Dean Koontz - The Door To December

'Under arrest?' Earl repeated, blinking at Wexlersh, frowning at Manuello.

Earl looked every bit as surprised and baffled as Laura felt. She was on the sofa, with Melanie, where the detectives had indicated that they wanted her to remain when they had first come into the room. She felt terribly vulnerable and wondered why she should feel vulnerable when they were only policemen who said they were there to help her. She had seen their identification, and Earl apparently had met them before (although he didn't seem to know them well), so there was every indication that they were what they claimed to be. Yet dark buds of doubt and fear began to flower, and she sensed that something was not right about this, not right at all.

She didn't like the looks of these two cops, either. Manuello had mean eyes, a superior smirk. He moved with a macho swagger, as if waiting for his authority to be questioned so he could kick and stomp someone. Wexlersh, with his waxy white skin and flat gray eyes, gave her chills.

She said, 'What's going on? Mr. Benton is working for me. I hired his company.' And then she had a crazy thought that she voiced at once: 'My God, you didn't think he was holding us here against our will, did you?'

Ignoring her, speaking to Earl Benton, Detective Manuello said, 'You carrying any iron?'

'Sure, but I have a permit,' Earl said.

'Let me have it.'

'The permit?'

'The piece.'

'You want my weapon?'

'Now.'

Drawing his own revolver, Wexlersh said, 'Be real careful when you hand it over.'

Clearly astonished by Wexlersh's tone and suspicion, Earl said, 'You think I'm dangerous, for Christ's sake?'

'Just be careful,' Wexlersh said coldly.

Handing his gun to Manuello, Earl said, 'Why would I draw down on a cop?'

As Manuello stuck the pistol in the waistband of his trousers, the telephone rang.

Laura started to get up, and Manuello said, 'Let it ring.'

'But—'

'Let it ring!' Manuello repeated sharply.

The phone rang again.

A dark stain of worry appeared on Earl's face and grew darker even as Laura watched.

The phone rang, rang, and everyone seemed transfixed by the sound.

Earl said, 'Hey, listen, there's been a serious mistake here.

The phone rang.

Dan had clipped the detachable emergency beacon to the edge of the sedan's roof. Although the car was unmarked, there was a siren too, and he used it and the flashing beacon to command the roadway ahead. Traffic pulled obediently out of his path. Considering the weather, he drove with too little regard for his own safety and for that of everyone else on the streets, plunging toward Westwood with uncharacteristic recklessness.

If someone had corrupted Ross Mondale — and that possibility was far from unthinkable — and had arranged for him to betray Melanie, Mondale would have had no difficulty whatsoever persuading Wexlersh and Manuello to cooperate in the scheme. They could go to the safe house, gain admission with their police ID, and take the child. They would probably have to kill Laura and Earl to cover up the treachery, but the more Dan thought about it, the more certain he became that they wouldn't have any qualms about murder if they stood to gain enough from it. And they weren't taking much of a risk because they could always say that they'd found the bodies when they arrived and that the child had already been missing when they got there.

He came to a place where the street passed beneath a freeway, and the depression in the pavement at the underpass was flooded, barring further progress. One car was stuck out in the middle of the whirling torrent, with water halfway up its doors, and several other vehicles were halted at the edge of the flood zone. A truck from the city's department of streets had just arrived. Workers in reflective orange safety vests were setting up a pump and erecting barriers and starting to get traffic turned away and redirected, but for a minute or more Dan was caught in the jam-up, in spite of the flashing beacon on the roof of his sedan.

As he sat there, furious, cursing, blocked in by a car in front and a truck behind, rain drummed a monotonous rhythm on the roof and hood. The beat of each drop was like the tick of a precious second cast off by a clock, time raining away, valuable minutes streaming over him and pouring down the gutters.

* * *

The phone rang ten times, and each ring increased the tension in the room.

Earl knew something was wrong, but he couldn't quite figure it out. He had met Wexlersh and Manuello before, and he'd heard stories about them, so he knew that they weren't two of the sharpest men on the city's payroll. They could be expected to make mistakes. And this was surely a mistake. Lonnie Beamer had said they were coming to put Laura and Melanie under police protection: he'd said nothing about a warrant for Earl's arrest, and there couldn't be a warrant because Earl hadn't done anything illegal. From what Earl had heard of Wexlersh and Manuello, it would be like them to screw up, to come charging in here misinformed, confused, operating under the gross misapprehension that they had not merely been sent to protect the McCaffreys but to arrest him as well.

But why wouldn't they answer the telephone? The call might be — probably was — for them. He couldn't figure it. The phone finally stopped ringing. Briefly, the silence seemed as absolute as that in a vacuum. Then Earl again became aware of the pounding of rain on the roof and in the courtyard.

To his partner, Wexlersh said, 'Cuff him.'

Earl said, 'What the hell is this? You still haven't told me what I'm being arrested for?'

As Manuello produced a pair of flexible and disposable plastic handcuffs from one of his jacket pockets, Wexlersh said, 'We'll read the charges when we get you to the stationhouse.'

They both seemed nervous, eager to get this over with. Why were they in such a hurry?

* * *

Dan swung hard off Wilshire Boulevard, onto Westwood Boulevard, heading south. He passed through a foot-deep puddle, and on both sides water plumed up as if vaguely phosphorescent wings had suddenly sprouted from the car.

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.