sk.cujo-第62部分

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her　and　the　kid　around。　Marry　had　been　killed　in　a　car　crash　over　on　Route　9　in　Durham。　He　and　some　of　his　drunk　friends　had　tried　to　take　the　tight　curve　up　Sirois　Hill　at　seventy。　The　Camaro　in　which　they　were　riding　rolled　over　twice　and　burned。
Andy　had　been　the　star　of　the　family；　but　his　mother　had　never　liked　him。　She　was　a　little　afraid　of　him。　When　talking　to　friends　she　would　say；　'My　Andy's　a　cold　fish；'　but　he　was　more　than　that。　He　was　always　tightly　controlled；　always　buttoned　up。　He　knew　from　the　fifth　grade　on　that　he　was　going　to　somehow　get　through　college　and　bee　a　lawyer。　Lawyers　made　a　lot　of　money。　Lawyers　worked　with　logic。　Logic　was　Andy's　God。
He　saw　each　event　as　a　point　from　which　a　finite　number　of　possibilities　radiated。　At　the　end　of　each　possibility　line　was　another　event　point。　And　so　on。　This　point…to…point　blueprint　of　life　had　served　him　very　well。　He　made　straight　A's　through　grammar　school　and　high　school；　got　a　Merit　Scholarship；　and　could　have　gone　to　college　almost　anywhere。　He　decided　on　the　University　of　Maine；　throwing　away　his　chance　at　Harvard　because　he　had　already　decided　to　start　his　career　in　Augusta；　and　he　didn't　want　some　piney…woodser　in　gumrubber　boots　and　a　lumberman's　jacket　throwing　Harvard　in　his　face。
On　this　hot　July　morning；　things　were　right　on　schedule。
He　put　Vic　Trenton's　phone　down。　There　had　been　no　answer　at　the　Camber　telephone　number。　The　State　Police　detective　and　Bannerman　were　still　here；　waiting　for　instructions　like　well…trained　dogs。　He　had　worked　with　Townsend；　the　State　Police　guy；　before；　and　he　was　the　sort　of　fellow　Andy　Masen　felt　fortable　with。　When　you　said　fetch；　Townsend　fetched。　Bannerman　was　a　new　one；　and　Masen　didn't　care　for　him。　His　eyes　were　a　little　too　bright；　and　the　way　he　had　suddenly　e　out　with　the　idea　that　Kemp　might　have　coerced　the　woman　by　using　the　kid　。。。　well；　such　ideas；　if　they　were　going　to　e；　ought　to　e　from　Andy　Masen。　The　three　of　them　sat　on　the　sectional　sofa；　not　talking；　just　drinking　coffee　and　waiting　for　the　FBI　boys　to　show　up　with　the　trace…back　equipment。
Andy　thought　about　the　case。　It　might　be　a　tempest　in　a　teapot；　but　it　might　well　be　something　*more。　The　husband　was　convinced　it　was　a　kidnapping　and　attached　no　importance　to　the　missing　car。　He　was　fixated　on　the　idea　that　Steven　Kemp　had　taken　his　people。
Andy　Masen　was　not　so　sure。
Camber　wasn't　home；　no　one　was　home　up　there。　Maybe　they　had　all　gone　on　vacation。　That　was　likely　enough；　July　was　the　quintessential　vacation　month；　and　they　had　been　due　to　hit　someone　who　was　gone。　Would　he　have　taken　her　car　in　for　a　repair　job　if　he　was　going　away？　Unlikely。　Unlikely　that　the　car　was　there　at　all。　But　it　had　to　be　checked；　and　there　was　one　possibility　he　had　neglected　to　mention　to　Vic。
Suppose　she　had　taken　the　car　up　to　Camber's　Garage？　Suppose　someone　had　offered　her　a　lift　back？　Not　a　friend；　not　an　acquaintance；　not　Camber　or　his　wife；　but　a　total　stranger？　Andy　could　hear　Trenton　saying；　'Oh；　no；　my　wife　would　never　accept　a　ride　from　a　stranger。'　But；　in　the　vernacular；　she　had　accepted　several　rides　from　Steven　Kemp；　who　was　almost　a　stranger。　If　the　hypothetical　man　was　friendly；　and　if　she　was　anxious　to　get　her　son　home；　she　might　have　accepted。　And　maybe　the　nice；　smiling　man　was　some　kind　of　a　freak。　They　had　had　just　such　a　freak　here　in　Castle　Rock　before；　Frank　Dodd。　Maybe　the　nice；　smiling　man　had　left　them　in　the　brush　with　their　throats　cut　and　had　hied　on　his　merry　way。　If　that　was　the　case；　the　Pinto　would　be　at　Camber's。
Andy　did　not　think　this　fine　of　reasoning　likely；　but　it　was　possible。　He　would　have　sent　a　man　up　to　the　Cambers'　anyway　…　it　was　routine　…　but　he　liked　to　understand　why　he　was　doing　each　thing　he　was　doing。　He　thought　that；　for　all　practical　purposes；　he　could　dismiss　Camber's　Garage　from　the　structure　of　logic　and　order　he　was　building。　He　supposed　she　could　have　gone　up　there；　discovered　the　Cambers　were　gone；　and　then　had　her　car　conk　out　on　her；　but　Castle　Rock's　Town　Road　No。　3　was　hardly　Antartica。　She　and　the　kid　had　only　to　walk　to　the　nearest　house　and　ask　to　use　the　phone　in　that　case；　but　they　hadn't　done　it。
'Mr。　Townsend；'　he　said　in　his　soft　voice。　'You　and　Sheriff　Bannerman　here　ought　to　take　a　ride　out　to　this　Joe　Camber's　Garage。　Verify　three　things：　no　blue　Pinto　there；　license。　number　218　…8　64；　no　Donna　and　Theodore　Trenton　there；　no　Cambers　there。　Got　that？'
'Fine；'　Townsend　said。　'Do　you　want
'I　want　only　those　three　things；'　Andy　said　softly。　He　didn't　like　the　way　Bannerman　was　looking　at　him；　and　with　a　kind　of　weary　contempt。　It　upset　him。　'If　any　of　those　three　are　there；　call　me　here。　And　if　I'm　not　here；　I'll　leave　a　number。　Understood？'
The　telephone　rang。　Bannerman　picked　it　up；　listened；　and　offered　it　to　Andy　Masen。　'For　you；　hotshot。'
Their　eyes　locked　over　the　telephone。　Masen　thought　that　Bannerman　would　drop　his；　but　he　didn't。　After　a　moment　Andy　took　the　phone。　The　call　was　from　the　State　Police　barracks　in　Scarborough。　Steve　Kemp　had　been　picked　up。　His　van　had　been　spotted　in　the　courtyard　of　a　small　motel　in　the　Massachusetts　town　of　Twickenham。　The　woman　and　the　boy　were　not　with　him。　After　receiving　the　Miranda；
Kemp　had　given　his　name　and　had　since　been　standing　on　his　right　to　remain　silent。
Andy　Masen　found　that　extremely　ominious　news。
'Townsend；　you　e　with　me；'　he　said。　'You　can　handle　the　Camber　place　by　yourself；　can't　you；　Sheriff　Bannerman？'
'It's　my　town；'　Bannerman　said。
Andy　Masen　lit　a　cigarette　and　looked　at　Bannerman　through　the　shifting　smoke。　'Have　you　got　a　problem　with　me；　Sheriff？'
Bannerman　smiled。　'Nothing　I　can't　handle。'
Christ；　I　hate　these　hicks；　Masen　thought；　watching　Bannerman　leave。　But　he's　out　of　the　play　now；　anyway。　Thank　God　for　small　favors。
Bannerman　got　behind　the　wheel　of　his　cruiser；　fired　it　up；　and　backed　out　of　the　Trenton　driveway。　It　was　twenty　minutes　after　seven。　He　was　almost　amused　at　how　neatly　Masen　had　shunted　him　off　onto　a　siding。　They　were　headed　toward　the　heart　of　the　matter；　he　was　headed　nowhere。　But　ole　Hank　Townsend　was　going　to　have　to　listen　to　a　whole　morning's　worth　of　Masen's　bullshit；　so　maybe　he　had　gotten　off　well　at　that。
George　Bannerman　loafed　out　Route　117　toward　the　Maple　Sugar　Road；　siren　and　flashers　off。　It　surely　was　a　pretty　day。　And　he　saw　no　need　to　hurry。
Donna　and　Tad　Trenton　were　sleeping。
Their　positions　were　very　similar：　the　awkward　sleeping　positions　of　those　forced　to　spend　long　hours　on　interstate　buses。　Their　heads　lolled　against　the　sockets　of　their　shoulders；　Donna's　turned　to　the　left；　Tad's　to　the　right。　Tad's　hands　lay　in　his　lap　like　a　beached　fish。　Now　and　again　they　would　twitch。　His　breathing　was　harsh　and　stertorous。　His　lips　were　blistered；　his　eyelids　a　purplish　color。　A　line　of　spittle　running　from　the　corner　of　his　mouth　to　the　soft　line　of　his　jaw　had　begun　to　dry。
Donna　was　in　middle　sleep。　As　exhausted　as　she　was；　her　cramped　position　and　the　pain　in　her　leg　and　belly　and　now　her　fingers　（in　his　seizure　Tad　had　bitten　them　to　the　bone）　would　let　her　sink　no　deeper。　Her　hair　clung　to　her　head　in　sweaty　strings。　The　gauze　pads　on　her　left　leg　had　soaked　through　again；　and　the　flesh　around　the　superficial　wounds　on　her　belly　had　gone　an　ugly　red。　Her　breathing　was　also　harsh；　but　not　as　uneven　as　Tad's。
Tad　Trenton　was　very　close　to　the　end　of　his　endurance。　Dehydration　was　well　advanced。　He　had　lost　electrolytes；　chlorides；　and　sodium　through　his　perspiration。　Nothing　had　replaced　them。　His　inner　defenses　were　being　steadily　rolled　back；　and　now　he　had　entered　the　final　critical　stage。　His　life　had　grown　light；　not　sunken　firmly　into　his　flesh　and　…bones　but　trembling；　ready　to　depart　on　any　puff　of　wind。
In　his　feverish　dreams　his　father　pushed　him　on　the　swing；　higher　and　higher；　and　he　did　not　see　their　back　yard　but　the　duckpond；　and　the　breeze　was　cool　on　his　sunburned　forehead；　his　aching　eyes；　his　blistered　lips。
Cujo　also　slept。
He　lay　on　the　verge　of　grass　by　the　porch；　his　mangled　snout　on　his　forepaws。　His　dreams　were　confused；　lunatic　things。　It　was　dusk；　and　the　sky　was　dark　with　wheeling；　red…eyed　bats。　He　leaped　at　them　again　and　again；　and　each　time　he　leaped　he　brought　one　down；　teeth　clamped　on　a　leathery；　twitching　wing。　But　the　bats　kept　biting　his　tender　face　with　their　sharp　little　rat…teeth。　That　was　where　the　pain　came　from。　That　was　where　all　the　hurt　came　from。　But　he　would　kill　them　A。　He　would　
He　woke　suddenly；　his　head　lifting　from　his　paws；　his　head　cocking。
A　car　was　ing。
To　his　hellishly　alert　cars；　the　sound　of　the　approaching　car　was　dreadful；　insupportable；　it　was　the　sound　of　some　great　stinging　insect　ing　to　fill　him　with　poison。
He　lurched　to　his　feet；　whining。　All　his　joints　seemed　filled　with　crushed　glass。　He　looked　at　the　dead　car。　Inside；　he　could　see　the　unmoving　outline　of　THE　WOMAN'S　head。　Before；　Cujo　had　been　able　to　look　right　through　the　glass　and　see　her；　but　THE　WOMAN　had　done　something　to　the　glass　that　made　it　hard　to　see。　It　didn't　matter　what　she　did　to　the　windows。　She　couldn't　get　out。　Nor　THE　Boy；　either。
The　drone　was　closer　now。　The　car　was　ing　up　the　hill；　but　。。。　was　it　a　ca