Six hours earlier Newman had seen Karl shoot the back of a woman's head off.
'Recognize the murderer among those men?' Croft said.
'On the end in the blue leisure suit. That's him.'
Croft said, 'You're sure?'
Newman nodded, then realized Croft couldn't see him in the dark. 'Yes,' he said. 'I'm sure.'
'No doubts? You could swear to it in court?'
'Yes.'
'All right,' Croft said. He stressed the second word.
They went out of the show-up room and back to Croft's desk. Lieutenant Vincent came out of his office. Croft nodded at him. Three times.
Vincent smiled. 'Very good,' he said. 'His lawyer with him?'
Croft said, 'Yeah, but we got the son of a bitch, Murray. Lawyer or no lawyer.' Vincent said, 'If he sticks.' He nodded at Newman.
Newman said, 'I'll stick, I'm sure it's him. I saw him.' Vincent smiled. 'Sure. I know you will. And it's a damned good thing to bag Karl. We've all wanted him for a long time.'
'What happens now?' Newman said.
'We'll process Karl. There will be a preliminary hearing. We'll let you know. Eventually we'll go to court and you'll testify.'
'Can I leave now?'
'Yeah, but first a man from the Essex County DA's office wants a statement.'
'They bring you in in the cruiser?'
'Yes.'
'Bobby,' Vincent said. 'When he's through, whyn't you run Mr. Newman up to wherever it is.' 'Smithfield,' Newman said.
'Yeah, Smithfield. Whyn't you run Newman up to Smithfield. When you come back, come in and we'll chat.'
Croft nodded.
It was nearly 2 A.M. when they went north up Route 93. Newman said to Croft, 'What did the lieutenant mean, 'If he sticks'?'
The police radio was a soft murmur in the background, so low Newman wondered how Croft could hear it.
Croft shrugged in the dark. 'People change their minds sometimes.
Decide they made a mistake. An eyewitness is good at the beginning but a lot better at the end.' 'I didn't make a mistake,' Newman said.
Croft was silent. The radio murmured. The dispatcher's voice rhythmic and without affect. The messages indistinguishable to Newman.
Croft glanced over at Newman, then looked back at the road.
Newman was exhausted. He'd been up since six-thirty. The coffee he'd drunk made him jumpy but no less tired. It felt corrosive in his stomach. He leaned his head back against the headrest and took a deep breath. Forty-six, he thought. I'm forty-six years old.
Croft turned off at Route 128. 'Mr. Newman,' he said, 'I'm going to say something that Lieutenant Vincent would cut off my balls for saying.'
Newman opened his eyes and rolled his head over and looked at Croft.
'The reason we're wondering if you'll stick is because we're wondering if someone might squeeze you. You got a right to know what you're getting into, and Adolph Karl is a fucking psychopath.'
A thrill of fright flickered in Newman's stomach.
'You mean he might try to stop me from testifying.'
'Yeah.'
'Would he kill me?'
'I think he'd threaten you first. We can give you protection. It ain't all that bad. But it may be awkward for a while.'
'How long would I have to have protection?'
'Hard to say,' Croft answered. 'We don't have to worry about it now.
Nobody knows who you are.'
'But at the hearing?'
'Then they'll know. Then we'll cover you. It'll be all right, but I figure you got the right to know how it'll work. And the sooner you know, the longer you'll have to get used to it.'
The car pulled off 128 at the Main St.-Smithfield exit. It was twenty minutes of three and the streets were empty.
'Where to from here?' Croft said.
'Keep going straight. I'll tell you.' The thrill of fright vibrated steadily now in Newman's stomach. He could feel the electric buzz of it in his fingertips and along the insides of his arms.
CHAPTER 3.
The house was dark when he went in the kitchen. Janet would be in bed.
She was not a waiter-up. He switched on the light and looked at the kitchen clock: 2:50. He got a can of Miller beer out of the refrigerator and opened it and turned off the kitchen light and sat at the kitchen table and sipped the beer. The outside spotlights were on, and he looked at the roll of his lawn back up to the big white pines that marked the end of his lawn and the beginning of Chris Hood's. The house was still. He looked at the paneled walls of the kitchen and the copper stove-hood and the chop-block counters. Janet had planned it all. And what she made was beautiful always. The house was two hundred years old and she was careful to keep the sense of age even in a modern kitchen. He got up and got another beer. The tingle of panic that he'd felt since Croft had spoken of reprisal had faded. He felt strong and calm in this house, looking out of the darkened room at the lighted green lawn.
He'd do what he must. A man had to do that. He laughed a little to himself. Sound like someone doing a parody of my novels. There was no shame in the fear. But there was shame, he thought, if you let the fear control you. i'LL do what I must. And the police would protect them. He drank some of the beer. He was tired but he no longer felt jittery. The coffee seemed to have lost its sting. Janet won't be too thrilled with a bodyguard. Explain that one to the folks in the department, lovey. He smiled again to himself in the dark, finished the beer. One more can. He imagined his wife giving her course in sexual stereotyping while a swag-bellied cop in a Sam Browne belt and black holster leaned against the door frame. She'll be pissed.
But you couldn't let some guy shoot a woman and walk away. A man couldn't do that. 'Christ, she doesn't even know,' he said aloud. She gave a graduate seminar every Tuesday evening. She probably hadn't gotten home till ten. His note had simply said In Boston, back late.
He hadn't wanted her to worry and it was too complicated to explain in a note. He drank beer. There was half a can left.
He hated to be out when she came home. He loved to see her come home from work. She dressed so well. Her makeup was so perfect. She was so in charge with her black briefcase and her tailored clothes and her hair in perfect order. She always looked so beautiful that he wanted to make love with her on the couch with her clothes still on in an explosion of affection and desire. He never did, though. She never wanted to. Always had to be when she said, and under her circumstances. Control. She's always gotta be in control. Always it was at night when she didn't have to wash her hair. Never when she had an early class. Always after a bath. Never if her good clothes would wrinkle. Always she touched him. Never he touched her. Always she ended the foreplay. Still, it's regular. You can count on it. He finished the beer. No point running over that dead trail again.
Nothing's perfect. We're doing fine.
He put the three empty beer cans in the kitchen wastebasket, went to the downstairs bathroom to urinate, and headed up to bed.
The bedroom was dark when he went in. The airconditioner was on. He closed the door behind him. Janet
