sk.cujo-第60节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


m　a　shot。　He　wasn't　thinking　very　well。　Ten　minutes　after　he　arrived　the　telephone　had　rung　and　he　had　sprung　at　it　like　an　animal；　not　heeding　the　A。　G。's　man's　mild　statement　that　it　was　probably　for　him。　It　hadn't　been；　it　was　Roger；　wanting　to　know　if　Vic　had　gotten　there；　and　if　there　was　any　news。
There　was　some　news；　but　all　of　it　was　maddeningly　inconclusive。　There　had　been　fingerprints　all　over　the　house；　and　a　fingerprint　team；　also　from　Augusta；　had　taken　a　number　of　sets　from　the　living　quarters　adjacent　to　the　small　stripping　shop　where　Steven　Kemp　had　worked　until　recently。　Before　long　the　matching　would　be　done　and　they　would　know　conclusively　if　Kemp　had　been　the　one　who　had　turned　the　downstairs　floor　upside　down。　To　Vic　it　was　so　much　redundancy；　he　knew　in　his　guts　that　it　had　been　Kemp。
The　State　Police　detective　had　run　a　make　on　Kemp's　van。　It　was　a　1971　Ford　Econoline；　Maine　license　641…644。　The　color　was　light　gray；　but　they　knew　from　Kemp's　landlord　…they　had　routed　him　out　of　bed　at　4　Am。　…　that　the　van　had　desert　murals　painted　on　the　sides：　buttes；　mesas；　sand　dunes。　There　were　two　bumper　stickers　on　the　rear；　one　which　said　SPLIT　WOOD；　NOT　ATOMS　and　one　which　said　RONALD　REAGAN　SHOT　J。R。　A　very　hinny　guy；　Steve　Kemp；　the　murals　and　the　bumper　stickers　would　make　the　van　easier　to　identify；　and　unless　he　had　ditched　it；　he　would　almost　certainly　he　spotted　before　the　day　was　out。　The　MV　alert　had　gone　out　to　all　the　New　England　states　and　to　upstate　New　York。　In　addition；　the　FBI　in　Portland　and　Boston　had　been　alerted　to　a　possible　kidnapping；　and　they　were　now　running　Steve　Kemp's　name　through　their　files　in　Washington。　They　would　find　three　minor　busts　dating　back　to　the　Vietnam　war　protests；　one　each　for　the　years　1968…1970。
'There's　only　one　thing　about　all　of　this　that　bothers　me；'　the　A。　G。's　man　said。　His　pad　was　on　his　knee；　but　anything　Vic　could　tell　he　had　already　told　them。　The　man　from　Augusta　was　only　doodling。　'If　I　may　be　frank；　it　bothers　the　shit　out　of　me。'
'What's　that？'　Vic　asked。　He　picked　up　the　family　portrait；　looked　down　at　it；　and　then　tilted　it　so　the　shattered　glass　facing　tumbled　into　the　Hefty　bag　with　another　evil　little　jingle。
'The　car。　Where's　your　wife's　car？'
His　name　was　Masen　…　Masen　with　an　'e'；　he　had　informed　Vic　as　they　shook　hands。　Now　he　went　to　the　window；　slapping　his　pad　absently　against　his　leg。　Vic's　battered　sports　car　was　in　the　driveway；　parked　to　one　side　of　Bannerman's　cruiser。　Vic　had　picked　it　up　at　the　Portland　jetport　and　dropped　off　the　Avis　car　he　had　driven　north　from　Boston。
'What's　that　got　to　do　with　it？'　Vic　asked。
Masen　shrugged。　'Maybe　nothing。　Maybe　something。　Maybe　everything。　Probably　nothing；　but　I　just　don't　like　it。　Kemp　es　here；　right？　Grabs　your　wife　and　son。　Why？　He's　crazy。　That's　reason　enough。　Can't　stand　to　lose。　Maybe　it's　even　his　twisted　idea　of　a　joke。'
These　were　all　things　Vic　himself　had　said；　repeated　back　almost　verbatim。
'So　what　does　he　do？　He　bundles　them　into　his　Ford　van　with　the　desert　murals　on　the　sides。　He's　either　running　with　them　or　he's　holed　up　somewhere。　Right？'
'Yes；　that's　what　I'm　afraid　…'
Masen　turned　from　the　window　'to　look　at　him。　'So　where's　her　car？'
'Well　…'　Vic　tried　hard　to　think。　It　was　hard。　He　was　very　tired。　'Maybe　…'
'Maybe　he　had　a　confederate　who　drove　it　away；'　Masen　said。　'That　would　probably　mean　a　kidnapping　for　ransom。　If　he　took　them　on　his　own；　it　was　probably　just　a　crazy　spur…of…the…moment　thing。　If　it　was　a　kidnapping　for　money；　why　take　the　car　at　all？　To　switch　over　to？　Ridiculous。　That　Pinto's　every　bit　as　hot　as　the　van；　if　a　little　harder　to　recognize。　And　I　repeat；　if　there　was　no　confederate；　if　he　was　by　himself；　who　drove　the　car？'
'Maybe　he　came　back　for　it；'　the　State　Police　detective　rumbled。　'Stowed　the　boy　and　the　missus　and　came　back　for　the　car。'
That　would　present　some　problems　without　a　confederate；'　Masen　said；　'but　I　suppose　he　could　do　it。　Take　them　someplace　close　and　walk　back　for　Mrs。　Trenton's　Pinto；　or　take　them　someplace　far　away　and　thumb　a　ride　back。　But　why？'
Bannerman　spoke　for　the　first　time。　'She　could　have　driven　it　herself。'
Masen　swung　to　look　at　him；　his　eyebrows　going　up。
'If　he　took　the　boy　with　him　…Bannerman　looked　at　Vic　and　nodded　a　little。　'I'm　sorry；　Mr。　Trenton；　but　if　Kemp　took　the　boy　with　him；　belted　him　in；　held　a　gun　on　him；　and　told　your　wife　to　follow　dose；　and　that　something　might　happen　to　the　boy　if　she　tried　anything　clever；　like　turning　off　or　flashing　her　lights　…'
Vic　nodded；　feeling　sick　at　the　picture　it　made。
Masen　seemed　irritated　with　Bannerman；　perhaps　because　he　hadn't　thought　of　the　possibility　himself。　'I　repeat：　to　what　purpose？'
Bannerman　shook　his　head。　Vic　himself　couldn't　think　of　a　single　reason　why　Kemp　would　want　Donna's　car。
Masen　lit　a　Pall　Mall；　coughed；　and　looked　around　for　an　ashtray。
'I'm　sorry；'　Vic　said；　again　feeling　Iike　an　actor；　someone　outside　himself；　saying　lines　that　had　been　written　for　him。　'The　two　ashtrays　in　here　were　broken。　I'll　get　you　one　from　the　kitchen。'
Masen　walked　out　with　him；　took　an　ashtray；　and　said；　'Let's　go　out　on　the　steps；　do　you　mind？　It's　going　to　be　a　bitch　of　a　hot　day。　I　like　to　enjoy　them　while　they're　still　civilized　during　July。'
'Okay；'　Vic　said　listlessly。
He　glanced　at　the　thermometer…barometer　screwed　to　the　side　of　the　house　as　they　went　out　。。。　a　gift　from　Donna　last　Christmas。　The　temperature　already　stood　at　73。　The　needle　of　the　barometer　was　planted　squarely　in　the　quadrant　marked　FAIR。
'Let's　pursue　this　a　little　further；'　Masen　said。　'It　fascinates　me。　Here's　a　woman　with　a　son；　a　woman；　whose　husband　is　away　on　a　business　trip。　She　needs　her　car　if　she's　going　to　get　around　very　well。　Even　downtown's　half　a　mile　away　and　the　walk　back　is　all　uphill。　So　if　we　assume　that　Kemp　grabbed　her　here；　the　car　would　still　be　here。　Try　this；　instead。　Kemp　es　up　and　trashes　the　house；　but　he's　still　furious。　He　sees　them　someplace　else　in　town　and　grabs　them。　In　that　case；　the　car　would　still　be　in　that　other　place。　Downtown；　maybe。　Or　in　the　parking　lot　at　the　shopping　center。'
'Wouldn't　someone　have　tagged　it　in　the　middle　of　the　night？'　Vic　asked。
'Probably；'　Masen　said。　'Do　you　think　she　herself　might　have　left　it　somewhere；　Mr。　Trenton？'
Then　Vic　remembered。　The　needle　valve。
'You　look　like　something　just　clicked；'　Masen　said。
'It　didn't　click；　it　clunked。　The　car　isn't　here　because　it's　at　the　Ford　dealership　in　South　Paris。　She　was　having　carburetor　trouble。　The　needle　valve　in　there　kept　wanting　to　jam。　We　talked　about　it　on　the　phone　Monday　afternoon。　She　was　really　pissed　off　and　upset　about　it。　I　meant　to　make　an　appointment　for　her　to　get　it　done　by　a　local　guy　here　in　town；　but　I　forgot　because　。　。　。'
He　trailed　off；　thinking　about　the　reasons　why　he　had　forgotten。
'You　forgot　to　the　make　the　appointment　here　in　town；　so　she　would　have　taken　it　to　South　Paris？'
'Yeah；　I　guess　so。'　He　couldn't　remember　exactly　what　the　run　of　the　conversation　had　been　now；　except　that　she　had　been　afraid　the　car　would　seize　up　while　she　was　taking　it　to　be　fixed。
Masen　glanced　at　his　watch　and　got　up。　Vic　started　to　rise　with　him。
'No；　stay　put。　I　just　want　to　make　a　quick　phone　call。　I'll　be　back。'
Vic　sat　where　he　was。　The　screen　door　banged　closed　behind　Masen；　a　sound　that　reminded　him　so　much　of　Tad　that　he　winced　and　had　to　grit　his　teeth　against　fresh　tears。　Where　were　they？　The　thing　about　the　Pinto　not　being　here　had　only　been　momentarily　promising　after　all。
'The　sun　was　fully　up　now；　throwing　a　bright　rose　light　over　the　houses　and　the　streets　below；　and　across　Castle　Hill。　It　touched　the　swing　set　where　he　had　pushed　Tad　times　without　number　。。。　all　he　wanted　was　to　push　his　son　on　the　swing　again　with　his　wife　standing　beside　him。　He　would　push　until　his　hands　fell　off；　if　that　was　what　Tad　wanted。
Daddy；　I　wanna　loop　the　loop！　I　wanna！
The　voice　in　his　mind　chilled　his　heart。　It　was　like　a　ghost　voice。
The　screen　door　opened　again　a　moment　later。　Masen　sat　down　beside　him　and　lit　a　fresh　cigarette。　'Twin　City　Ford　in　South　Paris；'　he　said。　'That　was　the　one；　wasn't　it？'
'Yeah。　We　bought　the　Pinto　there。'
'I　took　a　shot　and　called　them。　Got　lucky；　the　service　manager　was　already　in。　Your　Pinto's　not　there；　and　it　hasn't　been　there。　Who's　the　local　guy？'
'Joe　Camber；'　Vic　said。　'She　must　have　taken　the　car　out　there　after　all。　She　didn't　want　to　because　he's　way　out　in　the　back　of　beyond　and　she　couldn't　get　any　answer　on　the　phone　when　she　called。　I　told　her　he　was　probably　there　anyway；　just　working　in　the　garage。　It's　this　converted　barn；　and　I　don't　think　he's　got　a　phone　in　there。　At　least　he　didn't　the　last　time　I　was　out　there。'
'We'll　check　it　out；'　Masen　said；　'but　her　car's　not　there　either；　Mr。　Trenton。　Depend　on　it。'
'Why　not？'
'Doesn't　make　a　bit　of　logical　sense；'　Masen　said。　'I　was　ninety…five　percent　sure　it　wasn't　in　South　Paris；　either。　Look；　everything　we　said　before　still　holds　true。　A　young　woman　with　a　child　needs　a　car。　Suppose　she　took　the　car　over　to　Twin　City　Ford　and　they　told　her　it　was　going　to　be　a　couple　of　days。　How　does　she　get　back？'
'Well　。。。　a　loaner　。。。　or　if　t