As if in response, another police cruiser came around the corner, this one flashing its lights and blaring its siren. Someone in Arlen Heights had called the police—on the police. The uniformed cops on the lawn shouted, and Black and Washington turned and waved their arms at the cruiser, signaling it to shut up. It, too, pulled over, and the siren went quiet, though the lights still flashed, flickering over the sunny day. Another reporter showed up, and another camera flashed. The TV cameraman had gotten his bulky equipment up and running and was now shooting the whole scene.
Washington gestured to one of the uniforms. “Help us out over here.” The uniform hurried over, and Washington said, “We need you to handcuff her.”
“We don’t need handcuffs, for God’s sake,” Detective Black said.
“It’s a goddamned murder arrest!” Washington barked at him. “I don’t care what she looks like, we’re handcuffing her!”
“You will not!” Ransom was climbing the front porch steps now. He was out of breath and his shoes were wet, but Beth could see instantly that he was in his element, that this kind of moment was the thing he lived for. He elevated his voice to a theatrical boom so the reporters could hear it. “The police will not mistreat my client!”
“Get out of the way, Wells!” Washington shouted. “And someone turn those fucking cherry lights off!”
Beth looked at the reporters’ faces and knew they’d all heard the profanity, that it had been caught on record on the TV camera.
“No handcuffs,” Black said as the uniformed cop took his handcuffs out. Beth kept her hands in the pockets of her trench coat. Ransom was standing beside her now. Flashbulbs were going off, mixing with the lights from the police car, and more reporters were shouting questions.
“We’re doing this,” Washington said. He grabbed the cuffs from the uniform and strode up the porch steps, reaching out to grasp Beth’s arm. His grip was hard and painful as he jerked her hand from her pocket.
“Elizabeth Greer, you’re under arrest,” he said, beginning to drone on about courts of law and rights to remain silent.
“Hands off my client!” Ransom shouted. “She is offering no resistance! Are you getting this on the tape? Did you get that?”
Beth let Washington spin her, yank her other hand out of her pocket. She let herself go limp, like a doll, as his grip bruised her. He cuffed one wrist, then pulled the other behind her back. Beth caught the wince of shocked disgust on Detective Black’s face and realized Washington was going far off the script. He wasn’t supposed to use handcuffs, and if he used them he was probably supposed to cuff her hands in front. With her hands cuffed in the back, she looked like a common criminal, like someone caught breaking windows or fondling children. Even though she was accused of two murders, Black didn’t think Beth was a common criminal. She could see it on his face.
The cuffs were cold, and they bit into her wrists. Beth didn’t wince. She rolled her shoulders, shifted her weight so the cuffs didn’t pull as hard.
This is all your fault, Beth. You could have stopped it.
“I want the record to show that my client is cooperating,” Ransom was bellowing. “We have here on the footage that the police are assaulting her. My client may file charges.”
Washington was pulling Beth down the steps now, and Black quickly took her other side as reporters crowded in. There were more flashes mixing with the police lights, microphones shoved in her face.
“Beth!” one reporter shouted. “Beth, do you have anything to say? Anything at all?”
She could feel Ransom’s wrath from three feet away, could feel Detective Black stiffen against her right side. Telegraphing to her to be quiet.
This was the moment, she realized. She wasn’t just a rumor anymore. She wasn’t just a headline. Now she was a murderer.