Arnie only looked at it. Not embarrassed in the slightest, Junkins dropped his hand, walked around to Christine, and began examining her again. Arnie watched him, his lips pressed together so tightly they were white. He felt a fresh pulse of anger each time Junkins dropped one of his hands onto Christine.
'Look, maybe you ought to buy a season ticket or something,' Arnie said. 'Like to the Steelers games.'
Junkins turned and looked at him questioningly.
'Never mind,' Arnie said sullenly.
Junkins went on looking. 'You know,' he said, it's a hell of a strange thing, what happened to Buddy Repperton and those other two boys, isn't it?'
Fuck it, Arnie thought. I'm not going to fool around with this shitter.
'I was in Philadelphia. Chess tourney.'
'I know,' Junkins said.
'Jesus! You're really checking me out!'
Junkins walked back to Arnie. There was no smile on his face now. 'Yes, that's right,' he said. 'I'm checking you out. Three of the boys I believe were involved in vandalizing your car are now dead, along with a fourth boy who was apparently just along for the ride on Tuesday night. That's a pretty big coincidence. It's nine miles too big for me. You bet I'm checking you out.'
Arnie stared at him, surprised out of his anger, uncertain. 'I thought it was an accident . . . that they were liquored up and speeding and - '
'There was another car involved,' Junkins said.
'How do you know that?'
'There were tracks in the snow, for one thing. Unfortunately, the wind had blurred them too much for us to be able to get a decent photo. But one of the barriers at the Squantic Hills State Park gate was broken, and we found traces of red paint on it. Buddy's Camaro wasn't red. It was blue.'
He measured Arnie with his eyes.
'We also found traces of red paint embedded in Moochie Welch's skin, Arnie. Can you dig that? Embedded. Do you know how hard a car has to hit a guy to embed paint in his skin?'
'You ought to go out there and start counting red cars,' Arnie said coldly. 'You'll be up to twenty before you get to Basin Drive, I guarantee it.'
'You bet,' Junkins said. 'But we sent our samples to the FBI lab in Washington, where they have samples of every shade of paint they ever used in Detroit. We got the results back today. Any idea what they were? Want to guess?'
Arnie's heart was thudding dully in his chest; there was a corresponding beat at his temples. 'Since you're here, I'd guess it was Autumn Red. Christine's colour.'
'Give that man a Kewpie doll,' Junkins said. He lit a cigarette and looked at Arnie through the smoke. He had abandoned any pretence of good humour; his gaze was stony.
Arnie clapped his hands to his head in an exaggerated gesture of exasperation. 'Autumn Red, great. Christine's a custom job but there were Fords from 1959 to 1963 painted Autumn Red, and Thunderbirds, and Chevrolet offered that shade from 1962 to 1964, and for a while in the mid-fifties you could get a Rambler painted Autumn Red. I've been working on my '58 for half a year now, I get the car books; you can't do work on an old car without the books, or you're screwed before you start. Autumn Red was a popular choice. I know it' - he looked at Junkins fixedly - 'and you know it, too. Don't you?'
Junkins said nothing; he only went on looking at Arnie in that fixed, stony, unsettling way. Arnie had never seen looked at in that way by anyone in his life, but he recognized the gaze, He supposed anyone would. It was a took of strong, frank suspicion. It scared him. A few months ago - even a few weeks ago - that was probably all it would have done. But now it made him furious as well.
'You re really reaching. Just what the hell have you got against me anyway, Mr Junkins? Why are you on my ass?' Junkins laughed and walked around in a large half-circle. The place was entirely empty except for the two of them out here and Will in his office, finishing his hoagie and licking olive oil off his hands and still watching them closely.
'What have I got against you?' He said. 'How does first-degree murder sound to you, Arnie? Does that grab you with any force?'
Arnie grew very still.
'Don't worry,' Junkins said, still walking. 'No big tough cop scene. No menacing threats about going