'Frank, shut up!' Linda said.
Rusty looked at Frank DeLesseps, the boy he had treated for chicken pox, measles, head lice picked up at summer camp, a broken wrist suffered sliding into second base, and once, when he was twelve, a particularly malicious case of poison ivy. He saw very little resemblance between that boy and this man. 'And if I was locked up? Then what, Frankie? What if your mother has another gallbladder attack, like last year? Do I wait for visiting hours at the jail to treat her?'
Frank stepped forward, raising a hand to either slap or punch. Junior grabbed him. 'He'll get his, don't worry. Everyone on Barbara's side will. All in good time.'
'Sides?' Rusty sounded honestly bewildered.'What are you talking about, sides'? This isn't a goddam football game.'
Junior smiled as if he knew a secret.
Rusty turned to Linda. 'Those are your colleagues talking. Do you like how they sound?'
For a moment she couldn't look at him. Then, with an effort, she did. 'They're mad, that's all, and I don't blame them. I am, too. Four people, Eric - didn't you hear? He killed them, and he almost certainly raped at least two of the women. I helped take them out of the hearse at Bowie's. I saw the stains.'
Rusty shook his head. 'I just spent the morning with him, watching him help people, not hurt them.'
'Let it go,' Barbie said. 'Stand back, big guy. It's not the ti - '
Junior poked him in the ribs. Hard.'You have the right to remain silent, assmunch.'
'He did it,' Linda said. She stretched out a hand to Rusty, saw he wasn't going to take it, and dropped it to her side. 'They found his dog tags in Angie McCain's hand.'
Rusty was speechless. He could only watch as Barbie was hustled out to the Chief's car and locked in the backseat with his hands still cuffed behind him.There was one moment when Barbie's eyes found Rusty's. Barbie shook his head. A single shake only, but hard and firm.
Then he was driven away.
There was silence in the lobby. Junior and Frank had gone with Randolph. Carter, Jackie, and Freddy Denton headed out to the other police car. Linda stood looking at her husband with pleading and anger. Then the anger disappeared. She stepped toward him, raising her arms, wanting to be held, if only for a few seconds.
'No,' he said.
She stopped. 'What's wrong with you?'
'What's wrong with you? Did you miss what just happened here?'
'Rusty, she was holding his dog tagsV
He nodded slowly. 'Convenient, wouldn't you say?'
Her face, which had been both hurt and hopeful, now froze. She seemed to notice that her arms were still held out to him, and she lowered them.
'Four people,' she said,'three beaten almost beyond recognition. There are sides, and you need to think about which one you're on.'
'So do you, honey,' Rusty said.
From outside, Jackie called,'Linda, come on!'
Rusty was suddenly aware he had an audience, and that many among it had voted for Jim Rennie again and again.'Just think about this, jLin. And think about who Pete Randolph works for.'
'Linda!' Jackie called.
Linda Everett left with her head dropped. She didn't look back. Rusty was okay until she got into the car. Then he began to tremble. He thought if he didn't: sit down soon, he might fall down.
A hand fell on his shoulder. It was Twitch. 'You okay, boss?'
'Yes.' As if saying so would make it so. Barbie had been hauled off to jail and he'd had his first real argument with his wife in - what;? - four years? More like six. No, he wasn't okay.
'Got a question,' Twitch said. 'If those people were murdered, why'd they take the bodies to the Bowie Funeral Home instead of bringing them here for postmortem examination? Whose idea was that?'
Before Rusty could reply, the lights went out. The hospital generator had finally run dry.
After watching them polish off the last of her chop suey (which had contained the last of her hamburger), Claire motioned the three children to stand in front of her in the kitchen. She looked at them solemnly and they looked back - so young and scarify determined. Then, with a sigh, she handed Joe his backpack. Benny peered inside and saw three PB&Js, three deviled eggs, three bottles of Snapple, and half a dozen oatmeal-raisin cookies. Although still full of lunch, he brightened. 'Most excellent, Mrs McC! You are a true - '
She paid no heed; all her attention was fixed on Joe. 'I understand this could be important, so I'm going along. I'll even drive you there if you - '