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Savarese held up his hand to shut him off.
“I don’t think, on this subject, that we have anything else to say to each other,” Savarese said. “Why don’t we just finish our breakfast?”
TWENTY-FOUR
Officer Timothy J. Calhoun was sitting with his wife on the couch in the living room watching the Today show on the tube when he heard the siren.
Police sirens were a part of life in Philadelphia. Out here in the sticks, you seldom heard one.
And this was more than one siren. Two. Maybe even three.
He took his sock-clad feet off the coffee table, then put his coffee cup on the table and stood up, slipping his feet into loafers.
“What is it?” Monica Calhoun asked.
“Probably a fire,” Tim said. “Right around here someplace. Them sirens is getting closer.”
He walked to the front door and opened it and looked up and down the street. He could see neither a fire nor police nor fire vehicles, and pulled the door closed.
Just as he did, he heard one siren abruptly die. He knew that meant that whoever was running the siren had gotten where he was going.
There was still the sound of two sirens.
Monica joined him at the door.
“You didn’t see anything?”
He shook his head, “no.”
The sound of the sirens grew very loud, and then, one at a time, died suddenly.
Monica opened the door.
“Jesus, they’re right here!” she said.
There was a Harrisburg black-and-white in the driveway, and what looked like an unmarked car with two guys in it at the curb, and as Tim watched two uniforms jump out of the car in the driveway, a second Harrisburg black-and-white came screeching around the corner and pulled its nose in behind the black-and-white in the driveway.
“What the fuck?”
The first uniform reached the door.
“Timothy J. Calhoun?”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Timothy J. Calhoun?”
“Yeah, I’m Calhoun.”
“Timothy J. Calhoun, I have a warrant for your arrest for misprision in office,” the first cop said. “You are under arrest!”
“Timmy!” Monica wailed. “What’s going on?”
“Turn around, please, and put your hands behind your back,” the first uniform said, as the second uniform put his hands on his shoulders and spun him around.
“Timmy!” Monica wailed again.
“You have the right to remain silent . . .” The first cop began very rapidly to give him his rights under the Miranda decision.
