smoke. Each man, the one in his second year and the other an old veteran of policing, had a case of shot nerves from what they'd seen deep inside the house. It dredged up in Staubb an old, forgotten line out of a poem or something he'd read somewhere, something to do with how when a man stared into the unknown, he could count on it staring back. Yeah, that was it, and he shared the thought with Williams, but Williams hadn't seen as much as Staubb—he'd remained away from that cauldron. All he'd seen was what was half-hidden by Sid Corman's broad shoulders. All the kid knew was that the coroner himself was losing it inside, and that told him to keep a safe distance if he wanted to “maintain.'
Staubb, trying desperately to find something to laugh about, pointed to the brown-and-gold sign out front of the house and lightly chuckled, saying, “This place puts a whole new meaning to those real estate ads, don't it, Williams?'
Williams chewed on the inside of his mouth, tossed down the cigarette only half-burned, crushed it out, and said, “Over two million sold...'
Staubb smiled and added, “We're the neighborhood professionals.'
Williams laughed, and Staubb, caught up in the macabre humor, now laughed with him, giving him a whack on the back.
Williams and Staubb felt a surge of manliness return to them, Staubb feeling it to his core, when each heard one of the radio units crackling to life out in the dark ahead of them.
'Yours or mine?” asked Williams.
'Yours.'
'Be right back.'
'Right'
Staubb knew from the little time he'd spent with young Williams that the kid would make a better-than-good cop if he stuck with it long enough. Most cops got out of it long before they gave themselves a real chance to gain a true understanding of police work. That it was, after all, public service work, seldom as glamorous as Hollywood portrayed it, or as gory and horrifying as tonight.
Staubb saw the lights in Williams’ unit come on as the kid settled in behind the wheel and snatched up the radio. Something seemed to agitate the kid, his relaxed posture going stiff, his free hand going to his face, rubbing it all about, as if concerned he'd forgotten to shave.
'Something up?” Staubb called to him as he neared the unit.
Williams stuck his head out through the open door. “Code 10 at Mercy Hospital ... just caught the tail end of it ... some kind of shootout.'
Code 10 was the area call for “officer down.” Staubb's normally blustery face showed his concern. “You think it's a coincidence?'
'I don't know.'
'Could be Dyer. See if you can get more info out of Dispatch, kid.'
'Yes, sir.'
But getting through was impossible. It was as if all hell had broken loose. The squawk box was filled with chatter of Chief Hodges having called an all-units in sector six—the Mercy Hospital area—to converge on the scene. A suspect in a double cop-killing had taken a unit numbered 11, shot and killed Frank Dyer, and was presumeably making an escape.
Airport, train, and bus terminals were being covered; highways leading in and out of the area were sealed off. But there was no information on Peggy or Dr. Grant.
Williams got out of the unit and walked back to the porch with Staubb, asking him what they ought to do now.
'Right now we wait for Dr. Corman to finish up his work inside. He's taking photos now, and then you're out of here. I'll call a couple of my men back here to housesit for the night.'
'But maybe—'
'They wouldn't be stupid enough to come back here, not now,” said Staubb. “And if they do'—he patted his .38 Smith and Wesson—'we'll get ‘em. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Williams? Blow their heads off? Give you some satisfaction after all this shit. Now keep trying to get more information. I'll let Corman know what's up. Williams watched Staubb go back inside the house and he turned to the dark, facing the unit where he'd left the front door ajar. It was the only light for miles.
Williams felt a sensation akin to fear, a feeling of foreboding, a sincere and sickly notion that he was never going to see any other light in his life again, that this night was never going to end, that he and Staubb and all the others were somehow stopped in time—
Silly, you're just being silly, he told himself. He returned to the unit, pleased to stand in the glow of the light in the cab. The surrounding darkness was like a wall creeping in at him. He shuddered involuntarily, and this made him clench his teeth in anger. He was angry at the men who could put such fear into him, angry at himself for allowing it. Staubb was right, it'd be so gratifying to put a bullet through the sons of bitches....
But for now, he'd better get back on the horn, find out what was going on; for now he needed to sit down under the light and feel safe again for a moment, gather up his nerve again, steady himself.
Get on inside, he said with a final look into the dark all around, thinking he'd heard some movement in the palmetto leaves on the other side of the unit. Wind ... rabbit ... armadillo, maybe, the woods in Florida were full of the things. Get into the unit and onto the box, he told himself again.
Williams did so, slipping into his front seat, leaving the door ajar, the light on in the cab. He picked up the receiver and was about to speak into it when suddenly he was grabbed around the neck and he felt something cold and whiplike slide easily across his neck, followed by a sudden, wet and warm rush over his Adam's apple. Suddenly he realized his throat had been cut.
His eyes saw something dark and hairy on his shoulders, humped over the seat, with enormous eyes and a slavering grin beneath an apelike jaw. Feeling fainter by the second, Williams ripped at his holstered gun only to find this idea hopelessly beyond him. He was unable to unlatch the snap, and even if he could, the weakness pouring into his limbs told him he'd be unable to lift the heavy pistol even if he could work his fingers round it. With his eyes now trained straight ahead on the unsuspecting Staubb, whose eyes were on the house, Williams tried desperately to put his weight against the horn, to warn Staubb, and that was his final thought, the world going completely dark as his eyes rolled back in their sockets.
Williams’ body flinched and fell forward, hit the horn and made it blare, making Staubb jump and wheel, his gun in his hand. He called out to Williams again and again, seeing him under the light of the squad car, slumped over the wheel. Then the horn stopped and the kid's body melted from the car and lay on the ground, his neck crimson with blood.
Staubb's heart skipped a beat. Whoever got Williams was in the squad car, probably in the back seat. Staubb inched closer, his revolver trained on the back windows, his eyes trying desperately to see his enemy. “Come outa there, now! Hands up!” he cried.
But all was still. Staubb wheeled at the sound of a thrush that whizzed past and into the brush. He looked all about him, then trained his eyes on the car once more. As he got closer, he began to believe that it was empty, that whoever had slit Williams’ throat was gone. He whipped open the car door and saw the black-brown creature deep on the floorboard, an odd sound coming from it. Staubb realized it was the dwarf, and that he'd been here all along, watching the house, watching them, and waiting for a chance like this. Staubb cocked his weapon, wanting nothing more than to blow the bastard out of this world. He could do it without remorse after what he'd seen, and now Williams lay at his feet.
But the shot went astray with the sudden plunge of an enormous knife into Staubb's back, directly between the shoulder blades. Staubb's body slammed into the car. The big man thrashed about and put distance between himself and his attacker, but his gun had been lost, dropped with the nerve spasm sent through him with the blade that still protruded from his back. He looked into the eyes of a well-dressed, clean-shaven, handsome man his own height. His mind registered the fact it was Hamel. Staubb lunged at the man, his large hands wrapping about his neck, squeezing, turning into a vise. Hamel was going to die with him, Staubb told himself, determined to make it so. Somewhere behind and overhead, Staubb half-heard the screams and cries of the dwarf, who leaped from the top of the squad car onto Staubb's back, driving home yet another knife into the big policeman, this one going through his neck.
