I FROZE. As choices go it was a no-brainer.
Officer Redburn of the Allen Park Police Department looked like a lethal infant behind the oily blue barrel of his 9mm Glock. He was all round eyes and Dennis the Menace cowlick blocking the doorway to the living room. Everything about him said he was scared to his socks.
I couldn’t see any way to put a good spin on that combination.
“Cool your jets, Duane. Can’t you see the man isn’t carrying?”
I looked at Sergeant St. Thomas seated in the breakfast nook. He was wearing the same three-piece suit he’d had on at the scene of Lynn Arsenault’s murder. His silver-framed glasses glittered against his blue-black skin. A department-issue .38 Chief’s Special revolver lay on the table in front of him with the city seal on the grip. He wasn’t in any hurry to pick it up. He would go on not being in a hurry until I did something rash. Then I’d have a .38 slug in me before Redburn squeezed off his automatic. Some things you just know.
There was a moment when nothing moved. I could hear the air in the room. Then the Glock came down.
I relaxed my arms. “ ‘Freeze or die’?”
“Duane has every episode of NYPD Blue on tape. He looks a little like a young Dennis Franz, don’t you think?”
“That depends on whether he considers it a compliment.”
“With me it was Dragnet. The one in black-and-white, not the other. Hats and cigarettes. How about you?”
“M Squad.”
The sergeant’s forehead wrinkled. “The one with the hippies?”
“That was Mod Squad. This one had Lee Marvin.”
“He drove that big black Ford with tailfins. I remember. You’re older than you look.”
“Thanks. Did the deadbolt on the front door give you any trouble?”
“We came in through a window. It was too hot to wait outside.”
“I guess it would be stupid to ask if you’ve got paper.”
“The only stupid questions are the ones that don’t get asked. Like where all the judges go on Sunday.” He drew a thick No. 10 envelope from his inside breast pocket and flipped it onto the table.
I picked it up and slid out the search warrant. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I said. “I’ve been fooled before by brochures from the Fruit of the Month Club.”
“I prefer mine canned.”
The Latin looked genuine. I stuck the document back in the envelope and returned it. He put it away, rolled over on one hip, and holstered the revolver. He had a nickel-plated automatic in a speed rig under his left arm for stopping heavy trucks.
“Nice neighborhood,” he said. “Those senior citizens take good care of their houses. I’ve got a sure-fire trick to take out that rackety bucket of bolts next door if you care to hear it.”
“I already thought of a candy bar.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a rag stuffed in the gas tank and a cigarette lighter. Your way’s probably quieter.”
“I wish you’d told me you were coming. I’d have made the bed.”
“We’d just have unmade it. You keep a neat place for a bachelor. Duane thought you were gay.”
“I bet that’s the word he used.”
“I told him he’s never been in the service. We just came from the Marriott,” he said.
“I was pretty sure you did. How’s Furlong?”
“A class act. He apologized for the runaround and offered to make a substantial contribution to the widows and orphans fund. Most people in his position would’ve just slipped us each a C-note.”
“That’s why he’s a legend.”
“You’re under arrest, Walker,” he said. “Material witness in a homicide.”
Redburn had put up his artillery and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Assume the position.”
“Duane, for Christ’s sake.” The sergeant sounded weary.
I turned around and leaned on my hands against the wall. “You don’t waste time. I didn’t expect you before tomorrow afternoon.”
“I was one of the first ten black patrolmen to break the color line downriver,” St. Thomas said. “All that infighting makes you suspicious of everyone. I check stories. Those L.A. cops don’t deserve all the bad press they’ve been getting.”
“Burn down one city and they never let you forget.”
Redburn finished patting me down, hooked a manacle around my right wrist, jerked it down behind my back, and cuffed the other while I was stumbling for balance. There wasn’t anything gentle about it, but the roughness wasn’t personal; when you’ve wrapped a thousand packages for shipping, the thousand and first doesn’t rate special handling. He read me my rights.
“I don’t suppose there’s a way we can settle this here,” I said.
“Officer Redburn?”
“No.”
“You heard him, Walker. With Duane around I never have to look at the manual. How’s your head?”
“The bandage needs changing.”
“We’ll get it looked at. What happened, by the way?”
“Conception.”
“A lot of people make that mistake. That’s why Goodyear invented rubber. Let’s go. You follow the Tigers? We can listen to the game in the car.”
He was standing now, a middle-built professional drifting in the gray channel between his final promotion and retirement, who looked as if he’d forgotten how to be rough, impersonally or otherwise. Plenty of overtime went into achieving that look.
We walked through the living room Indian file, the sergeant in front. His partner brought up the rear with one hand on my arm and the other resting on his Glock. St. Thomas twisted the deadlock and swung the front door wide. Lieutenant Mary Ann Thaler of the Detroit Police Department was standing on the stoop. She had two uniformed officers with her.
“You’re under arrest, Walker,” she said. “Material witness in a homicide.”
Belatedly she realized I wasn’t alone. She looked at Redburn first, then at St. Thomas, reacting instinctively to rank.
“Hello?”