JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 198 из 425Would you still have seen her in plenty of time?”
That was a fairer question than some of his others, actually. Someone coming the other way would have had a far shorter time to react.
Still… “Yes,” I said. Durgin went up with the eyebrows. “You’re sure of that?”
“Yes, Mr. Durgin. I might have had to come down a little harder on the brakes, but—” ’5t thirty-five.”
“Yes, at thirty-five. I told you, that’s the speed limit—”
“—on that particular stretch of Route 68. Yes, you told me that. You did. Is it your experience that most people obey the speed limit on that part of the road?”
“I haven’t spent much time on the TR since 1993, so I can’t—”
“Come on, Mr. Noonan—this isn’t a scene from one of your books. Just answer my questions, or we’ll be here all morning.”
“I’m doing my best, Mr. Durgin.” He sighed, put-upon. “You’ve owned your place on Dark Score Lake since the eighties, haven’t you? And the speed limit around the Lakeview General Store, the post office, and Dick Brooks’s All-Purpose Garage-what’s called The North Village—hasn’t changed since then, has it?”
“No,” I admitted. “Returning to my original question, then—in your observation, do most people on that stretch of road obey the thirty-five-mile-an-hour limit?”
“I can’t say if it’s most, because I’ve never done a traffic survey, but I guess a lot don’t.”
“Would you like to hear Castle County Sheriffs Deputy Footman testify on where the greatest number of speeding tickets are given out in TR-90, Mr. Noonan?”
“No,” I said, quite honestly. “Did other vehicles pass you while you were speaking first with Kyra Devore and then with Mary Devore?”
“How many?”
“I don’t know exactly. A couple.”
“Could it have been three?”
“I guess.”
“Five?”
“No, probably not so many.”
“But you don’t know, exactly, do you?”
“Because Kyra Devore was upset.”
“Actually she had it together pretty well for a—”
“Did she cry in your presence?”
“Well… yes.”
“Did her mother make her cry?”
“That’s unfair.”
“As unfair as allowing a three-year-old to go strolling down the middle of a busy highway on a holiday morning, in your opinion, or perhaps not quite as unfair as that?”
“Jeepers, lay off,” Mr. Bissonette said mildly. There was distress on his bloodhound’s face.
That was a fairer question than some of his others, actually. Someone coming the other way would have had a far shorter time to react.
Still… “Yes,” I said. Durgin went up with the eyebrows. “You’re sure of that?”
“Yes, Mr. Durgin. I might have had to come down a little harder on the brakes, but—” ’5t thirty-five.”
“Yes, at thirty-five. I told you, that’s the speed limit—”
“—on that particular stretch of Route 68. Yes, you told me that. You did. Is it your experience that most people obey the speed limit on that part of the road?”
“I haven’t spent much time on the TR since 1993, so I can’t—”
“Come on, Mr. Noonan—this isn’t a scene from one of your books. Just answer my questions, or we’ll be here all morning.”
“I’m doing my best, Mr. Durgin.” He sighed, put-upon. “You’ve owned your place on Dark Score Lake since the eighties, haven’t you? And the speed limit around the Lakeview General Store, the post office, and Dick Brooks’s All-Purpose Garage-what’s called The North Village—hasn’t changed since then, has it?”
“No,” I admitted. “Returning to my original question, then—in your observation, do most people on that stretch of road obey the thirty-five-mile-an-hour limit?”
“I can’t say if it’s most, because I’ve never done a traffic survey, but I guess a lot don’t.”
“Would you like to hear Castle County Sheriffs Deputy Footman testify on where the greatest number of speeding tickets are given out in TR-90, Mr. Noonan?”
“No,” I said, quite honestly. “Did other vehicles pass you while you were speaking first with Kyra Devore and then with Mary Devore?”
“How many?”
“I don’t know exactly. A couple.”
“Could it have been three?”
“I guess.”
“Five?”
“No, probably not so many.”
“But you don’t know, exactly, do you?”
“Because Kyra Devore was upset.”
“Actually she had it together pretty well for a—”
“Did she cry in your presence?”
“Well… yes.”
“Did her mother make her cry?”
“That’s unfair.”
“As unfair as allowing a three-year-old to go strolling down the middle of a busy highway on a holiday morning, in your opinion, or perhaps not quite as unfair as that?”
“Jeepers, lay off,” Mr. Bissonette said mildly. There was distress on his bloodhound’s face.