dk.nightchills-第37节

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here　some　of　the　Friday　races　were　held。　Jeremy　Thorp　was　one　of　the　cyclists。
　At　12：45；　at　the　southern　end　of　Union　Road；　Rya　crossed　the　street；　walked　under　the　grapevine　arbor；　and　went　around　to　the　back　of　the　Thorp　place。　The　lawn　ended　in　brush　and　trees；　no　parallel　streets　and　no　buildings　in　that　direction。　There　was　no　house　to　her　left…just　the　lawn　and　the　garage　and　the　river。　To　her　right　the　nearest　dwelling　was　set　closer　to　Union　Road　than　was　the　Thorp　house；　therefore；　she　was　not　in　anyone's　line　of　sight。
　A　polished　copper　knocker　gleamed　in　the　center　of　the　door。　To　one　side　of　that；　near　the　knob；　were　three　decorative　windows；　each　six　inches　wide　and　nine　inches　long。
　She　knocked　loudly。
　No　one　answered。
　When　she　tried　the　door　she　found　that　it　was　locked。　She　had　expected　as　much。
　She　took　the　stolen　wrench　from　her　windbreaker；　gripped　it　tightly　in　one　hand；　and　used　it　to　smash　the　middle　pane　in　the　verticle　row　of　three。　The　blow　made　considerably　more　noise　than　she　had　anticipated…although　not　sufficient　noise　to　discourage　her。　When　she　had　broken　every　shard　of　glass　out　of　the　frame；　she　pocketed　the　wrench；　reached　through　the　window；　and　felt　for　the　latch。　She　began　to　despair　of　ever　locating　the　mechanism…and　then　her　fingers　touched　cool　metal。　She　fumbled　with　the　lock　for　almost　a　minute；　finally　released　it；　withdrew　her　arm　from　the　window；　and　shoved　open　the　door。
　Standing　on　the　stoop；　staring　warily　into　the　shadow…hung　kitchen；　she　thought：　'What　if　one　of　them　es　back　home　and　finds　me　in　there？
　Go　ahead；　she　urged　herself。　You　better　go　inside　before　you　lose　your　courage。
　I'm　scared。　They　killed　Mark。
　You　ran　away　this　morning。　Are　you　going　to　run　away　again？　Are　you　going　to　run　away　from　everything　that　scares　you；　from　now　until　the　day　you　die？
　She　walked　into　the　kitchen。
　Glass　crunched　underfoot。
　When　she　reached　the　electric　range　where　the　murder　had　taken　place；　she　stood　quite　still；　poised　to　flee；　and　listened　closely　for　movement。　The　refrigerator　and　the　upright　freezer　rumbled　softly；　steadily。　The　clock…radio　hummed。　A　loose　window　rattled　as　a　gust　of　wind　rushed　along　the　side　of　the　house。　In　the　living　room　a　grandfather　clock；　running　a　few　minutes　late；　solemnly　chimed　the　third　quarter　of　the　hour；　the　note　reverberated　long　after　the　pipe　had　been　struck。　The　house　was　filled　with　noises；　but　none　of　them　had　a　human　source；　she　was　alone。
　Having　broken　the　law；　having　violated　the　sanctity　of　another　person's　home；　with　the　first　and　most　dangerous　step　already　taken；　she　couldn't　decide　what　to　do　next。　Well　。　。　Search　the　house。　Of　course。　Search　it　from　top　to　bottom。　Look　for　the　body。　But　where　to　begin？
　At　last；　when　she　realized　that　her　indecision　was　an　outgrowth　of　the　fear　which　she　was　determined　to　overe；　when　she　realized　that　she　was　desperately　afraid　of　finding　Mark's　corpse　even　though　she　had　e　here　to　do　precisely　that；　she　began　the　search　in　the　kitchen。　There　were　only　a　few　places　in　that　room　where　the　body　of　a　nine…year…old　boy　might　possibly　be　concealed。　She　looked　in　the　pantry；　in　the　refrigerator；　and　then　in　the　freezer；　but　she　uncovered　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary。
　When　she　opened　the　cabinet　beneath　the　sink；　however；　she　saw　a　bucket　full　of　bloody　rags。　Not　rags；　really。　Dish　towels。　They　had　used　the　towels　to　clean　up；　had　thrown　them　in　the　bucket…and　then　apparently　had　forgotten　to　destroy　the　evidence。　She　picked　up　one　of　the　cloths。　It　was　wet；　cold；　and　heavy　with　blood。　She　dropped　it　and　gazed　at　her　stained　hand。
　〃Oh；　Mark；〃　she　said　sadly；　a　bit　breathlessly。　A　pain　rose　from　deep　inside　of　her；　filled　her　chest。　〃Little　Mark　。　。　。　You　never　ever　hurt　anyone。　Not　anyone。　What　they　did　to　you。　What　an　awful　thing　they　did　to　you。　Why？〃
　She　stood　up。　Her　knees　felt　weak。
　Find　the　body；　she　thought。
　No；　she　told　herself。
　You　came　here　to　find　the　body。
　I've　changed　my　mind。　Find　the　body？　No。　No；　that's　just。。。　too　much。　Much　too　much。　Finding　him。。　。　Mark。。　。　with　his　skull　cracked　open　。　。　。　and　his　eyes　rolled　back　in　his　head　。
　and　dried　blood　all　over　his　face　。　。　。　Too　much。　Even　strong　girls　can't　deal　with　everything　in　life。　Even　strong　girls　have　their　limits；　don't　they？　This　is　mine。　My　limit。　I　can't　go　looking　。　。　。　all　through　the　house　。　。　。　just　can't　。　。
　Beginning　to　cry；　beginning　to　shake；　she　picked　up　the　bucket　and　left　the　house。
　At　12：45　Salsbury　carried　his　briefcase　down　from　his　room　and　went　to　the　parlor。
　Pauline　Vicker　was　sitting　in　the　largest　of　the　three　armchairs。　She　was　a　heavyset　woman　in　her　early　sixties。　Fluffy
　gray　hair。　Ruddy　plexion。　Double　chin。　Merry　eyes　and　a　nearly　constant　smile。　She　had　the　archetypal　grandmother's　face；　the　model　for　grandmothers'　faces　in　storybooks　and　movies。　Her　bare　feet　were　propped　up　on　a　hassock。　She　was　eating　candies　and　watching　a　television　soap　opera。
　From　the　doorway　he　said；　〃Mrs。　Vicker。〃
　She　glanced　up；　chewing　a　caramel。　She　had　some　trouble　swallowing。　Then：　〃Good　afternoon；　Mr。　Deighton。　If　you've　a　plaint　about　your　room　or　anything…do　you　think　perhaps　it　could　wait　just　a　bit；　a　few　minutes…not　longer　than　that　mind　you…just　until　this　show　ends？　It's　one　of　my　favorite　shows　and…〃
　〃I　am　the　key；〃　he　said　impatiently。
　〃Oh；〃　she　said；　disappointed　that　she　wasn't　going　to　be　able　to　finish　watching　the　program。　〃I　am　the　lock。〃
　〃Get　up；　Mrs。　Vicker。〃
　She　struggled　out　of　the　chair。
　Fat　old　cow；　he　thought。
　〃What　do　you　need？〃　she　asked　pleasantly。
　〃I'll　need　this　room　for　a　while；〃　he　said；　walking　to　the　desk　which　held　her　private　telephone。　〃Don't　disturb　me。〃
　〃Am　I　to　leave？〃
　〃Yes。　Now。〃
　She　looked　wistfully　at　the　round　maple　table　beside　her　armchair。　〃May　I　take　my　box　of　candy？〃
　〃Yes；　yes。　Just　get　the　hell　out　of　here。〃
　Pleased；　she　snatched　up　the　candy。　〃I'm　as　good　as　gone。　As　good　as　gone；　Mr。　Deighton。　You　take　your　time　here。　I　won't　let　anyone　disturb　you。〃
　〃Mrs。　Vicker。〃
　〃Yes？〃
　〃Go　to　the　kitchen。〃
　〃All　right。〃
　〃Eat　your　chocolates　if　you　want。〃
　〃I　will。〃
　〃Listen　to　your　radio；　and　wait　in　the　kitchen　until　I　e　to　see　you。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　〃Is　that　pletely　clear？〃
　〃Certainly。　Certainly。　I'll　do　just　what　you　say。　See　if　I　don't。　I'll　go　straight　out　to　the　kitchen　and　eat　my　chocolates　and　listen…〃
　〃And　close　the　door　as　you　leave；〃　he　said　sharply。　〃Leave　now；　Mrs。　Vicker。〃
　She　shut　the　parlor　door　behind　her。
　At　the　desk　Salsbury　opened　his　briefcase。　He　took　from　it　a　set　of　screwdrivers　and　one　of　the　infinity　transmitters…a　small　black　box　with　several　wires　trailing　from　it…that　Dawson　had　purchased　in　Brussels。
　Smart；　he　thought。　Clever。　Clever　of　me　to　bring　the　IF。　Didn't　know　why　I　was　packing　it　at　the　time。　A　hunch。　Just　a　hunch。　And　it's　paid　off　now。　Clever。　I'm　on　top　of　the　situation。　Right　up　there　on　top；　in　control。　Full　control。
　Having　carefully　considered　his　options；　algebraic　even　when　he　was　so　recently　returned　from　the　edge　of　panic；　he　had　decided　that　it　was　time　to　hear　what　Paul　Annendale　was　saying　to　the　Edisons。　There　were　a　dozen　miniature　glass　swans　lined　up　across　the　top　of　the　desk；　each　slightly　different　in　size　and　shape　and　color　from　the　one　that　preceded　it。　He　brushed　these　figurines　to　the　floor；　they　bounced　on　the　carpet　and　clinked　against　one　another。　His　mother　had　collected　hand…blown　figurines；　although　not　swans。　She　favored　glass　dogs。　By　the　hundreds。　He　crushed　one　of　the　swans　under　his　heel　and　imagined　that　it　was　a　glass　dog。　Curiously　satisfied　by　this　gesture；　he　connected　the　infinity　transmitter　to　the　telephone　and　dialed　the　number　of　the　general　store。　Across　the　street　no　telephone　rang　at　the　Edison's　place。　Nevertheless；　every　receiver　in　the　store；　as　well　as　in　the　family's　living　quarters　above　the　store；　opened　to　Salsbury's　ear。
　What　he　heard　in　the　first　couple　of　minutes　broke　down　the　paper…thin　wall　of　posure　that　he　had　managed　to　rebuild　since　the　murder。　Buddy　Pellineri；　in　his　own　half…literate　fashion；　was　telling　Sam　and　Jenny　and　Paul　about　the　two　men　who　had　e　down　from　the　reservoir　on　the　morning　of　August　sixth。
　Rossner　and　Holbrook　had　been　seen！
　However；　that　was　neither　the　only　nor　the　worst　piece　of　bad　news。　Before　Buddy　had　reached　the　end　of　his　story；　before　Edison　and　the　others　had　finished　questioning　him；　Annendale's　daughter　arrived　with　the　bucket　full　of　bloody　rags。　The　damned　bucket！　In　his　haste　to　clean　up　the　kitchen　and　hide　the　corpse；　he　had　shoved　the　bucket　under　the　sink　and　then　had　pletely　forgotten　about　it。　The　boy's　body　wasn't　all　that　well　hidden…but　at　least　it　wasn't　in　the　room　where　the　murder　had　occurred。　The　damned　bloody　rags。　He　had　left　evidence　at　the　scene　of　the　crime；　virtually　out　in　plain　sight　where　any　fool　could　have　found　it！
　He　could　no　longer　afford　to　spend　hours　formulating　his　response　to　the　events　of　the　morning。　If　he　was　to　contain　the　crisis　and　save　the　project；　he　would　have　to　think　faster　and　move　faster　than　he　had　ever　done　before。
　He　stepped　on　another　glass　swan