Under the Dome

Junior looked at Randolph sharply, wondering if this was a joke or a sly dig, but the Chief’s eyes seemed to hold nothing but honest admiration. Junior realized that his father might have found an assistant (the first word actually to occur to him was accomplice) who was even dumber than Andy Sanders. He wouldn’t have thought that possible.

“Go on, finish up. I know this is painful to you. It’s painful to all of us.”

“Yes, sir. Basically it’s just what you said. The back door was unlocked, and I followed my nose straight to the pantry. I could hardly believe what I found there.”

“Did you see the dog tags then?”

“Yes. No. Kind of. I saw Angie had something in her hand… on a chain… but I couldn’t tell what it was, and I didn’t want to touch anything.” Junior looked down modestly. “I know I’m just a rookie.”

“Good call,” Randolph said. “Smart call. You know, we’d have a whole forensic team from the State Attorney General’s office in there under ordinary circumstances—really nail Barbara to the wall—but these aren’t ordinary circumstances. Still, we’ve got enough, I’d say. He was a fool to overlook those dog tags.”

“I used my cell phone and called my father. Based on all the radio chatter, I figured you’d be busy down here—”

“Busy?” Randolph rolled his eyes. “Son, you don’t know the half of it. You did the right thing calling your dad. He’s practically a member of the department.”

“Dad grabbed two officers, Fred Denton and Jackie Wettington, and they came on over to the McCains’ house. Linda Everett joined us while Freddy was photographing the crime scene. Then Stewart Bowie and his brother showed up with the funeral hack. My dad thought that was best, things being so busy at the hospital with the riot and all.”

Randolph nodded. “Just right. Help the living, store the dead. Who found the dog tags?”

“Jackie. She pushed Angie’s hand open with a pencil and they fell right out on the floor. Freddy took pictures of everything.”

“Helpful at a trial,” Randolph said. “Which we’ll have to handle ourselves, if this Dome thing doesn’t clear up. But we can. You know what the Bible says: With faith, we can move mountains. What time did you find the bodies, son?”

“Around noon.” After I took some time to say goodbye to my girlfriends.

“And you called your father right away?”

“Not right away.” Junior gave Randolph a frank stare. “First I had to go outside and vomit. They were beaten up so bad. I never saw anything like that in my life.” He let out a long sigh, being careful to put a small tremble in it. The tape recorder probably wouldn’t pick up that tremble, but Randolph would remember it. “When I was done heaving, that was when I called Dad.”

“Okay, I think that’s all I need.” No more questions about the timeline or about his “morning patrol”; not even a request for Junior to write up a report (which was good, since writing inevitably gave him a headache these days). Randolph leaned forward to snap off the tape recorder. “Thank you, Junior. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go home and rest. You look beat.”

“I’d like to be here when you question him, sir. Barbara.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about missing that today. We’re going to give him twenty-four hours to stew in his own juices. Your dad’s idea, and a good one. We’ll question him tomorrow afternoon or tomorrow night, and you’ll be there. I give you my word. We’re going to question him vigorously. ”

“Yes, sir. Good.”

“None of this Miranda stuff.”

“No, sir.”

“And thanks to the Dome, no turning him over to the County Sheriff, either.” Randolph looked at Junior keenly. “Son, this is going to be a true case of what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Junior didn’t know whether to say yes, sir or no, sir to that, because he had no idea what the idiot behind the desk was talking about.

Randolph held him with that keen glance a moment or two longer, as if to assure himself that they understood one another, then clapped his hands together once and stood up. “Go home, Junior. You’ve got to be shaken up a bit.”

“Yes, sir, I am. And I think I will. Rest, that is.”

“I had a pack of cigarettes in my pocket when Reverend Coggins dipped me,” Randolph said in a tone of fond-hearted reminiscence. He put an arm around Junior’s shoulders as they walked to the door. Junior retained his respectful, listening expression, but felt like screaming at the weight of that heavy arm. It was like wearing a meat necktie. “They were ruined, of course. And I never bought another pack. Saved from the devil’s weed by the Son of God. How’s that for grace?”

“Awesome,” Junior managed.

“Brenda and Angie will get most of the attention, of course, and that’s normal—prominent town citizen and young girl with her life ahead of her—but Reverend Coggins had his fans, too. Not to mention a large and loving congregation.”