It didn’t take Ben long to figure out that they were headed for his house. Still, when they rounded the bend in the road and his driveway came into view, he was absolutely stunned by the number of police vehicles parked outside. The cruiser came to a stop several houses up the street. It was the closest they could get given the veritable parking lot of official-looking vehicles stationed along the modest residential street. Several of his neighbors stood on their lawns and front steps, gawking at the spectacle.
“Wait here,” the sheriff’s deputy in the front passenger seat, unfamiliar to Ben, instructed him. (As if I have a choice, Ben thought to himself.) Tony remained in the car, hands still gripping the steering wheel, although he’d already turned off the engine. Ben considered asking him again what this was about, but decided against it. If he was truly wanted for questioning regarding what appeared to be a fairly big deal, then perhaps the less he said, the better. He shook his head. He was already starting to think like a defendant. Boy, that hadn’t taken long.
He looked out through the dirty side window next to him. He could see Sam Garston approaching the car, accompanied by the deputy who’d ridden with them from the hospital. Sam looked grim and irritable. “What’s he doing in the back of the car?” he barked in their direction. “Let him out.”
Tony jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear passenger door. Ben pulled himself into a standing position beside the cruiser.
“I’m sorry as hell to have to do this to you, Ben,” Sam said, drawing one of his large hands across the angle of his lower jaw.
“I certainly hope so,” Ben countered, not waiting for the man to finish. “Whatever this is about, Sam, I can assure you there’s no need for this sort of…”
“Ben?”
“…freak show…”
“Ben?”
“…I mean, I’ve got neighbors, for God’s sake! What’re they supposed to—”
“Ben, shut up,” Garston said flatly, and that did shut him up. Like a slap across the face.
Sam paused a moment, waiting for another outburst. The two deputies standing next to them glanced at one another, but said nothing. When he was certain that Ben was listening, Chief Garston continued.
“As I was saying, Ben, I’m sorry as hell to have to do this to you, but before we proceed any further I have to go over your Miranda rights with you.”
“My Miranda righ—” Ben began incredulously, but the large man in front of him continued speaking as if he hadn’t noticed.
“First,” he advised him, looking Ben directly in the eye to ensure that he was listening, “you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Ben felt as if he were hearing these words from a great distance. Sheriff’s deputies continued to mill about in his driveway and on the front lawn of his house. It seemed to Ben that their movements were slow and surreal, almost as if they were floating from place to place. To his immediate right, his next-door neighbors watched the exchange between him and the officers with fascination. Ben knew them both: Harry and Samantha Caddington. Susan was their family physician. Three years ago, she’d visited their son every day in the hospital while he was being treated for Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She’d sat with them for countless hours at the boy’s bedside during the worst of the illness. They both had. Now, Ben noticed, they wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
“Second,” Garston continued, “you have the right to an attorney. Are you listening, Ben?”
“Yes,” he responded through numb lips, his voice dull and metallic in his own ears.
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” Sam paused for a moment, taking a breath. He appeared to be sweating lightly, despite the cold weather. “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”
“Yes, I understand them,” Ben said.
“Good. Now, listen to me. You’re not under arrest, Ben. But we do need to ask you some questions.”
“Okay,” he replied weakly. It was all he could manage.
“We also have a search warrant for your house and property.”
“A search warrant,” Ben said, trying to make sense of the words. The term seemed strange and foreign to his ears, as if from a second language he was only just beginning to learn.
“Yes. Now we’ve been authorized to forcibly enter the house, if necessary. But it would avoid a bit of damage to your front door if you happened to have a key on you.”
Ben fished around in his right front pocket and brought out a small key ring, which he handed to one of the officers.
“Good,” Sam commented, nodding his head. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a piece of paper. “You have the right to inspect the search warrant, Ben.”
“It’s okay. I trust you, Sam.” He glanced again at his neighbors to the right, who hastily averted their eyes and began inspecting the concrete construction of their own front steps.
“You shouldn’t,” Sam said. “Not right now. As your friend, Ben, I advise you to take full advantage of your rights. Here, go ahead and read it.” He handed the form to Ben, who let his eyes wander over the language. It was written in fairly plain English, but the words seemed incomprehensible at the moment. He handed it back.
“Can we please get out of the street?” he muttered.
“Of course,” Sam replied. “Let’s go.”
He turned and led the procession to the front door. The officer who’d been given Ben’s keys fiddled with the lock for a moment. “It should only be the dead bolt,” Ben advised him, and he nodded. A moment later, there was the sound of the latch retracting into the cylinder. The officer placed his hand on the knob.
WHOOOOOO-WHOOO-WHOO-WHOOO!!!!
The deputy glanced at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “Dog?” he inquired.
“Oh, yeah,” Ben said. “Alex. Alexander-the-uh… He’s our”—security system, he was about to say—“Great Dane.”
“Great Dane?” the officer repeated. From behind the door the howling continued.
WHOOOO-WHOOOOO-WHOOOO-WHOO-OOOOO!!!
“You’d better let me put him in the basement.”
The officer with his hand on the doorknob looked at Sam, who nodded. “I’ll go in with him,” the chief advised them. “Everyone else stay here for a moment.”
The deputy stepped back and raised his right hand in a gesture as if to say, Be my guest.
Ben turned the knob and pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through. “Hold on, let me get his collar on,” he called back to Sam. Ben grabbed the choker chain from where it hung on the wall and slid it over the dog’s massive head. He placed a finger through the metal ring and guided the dog toward the interior door leading to the basement. As he moved the dog away from the front entrance, Sam took the opportunity to slide inside, closing the door behind him. He followed the two of them down the hallway.
Ben stopped at the door to the basement, but did not open it. He turned toward the chief. “What’s going on here, Sam?”
The man stared back at him. He looked sick—pale and slightly ashen. “It’s serious, Ben. A… a nasty thing.” He shook his head. “I wish to hell it wasn’t.”
“Tell me. Can you do that? Please, talk to me.”
The chief sighed. “Put the dog in the basement. We have to get started here. I’ll bring in the others and we can talk.”