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The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 48 из 81Then she asked if he’d registered at a local motel on the Wednesday night—” He brokeoff and looked at Dave. “Am I right? Wednesday night?”
Dave nodded. “It would have been a Wednesday night she asked about, because it was a Thursday mornin Johnny and Nancy found him on. The 24th of April, 1980.”
“You justknow that,” Stephanie marveled.
Dave shrugged. “Stuff like that sticks in my head,” he told her, “and then I’ll forget the loaf of bread I meant to bring home and have to go out in the rain and get it.”
Stephanie turned back to Vince. “Surely hedidn’t register at a motel the night before he was found, or you guys wouldn’t have spent so long calling him John Doe. You might have known him by some other alias, but no one registers at a motel underthat name.”
He was nodding long before she finished. “Dave and I spent three or four weeks after the Colorado Kid was found—in our spare time, accourse—canvassin motels in what Mr. Yeats would have called ‘a widenin gyre’ with MooseLookit Island at the center. It would’ve been damn near impossible during the summer season, when there’s four hundred motels, inns, cabins, bedandbreakfasts, and assorted rooms to rent all competing for trade within half a day’s drive of the Tinnock Ferry, but it wasn’t anything but a parttime job in April, because seventy percent of em are shut down from Thanksgiving to Memorial Day. We showed that picture everywhere, Steffi.”
“No joy?”
“Not a bit of it,” Dave confirmed.
She turned to Vince. “What did she say when you told her that?”
“Nothing. She was flummoxed.” He paused. “Cried a little.”
“Accourse she did, poor thing,” Dave said.
“And what did you do?” Stephanie asked, all of her attention still fixed on Vince.
“My job,” he said, with no hesitation.
“Because you’re the one who always has to know,” she said.
His bushy, tangled eyebrows went up. “Do you think so?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.” And she looked at Dave for confirmation.
“I think she nailed you there, pard,” Dave said.
“Question is, is ityour job, Steffi?” Vince asked with a crooked smile. “I think it is.”
“Sure,” she said, almost carelessly. She had known this for weeks now, although if anyone had asked her before coming to theIslander, she would have laughed at the idea of deciding for sure on a life’s work based on such an obscure posting. The Stephanie McCann who had almost decided on going to New Jersey instead of to MooseLookit off the coast of Maine now seemed like another person to her.
Dave nodded. “It would have been a Wednesday night she asked about, because it was a Thursday mornin Johnny and Nancy found him on. The 24th of April, 1980.”
“You justknow that,” Stephanie marveled.
Dave shrugged. “Stuff like that sticks in my head,” he told her, “and then I’ll forget the loaf of bread I meant to bring home and have to go out in the rain and get it.”
Stephanie turned back to Vince. “Surely hedidn’t register at a motel the night before he was found, or you guys wouldn’t have spent so long calling him John Doe. You might have known him by some other alias, but no one registers at a motel underthat name.”
He was nodding long before she finished. “Dave and I spent three or four weeks after the Colorado Kid was found—in our spare time, accourse—canvassin motels in what Mr. Yeats would have called ‘a widenin gyre’ with MooseLookit Island at the center. It would’ve been damn near impossible during the summer season, when there’s four hundred motels, inns, cabins, bedandbreakfasts, and assorted rooms to rent all competing for trade within half a day’s drive of the Tinnock Ferry, but it wasn’t anything but a parttime job in April, because seventy percent of em are shut down from Thanksgiving to Memorial Day. We showed that picture everywhere, Steffi.”
“No joy?”
“Not a bit of it,” Dave confirmed.
She turned to Vince. “What did she say when you told her that?”
“Nothing. She was flummoxed.” He paused. “Cried a little.”
“Accourse she did, poor thing,” Dave said.
“And what did you do?” Stephanie asked, all of her attention still fixed on Vince.
“My job,” he said, with no hesitation.
“Because you’re the one who always has to know,” she said.
His bushy, tangled eyebrows went up. “Do you think so?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.” And she looked at Dave for confirmation.
“I think she nailed you there, pard,” Dave said.
“Question is, is ityour job, Steffi?” Vince asked with a crooked smile. “I think it is.”
“Sure,” she said, almost carelessly. She had known this for weeks now, although if anyone had asked her before coming to theIslander, she would have laughed at the idea of deciding for sure on a life’s work based on such an obscure posting. The Stephanie McCann who had almost decided on going to New Jersey instead of to MooseLookit off the coast of Maine now seemed like another person to her.