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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 199 из 425“I withdraw the question,” Durgin said. “Which one?” I asked. He looked at me tiredly, as if to say he had to put up with assholes like me all the time and he was used to how we behaved. “How many cars went by from the time you picked the child up and carried her to safety to the time when you and the Devores parted company?” I hated that “carried her to safety” bit, but even as I formulated my answer, the old guy was muttering the question into his Stenomask. And it was in fact what I had done. There was no getting around it. “I told you, I don’t know for sure.”
“Well, give me a guesstimate.” Guesstimate. One of my all-time least favorite words. A Paul Harvey word. “There might have been three.”
“Including Mary Devore herself?. Driving a—” He consulted the paper he’d taken from the folder. “—a 1982 Jeep Scout?” I thought of Ki saying Mattie go fast and understood where Durgin was heading now. And there was nothing I could do about it. “Yes, it was her and it was a Scout. I don’t know what year.”
“Was she driving below the posted speed limit, at the posted speed limit, or above the posted speed limit when she passed the place where you were standing with Kyra in your arms?”
She’d been doing at least fifty, but I told Durgin I couldn’t say for sure. He urged me to try-/know you are unfamiliar with the hangman’s knot, Mr. Noonan, but I’m sure you can make one if you really work at it—and I declined as politely as I could.
He picked up the paper again. “Mr. Noonan, would it surprise you to know that two witnesses—Richard Brooks, Junior, the owner of Dick’s All-Purpose Garage, and Royce Merrill, a retired carpenter—claim that Mrs. Devore was doing well over thirty-five when she passed your location?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was concerned with the little girl.”
“Would it surprise you to know that Royce Merrill estimated her speed at sixty miles an hour?”
“That’s ridiculous. When she hit the brakes she would have skidded sideways and landed upside down in the ditch.”
“The skid-marks measured by Deputy Footman indicate a speed of at least fifty miles an hour,” Durgin said. It wasn’t a question, but he looked at me almost roguishly, as if inviting me to struggle a little more and sink a little deeper into this nasty pit. I said nothing. Durgin folded his pudgy little hands and leaned over them toward me. The roguish look was gone.
“Mr.
“Well, give me a guesstimate.” Guesstimate. One of my all-time least favorite words. A Paul Harvey word. “There might have been three.”
“Including Mary Devore herself?. Driving a—” He consulted the paper he’d taken from the folder. “—a 1982 Jeep Scout?” I thought of Ki saying Mattie go fast and understood where Durgin was heading now. And there was nothing I could do about it. “Yes, it was her and it was a Scout. I don’t know what year.”
“Was she driving below the posted speed limit, at the posted speed limit, or above the posted speed limit when she passed the place where you were standing with Kyra in your arms?”
She’d been doing at least fifty, but I told Durgin I couldn’t say for sure. He urged me to try-/know you are unfamiliar with the hangman’s knot, Mr. Noonan, but I’m sure you can make one if you really work at it—and I declined as politely as I could.
He picked up the paper again. “Mr. Noonan, would it surprise you to know that two witnesses—Richard Brooks, Junior, the owner of Dick’s All-Purpose Garage, and Royce Merrill, a retired carpenter—claim that Mrs. Devore was doing well over thirty-five when she passed your location?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was concerned with the little girl.”
“Would it surprise you to know that Royce Merrill estimated her speed at sixty miles an hour?”
“That’s ridiculous. When she hit the brakes she would have skidded sideways and landed upside down in the ditch.”
“The skid-marks measured by Deputy Footman indicate a speed of at least fifty miles an hour,” Durgin said. It wasn’t a question, but he looked at me almost roguishly, as if inviting me to struggle a little more and sink a little deeper into this nasty pit. I said nothing. Durgin folded his pudgy little hands and leaned over them toward me. The roguish look was gone.
“Mr.