Stephen King - Under the Dome

Julia hurried up the police station steps, her face still puffy from sleep, her hair standing up in back. When Pete made to fall in beside her, she shook her head. “Better stay here. I may call you in when I get the interview.”

“Love the positive thinking, but don’t hold your breath,” Pete said. “Not long after Andy showed up, guess who?” He pointed at the Hummer parked in front of a fire hydrant. Linda Everett and Jackie Wettington were standing near it, deep in conversation. Both women looked seriously freaked out.

Inside the station, Julia was first struck by how warm it was—the air-conditioning had been turned off, presumably to save juice. Next, by the number of young men who were sitting around, including two of the God-knew-how-many Killian brothers—there was no mistaking those long beaks and bullet heads. The young men all seemed to be filling out forms. “What if you didn’t have no last place of employment?” one asked another.

There was tearful shouting from downstairs: Andy Sanders.

Julia headed toward the ready room, where she had been a frequent visitor over the years, even a contributor to the coffee-and donuts fund (a wicker basket). She had never been stopped before, but this time Marty Arsenault said, “You can’t go back there, Miz Shumway. Orders.” He spoke in an apologetic, conciliatory voice he probably had not used with Pete Freeman.

Just then Big Jim Rennie and Andy Sanders came up the stairs from what Mill PD officers called the Chicken Coop. Andy was crying. Big Jim had an arm around him and was speaking soothingly. Peter Randolph came behind them. Randolph’s uniform was resplendent, but the face above it was that of a man who has barely escaped a bomb-blast.

“Jim! Pete!” Julia called. “I want to talk to you, for the Democrat !”

Big Jim turned around long enough to give her a glance that said people in hell wanted icewater, too. Then he began leading Andy toward the Chief’s office. Rennie was talking about praying.

Julia tried to bolt past the desk. Still looking apologetic, Marty grabbed her arm.

She said, “When you asked me to keep that little altercation with your wife last year out of the paper, Marty, I did. Because you would have lost your job otherwise. So if you’ve got an ounce of gratitude in you, let me go. ”

Marty let her go. “I tried to stop you but you wouldn’t listen,” he muttered. “Remember that.”

Julia trotted across the ready room. “Just a damn minute,” she said to Big Jim. “You and Chief Randolph are town officials, and you’re going to talk to me.”

This time the look Big Jim gave her was angry as well as contemptuous. “No. We’re not. You have no business back here.”

“But he does?” she asked, and nodded to Andy Sanders. “If what I’m hearing about Dodee is right, he’s the last person who should have been allowed downstairs.”

“That sonofabitch killed my precious girl!” Andy bawled.

Big Jim jabbed a finger at Julia. “You’ll get the story when we’re ready to give it out. Not before.”

“I want to see Barbara.”

“He’s under arrest for four murders. Are you insane?”

“If the father of one of his supposed victims can get downstairs to see him, why not me?”

“Because you’re neither a victim nor a next of kin,” Big Jim said. His upper lip rose, exposing his teeth.

“Does he have a lawyer?”

“I’m done talking to you, wom—”

“He doesn’t need a lawyer, he needs to be hung! HE KILLED MY PRECIOUS GIRL!”

“Come on, pal,” Big Jim said. “We’ll take it to the Lord in prayer.”

“What kind of evidence do you have? Has he confessed? If he hasn’t, what kind of alibi has he offered? How does it match up with the times of death? Do you even know the times of death? If the bodies were just discovered, how can you? Were they shot, or stabbed, or—”

“Pete, get rid of this rhymes-with-witch,” Big Jim said without turning around. “If she won’t go on her own, throw her out. And tell whoever’s on the desk that he’s fired.”

Marty Arsenault winced and passed a hand over his eyes. Big Jim escorted Andy into the Chief’s office and closed the door.

“Is he charged?” Julia asked Randolph. “You can’t charge him without a lawyer, you know. It isn’t legal.”

And although he still didn’t look dangerous, only stunned, Pete Randolph said something that chilled her heart. “Until the Dome goes away, Julia, I guess legal is whatever we decide it is.”

“When were they killed? Tell me that much, anyhow.”

“Well, it looks like the two girls were fir—”

The office door opened, and she had no doubt at all that Big Jim had been standing on the other side, listening. Andy was sitting behind what was now Randolph’s desk with his face in his hands.

“Get her out !” Big Jim snarled. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

“You can’t hold him incommunicado, and you can’t deny information to the people of this town!” Julia shouted.

“You’re wrong on both counts,” Big Jim said. “Have you ever heard that saying, ‘If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem?’ Well, you’re not solving anything by being here. You’re a tiresome noseyparker. You always were. And if you don’t leave, you’re going to be arrested. Fair warning.”

“Fine! Arrest me! Stick me in a cell downstairs!” She held out her hands with the wrists together, as if for handcuffs.

For one moment, she thought Jim Rennie was going to hit her. The desire to do so was clear on his face. Instead, he spoke to Pete Randolph. “For the last time, get this noseyparker out of here. If she resists, throw her out.” And he slammed the door.

Not meeting her eyes and with his cheeks the color of freshly fired brick, Randolph took her arm. This time, Julia went. As she passed the duty desk, Marty Arsenault said—more in disconsolation than anger—“Now look. I lost my job to one of these thuds, who don’t know their asses from their elbows.”

“You won’t lose your job, Marts,” Randolph said. “I can talk him around.”

A moment later, she was outside, blinking in the sunlight.

“So,” Pete Freeman said. “How’d that go?”

Benny was the first to come out of it. And aside from being hot—his shirt was stuck to his less-than-heroic chest—he felt okay. He crawled to Norrie and shook her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, dazed. Her hair was clumped to her sweaty cheeks.

“What happened?” she asked. “I must have fallen asleep. I had a dream, only I can’t remember what it was. It was bad, though. I know that.”

Joe McClatchey rolled over and pushed himself to his knees.

“Jo-Jo?” Benny asked. He hadn’t called his friend Jo-Jo since fourth grade. “You okay?”

“Yeah. The pumpkins were on fire.”

“ What pumpkins?”

Joe shook his head. He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he wanted to grab some shade and drink the rest of his Snapple. Then he thought of the Geiger counter. He fished it out of the ditch and saw with relief that it was still working—they’d built things tough in the twentieth century, it seemed.

He showed Benny the +200 reading, and tried to show Norrie, but she was looking up the slope of Black Ridge to the orchard at the top.

“What’s that?” she asked, and pointed.

Joe initially saw nothing. Then a bright purple light flashed out. It was almost too bright to look at. Shortly thereafter, it flashed again. He looked down at his watch, wanting to time the flashes, but his watch had stopped at 4:02.