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"You asshole! Killer."
"No," Billy said, his voice choking. "I didn't do anything."
Suddenly the group was joined by others striding fast from the impromptu memorial site near the roadhouse. Some started running. Pointing. They numbered about twenty now. Faces red with anger, shouting. Dance had her mobile out and was dialing 9-1-1. Getting through on the direct line to Dispatch would have taken too long.
She heard: "Police and Fire Emergen--"
Dance gasped as the tire iron spiraled straight for her face.
Chapter 9
Billy tackled Dance as the metal rod zipped past.
They both collapsed on the ground. Then he yanked her to her feet and together they hurried toward the office door of Henderson Jobbing. She completed her call, officer needs assistance, and twisted back, shouting to the approaching mob, "This is a police investigation! Disburse now. You will be arrested!"
And was greeted with another missile--a rock again. This one connected, though obliquely, with her left forearm, not far from her watch, which had shattered in the CBI parking lot. She cried out in pain.
"Arrest him!" called the burly blond woman she'd met earlier, the one whose fiance had been so badly injured.
"Arrest him? Fuck him up!"
Now the crowd caught up with them. Several of the men pushed Dance aside and shoved Billy backward, their palms slamming into his chest.
"You are committing a crime! There are police on the way." To a person, everyone ignored Dance's warning.
One man, with trim, businessman hair and wearing a dark-blue gym outfit, sprinted up and got right in their faces. Livid, he stuck a finger in Billy's chest and raged, "You parked there to take a crap or something! Or smoke weed, right? Then ran off." When Dance pulled him away he turned on her. "Oh, and fuck you, Officer! Why isn't he under arrest?"
"No, no, I didn't do anything. Please!" Billy was shaking his head and she saw tears in his eyes. He rubbed his chest from the finger poke a moment ago.
Others were swarming them now. Dance held her shield up and this resulted in a momentary stay of the madness.
Dance whispered, "This's going to blow up. We've got to get out of here now. Back to the office."
She and Billy pushed around those immediately in front of them and kept walking toward the door. The crowd followed behind them, a hostile escort. She told herself: Don't run. She knew if they did, the crowd would attack once again.
And though it was impossibly hard, she kept a slow, steady pace.
Somebody else growled, "Give me five minutes with him. I'll get a confession."
"Fuck him up, I keep saying!"
"You killed my daughter!"
They were now thirty feet from the office door. The crowd had grown and everyone was shouting insults. At least no more projectiles, other than spit.
Then one short, stocky man in jeans and a plaid shirt sped forward and slugged Billy in the side of the head. He cried out.
Dance displayed her shield once more. "You. Give me your name. Now!"
He laughed, grabbed the badge and flung it away. "Fuck you, bitch."
She doubted that even a weapon brandished would have slowed them down. In any event she had no Glock to draw.
"Fuck him up! Get him!"
"Kill him."
"Her too, bitch!"
