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The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 41 из 81So he was sittin there, watchin whatever was on the TV, and he happened to glance over at Poppa Bear’s easychair, and there on Poppa Bear’s little endtable, right next to Poppa Bear’sTV Guide and Poppa Bear’s ashtray, was Poppa Bear’s pack of smokes.”
He paused, giving her a smile and a shrug.
“It’s funny how things work, sometimes; it makes you wonder how often theydon’t. If that pack had been turned a different way—so the top had been facing him instead of the bottom—John Doe might have gone on being John Doe instead of first the Colorado Kid and then Mr. James Cogan of Nederland, a town just west of Boulder. But the bottom of the packwas facing him, and he saw the stamp on it. It was astamp, like a postage stamp, and that made him think of the pack of cigarettes in the evidence bag that day.
“You see, Steffi, one of Paul Devane’s minders—I disremember if it was O’Shanny or Morrison—had been a smoker, and among Paul’s other chores, he’d bought this fella a fair smack of Camel cigarettes, and while they also had a stamp on them, it seemed to him it wasn’t the same as the one on the pack in the evidence bag. It seemed to him that the stamp on the State of Maine cigarettes he bought for the detective was anink stamp, like the kind you sometimes get on your hand when you go to a smalltown dance, or…I dunno…”
“To the Gernerd Farms Hayride and Picnic?” she asked, smiling.
“You got it!” he said, pointing a plump finger at her like a gun. “Anyway, this wa’nt the kind of thing where you jump up yelling ‘Eureka! I have found it!’, but his mind kep’ returnin to it over and over again that weekend, because the memory of those cigarettes in the evidence bag bothered him. For one thing, it seemed to Paul Devane that John Doe’s cigarettes certainlyshould have had a Maine taxstamp on them, no matter where he came from.”
“Why?”
“Because there was only one gone. What kind of cigarette smoker only smokes one in six hours?”
“A light one?”
“A man who has a full pack and don’t take but one cigarette out of it in six hours ain’t a light smoker, that’s anon smoker,” Vince said mildly. “Also, Devane saw the man’s tongue. So did I–I was on my knees in front of him, shining Doc Robinson’s otoscope into his mouth. It was as pink as peppermint candy. Not a smoker’s tongue at all.”
“Oh, and the matchbook,” Stephanie said thoughtfully. “One strike?”
Vince Teague was smiling at her. Smiling and nodding. “One strike,” he said.
He paused, giving her a smile and a shrug.
“It’s funny how things work, sometimes; it makes you wonder how often theydon’t. If that pack had been turned a different way—so the top had been facing him instead of the bottom—John Doe might have gone on being John Doe instead of first the Colorado Kid and then Mr. James Cogan of Nederland, a town just west of Boulder. But the bottom of the packwas facing him, and he saw the stamp on it. It was astamp, like a postage stamp, and that made him think of the pack of cigarettes in the evidence bag that day.
“You see, Steffi, one of Paul Devane’s minders—I disremember if it was O’Shanny or Morrison—had been a smoker, and among Paul’s other chores, he’d bought this fella a fair smack of Camel cigarettes, and while they also had a stamp on them, it seemed to him it wasn’t the same as the one on the pack in the evidence bag. It seemed to him that the stamp on the State of Maine cigarettes he bought for the detective was anink stamp, like the kind you sometimes get on your hand when you go to a smalltown dance, or…I dunno…”
“To the Gernerd Farms Hayride and Picnic?” she asked, smiling.
“You got it!” he said, pointing a plump finger at her like a gun. “Anyway, this wa’nt the kind of thing where you jump up yelling ‘Eureka! I have found it!’, but his mind kep’ returnin to it over and over again that weekend, because the memory of those cigarettes in the evidence bag bothered him. For one thing, it seemed to Paul Devane that John Doe’s cigarettes certainlyshould have had a Maine taxstamp on them, no matter where he came from.”
“Why?”
“Because there was only one gone. What kind of cigarette smoker only smokes one in six hours?”
“A light one?”
“A man who has a full pack and don’t take but one cigarette out of it in six hours ain’t a light smoker, that’s anon smoker,” Vince said mildly. “Also, Devane saw the man’s tongue. So did I–I was on my knees in front of him, shining Doc Robinson’s otoscope into his mouth. It was as pink as peppermint candy. Not a smoker’s tongue at all.”
“Oh, and the matchbook,” Stephanie said thoughtfully. “One strike?”
Vince Teague was smiling at her. Smiling and nodding. “One strike,” he said.