Under the Dome: A Novel (65 page)

Chaz Bender, who had a Band-Aid on the bridge of his nose and another on the side of his neck, laughed. Not very kindly. “Pay up, Doc!” he called. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

Boxer turned his glare first on Bender, then on Rusty. “What you want has almost no chance of working. You must know that.”

Rusty opened the Sucrets box and held it out. Inside were six teeth. “Torie McDonald picked these up outside the supermarket. She got down on her knees and grubbed through puddles of Georgia Roux’s blood to find them. And if you want to have Eggos for breakfast in the near future, Doc, you’re going to put them back in Georgia’s head.”

“And if I just walk away?”

Chaz Bender, the history teacher, took a step forward. His fists were clenched. “In that case, my mercenary friend, I’ll beat the shit out of you in the parking lot.”

“I’ll help,” Twitch said.

“I won’t help,” Barbie said, “but I’ll watch.”

There was laughter and some applause. Barbie felt simultaneously amused and sick to his stomach.

Boxer’s shoulders slumped. All at once he was just a little man caught in a situation too big for him. He took the Sucrets box, then looked at Rusty. “An oral surgeon working under optimum conditions might be able to reimplant these teeth, and they might actually root, although he would be careful to give the patient no guarantees. If I do it, she’ll be lucky to get back one or two. She’s more likely to pull them down her windpipe and choke on them.”

A stocky woman with a lot of flaming red hair shouldered Chaz Bender aside. “I’ll sit with her and make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m her mother.”

Dr. Boxer sighed. “Is she unconscious?”

Before he could get any further, two Chester’s Mill police units, one of them the green Chief’s car, pulled up in the turnaround. Freddy Denton, Junior Rennie, Frank DeLesseps, and Carter Thibodeau got out of the lead car. Chief Randolph and Jackie Wetting-ton emerged from the Chief’s car. Rusty’s wife got out of the back. All were armed, and as they approached the main doors of the hospital, they drew their weapons.

The little crowd that had been watching the confrontation with
Joe Boxer murmured and drew back, some in its number undoubtedly expecting to be arrested for theft.

Barbie turned to Rusty Everett. “Look at me,” he said.

“What do you m—”

“Look at me!” Barbie lifted his arms, turning them to show both sides. Then he pulled up his tee-shirt, showing first his flat stomach, then turning to exhibit his back. “Do you see marks? Bruises?”

“No—”

“Make sure
they
know that,” Barbie said.

It was all he had time for. Randolph led his officers through the door. “Dale Barbara? Step forward.”

Before Randolph could lift his gun and point it at him, Barbie did so. Because accidents happen. Sometimes on purpose.

Barbie saw Rusty’s puzzlement, and liked him even better for his innocence. He saw Gina Buffalino and Harriet Bigelow, their eyes wide. But most of his attention was reserved for Randolph and his backups. All the faces were stony, but on Thibodeau’s and DeLesseps’s he saw undeniable satisfaction. For them this was all about payback for that night at Dipper’s. And payback was going to be a bitch.

Rusty stepped in front of Barbie, as if to shield him.

“Don’t do that,” Barbie murmured.

“Rusty,
no
!” Linda cried.

“Peter?” Rusty asked. “What’s this about? Barbie’s been helping out, and he’s been doing a damned good job.”

Barbie was afraid to move the big PA aside or even touch him. He raised his arms instead, very slowly, holding his palms out.

When they saw his arms go up, Junior and Freddy Denton came at Barbie, and fast. Junior bumped Randolph on his way by, and the Beretta clutched in the Chief’s fist went off. The sound was deafening in the reception area. The bullet went into the floor three inches in front of Randolph’s right shoe, making a surprisingly large hole. The smell of gunpowder was immediate and startling.

Gina and Harriet screamed and bolted back down the main corridor, vaulting nimbly over Joe Boxer, who was crawling along with his head tucked and his normally neat hair hanging in his
face. Brendan Ellerbee, who had been treated for a mildly dislocated jaw, kicked the dentist in the forearm as he stampeded past. The Sucrets box spun out of Boxer’s hand, struck the main desk, and flew open, scattering the teeth Torie McDonald had so carefully picked up.

Junior and Freddy grabbed Rusty, who made no effort to fight them. He looked totally confused. They pushed him aside. Rusty went stumbling across the main lobby, trying to keep his feet. Linda grabbed him, and they sprawled to the floor together.

“What the fuck?”
Twitch was roaring.
“What in the fuck?”

Limping slightly, Carter Thibodeau approached Barbie, who saw what was coming but kept his hands raised. Lowering them could get him killed. And maybe not just him. Now that one gun had been fired, the chance of others going off was that much higher.

“Hello, hoss,” Carter said. “Ain’t you been a busy boy.” He punched Barbie in the stomach.

Barbie had tensed his muscles in anticipation of the blow, but it still doubled him over. The sonofabitch was strong.

“Stop that!”
Rusty roared. He still looked bewildered, but now he looked angry, as well.
“Stop that right goddam now!”

He tried to get up, but Linda put both of her arms around him and held him down. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t, he’s dangerous.”

“What?”
Rusty turned his head and stared at her with disbelief. “Are you
crazy
?”

Barbie was still holding his hands up, showing them to the cops. Doubled over as he was, it made him look like he was salaaming.

“Thibodeau,” Randolph said. “Step back. That’s enough.”

“Put that gun away, you idiot!” Rusty shouted at Randolph. “You want to kill someone?”

Randolph gave him a brief look of dismissive contempt, then turned to Barbie. “Stand up straight, son.”

Barbie did. It hurt, but he managed. He knew that if he hadn’t been prepared for Thibodeau’s gutpunch, he would have been curled on the floor, gasping for breath. And would Randolph have tried kicking him to his feet? Would the other cops have joined him in spite of the spectators in the hall, some of whom were now creeping
back for a better view? Of course, because their blood was up. It was how these things went.

Randolph said, “I’m arresting you for the murders of Angela McCain, Dorothy Sanders, Lester A. Coggins, and Brenda Perkins.”

Each name struck Barbie, but the last one hit the hardest. The last one was a fist. That sweet woman. She had forgotten to be careful. Barbie couldn’t blame her—she had still been in deep grief for her husband—but he could blame himself for letting her go to Rennie. For encouraging her.

“What happened?” he asked Randolph. “What in God’s name did you people do?”

“Like you don’t know,” Freddy Denton said.

“What kind of psycho are you?” Jackie Wettington asked. Her face was a twisted mask of loathing, her eyes small with rage.

Barbie ignored them both. He was staring into Randolph’s face with his hands still raised over his head. All it would take was the smallest excuse and they’d be on him. Even Jackie, ordinarily the pleasantest of women, might join in, although with her it would take a reason instead of just an excuse. Or perhaps not. Sometimes even good people snapped.

“A better question,” he said to Randolph, “is what you let Rennie do. Because this is his mess, and you know it. His fingerprints are all over it.”

“Shut up.” Randolph turned to Junior. “Cuff him.”

Junior reached for Barbie, but before he could so much as touch a raised wrist, Barbie put his hands behind his back and turned around. Rusty and Linda Everett were still on the floor, Linda with her arms wrapped around her husband’s chest in a restraining bearhug.

“Remember,” Barbie said to Rusty as the plastic cuffs went on … and were then tightened until they dug into the scant meat above the heels of his hands.

Rusty stood up. When Linda tried to hold him, he pushed her away and gave her a look she had never seen before. There was sternness in it, and reproach, but there was also pity. “Peter,” he
said, and when Randolph began to turn away, he raised his voice to a shout. “
I’m talking to you!
You look at me while I do!”

Randolph turned. His face was a stone.

“He knew you were here for him.”

“Sure he did,” Junior said. “He may be crazy, but he’s not stupid.” Rusty took no notice of this. “He showed me his arms, his face, raised his shirt to show me his stomach and back. He’s unmarked, unless he raises a bruise where Thibodeau suckerpunched him.”

Carter said, “Three women? Three women and a
preacher
? He deserved it.”

Rusty didn’t shift his gaze from Randolph. “This is a setup.”

“All due respect, Eric, not your department,” Randolph said. He had holstered his sidearm. Which was a relief.

“That’s right,” Rusty said. “I’m a patch-em-up guy, not a cop or a lawyer. What I’m telling you is if I have occasion to look him over again while he’s in your custody and he’s got a lot of cuts and bruises, God help you.”

“What are you gonna do, call the Civil Liberties Union?” Frank DeLesseps asked. He was white-lipped with fury. “Your friend there beat four people to death. Brenda Perkins’s neck was broken. One of the girls was my fiancée, and she was sexually molested. Probably after she was dead as well as before, is the way it looks.”

Most of the crowd that had scattered at the gunshot had crept back to watch, and now a soft and horrified groan arose from it.

“This is the guy you’re defending? You ought to be in jail yourself!”

“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 tags
!”

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, Lin. 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.

9

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 scarily 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—”