As he squinted through the rain-smeared windshield, the wet black pavement appeared to roll and squirm under the scintillant reflections of streetlights and neon signs. His eyes, already weary and burning, began to sting even worse. His battered head throbbed, but there was another pain as well, an inner pain that grew from unwanted thoughts of failure, from unwelcome and unavoidable premonitions of death and despair.
* * *
Holding the plastic handcuffs, Manuello came toward Earl and said, ‘Turn around and put your hands together behind your back.’
Earl hesitated. He looked at Laura and Melanie. He looked at Wexlersh, holding the Smith & Wesson Police Special. These guys were cops, but Earl suddenly was not sure he should have done what they told him to, wasn’t sure that he should have given up his gun, and he damned sure didn’t like being handcuffed.
‘Are you going to resist arrest?’ Manuello demanded.
Wexlersh said, ‘Yeah, Benton, for Christ’s sake, you realize resisting arrest will be the end of your PI license?’
Reluctantly, Earl turned and put his hands behind his back. ‘Aren’t you going to read me my rights?’
‘Plenty of time for that in the car,’ Manuello said as he slipped the plastic handcuffs around Earl’s wrists and drew them tight.
To Laura and Melanie, Wexlersh said, ‘Better get your coats.’
Earl said, ‘What about my coat? You should have let me put it on before you cuffed me.’
‘You’ll manage without your coat,’ Wexlersh said.
‘It’s raining out there.’
‘You won’t melt,’ Manuello said.
The phone began to ring again.
As before, the detectives ignored it.
* * *
The siren failed.
Dan tapped the control switch with his foot, clicked it on and off and on again, but the siren refused to come back to life. He was left with only the flashing red emergency beacon and his horn to get him through the rain-slowed traffic.
He was going to be too late. Again. As with Cindy Lakey. Too late. Whipping and weaving from lane to lane, cutting dangerously in and out of traffic, blasting the horn, he was increasingly sure that they were dead, all dead, that he had lost a friend, and the innocent child he had hoped to protect, and the woman whose impact on him — admit it — had been somewhere in the hundred-megaton range. All dead.
* * *
Laura picked up Melanie’s coat and dressed her first. It was a slower procedure than it might have been because the girl didn’t help at all.
Manuello said, ‘What is she — a retard or something?’
Astonished and angry, Laura said, ‘I can’t believe you actually said that.’
‘Well, she don’t act normal,’ Manuello said.
‘Oh, don’t she?’ Laura said scathingly. ‘Jesus. She’s a very sick little girl. What’s your excuse?’
While Laura got Melanie into the coat, Earl was directed to sit on the sofa. He perched on the edge. His arms were cuffed behind him.
When Laura finished buttoning her daughter’s raincoat, she picked up her own coat.
Wexlersh said, ‘Never mind that. You sit there on the sofa beside Benton.’
‘But—’
‘Sit!’ Wexlersh said, pointing at the sofa with his gun.
His ice-gray eyes were unreadable.
Or maybe Laura simply didn’t want to read what was evident in them.
She looked at Detective Manuello. He was smirking.
Turning to Earl for guidance, Laura saw that he looked more uneasy than ever.
‘Sit,’ Wexlersh repeated, not stressing the word this time, almost speaking in a whisper, yet somehow conveying more authority — and a greater potential for violence — with that soft tone than he had when he’d spoken more harshly.
Laura’s stomach clenched and twisted. A sickening wave of dread swept through her.
When Laura sat down, Wexlersh went to Melanie, took the girl by the hand, and led her away from the sofa, brought her to where he had been standing, and kept her between himself and Manuello.
‘No,’ Laura said miserably, but the two detectives ignored her.
Looking at Wexlersh, Manuello said, ‘Now?’
‘Now,’ Wexlersh said.
Manuello reached under his coat and brought out a pistol. It wasn’t the weapon that he had taken off Earl, and Laura didn’t think that it was the detective’s own service weapon either, because she was pretty sure policemen usually used revolvers. That was what Wexlersh was holding: a revolver. The moment she saw the new pistol in Manuello’s hand, she had a sharper sense that something was amiss.