you’ve got absolute proof it’s bullshit.”
“He won’t even admit to being skeptical,” Paige said sourly.
“He won’t take any position, one way or the other, because taking a
position means taking a risk.”
Marty said, “But, Lieutenant, how are we going to get done with this,
how am I going to be able to convince you all of this happened just as I
said it did, if you won’t tell me why you doubt it?”
“Mr. Stillwater, I haven’t said that I doubt you.”
“Jesus,” Paige said.
“All I ask,” Lowbock said, “is that you do your best to answer my
questions.”
“And all we ask,” Paige said, still keeping her back to the man, “is
that you find the lunatic who tried to kill Marty.”
“This look-alike.” Lowbock spoke the word flatly, without any
inflection whatsoever, which seemed more sarcastic than if he had said
it with a heavy sneer.
“Yes,” Paige hissed, “this look-alike.”
She didn’t doubt Marty’s story, as wild as it was, and she knew that
somehow the existence of the dead-ringer was tied to–and would
ultimately explain–her husband’s fugue, bizarre nightmare, and other
recent problems.
Now her fury at the detective faded as she began to accept that the
police, for whatever reason, were not going to help them. Anger gave
way to fear because she realized they were up against something
exceedingly strange and were going to have to deal with it entirely on
their own.
Clocker returned from the front of the Road King to report that the keys
were in the ignition in the ON position, but the fuel tank was evidently
empty and the battery dead. The cabin lights could not be turned on.