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Tull gave him a puzzled and scornful look. “Why? I’m right here. I live here. I’m not hurting anyone.”
Sampson was having none of it. He spun the writer aroundexpertly and fitted the zip ties on him. “Drunk-driving’s the least of your worries, Thomas.”
When he turned the writer around, he’d sobered a little. “What is this?”
Mahoney said, “Thomas Tull, you are under arrest on suspicion of multiple mass murders, including those of the Hodges family, the Landaus, the Carpenters, the Elliotts, and the Kanes.”
Sampson said, “You have the right to remain silent—”
“What? No,” Tull said, shaking his head like a horse pestered by flies. “No, no, no. It’s nothing like that.”
John kept reading him his Miranda rights.
“I know my rights, damn it, and I did not do this!” Tull roared. He jerked free of Sampson’s grasp and tried to take off. Still in restraints, he made it three feet before tripping and actually face-planting on the street.
We rushed to pick him up. Tull’s nose was smashed and gushing blood. One of his upper incisors was broken. The other was gone. Blood ran from that wound.
In what had to have been some agony, the writer got belligerent.
“You beat me, threw me down,” he said. “Police brutality. I want my lawyer.”
CHAPTER 76
ALEX CALLED BREE AThome around eight thirty that morning to tell her Thomas Tull was being held on suspicion of being the Family Man.
“How clear was the video still?” Bree asked, sipping her coffee.
“Like I said, it’s not the straight-on or quartering-to shot you’d want ideally, but you’ll see the dramatic resemblance: the chin, the cheekbones, and especially the hair.”
“You sound exhausted.”
“I took a long nap while we waited for Tull to sober up and for his attorney to arrive.”
“You’re going to interrogate?”
“Part of the team. And your day?”
“I’m going to try to relax, regroup, maybe go for a run. I’m officially done with work until Monday.”
“Sounds like a nice agenda. I have the feeling I’ll be home earlier than usual and facedown in bed.”
“You deserve it,” Bree said.
“Oh, here’s Ned. Gotta go.”
The call ended.
Nana Mama was sitting at the kitchen table reading theWashington Postand drinking coffee. She looked up. “What time did he get that call?”
“Half past two? I heard him pounding down the stairs.”
“It’s a wonder he stays on his feet half the time. You too.”
Bree smiled. “We’re both committed.”
“If you take care of yourself, you’ll live and stay committed longer. Look at me.”
“Nana,” Bree said in a teasing voice. “With all due respect, you’re a legitimate freak for your age.”
