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The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
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“He said there were certain muscle relaxants, some of em exotic, and Cogan’s midnight snack might have been treated with one of those,” Vince said. “He might get the first few bites down all right, accounting for what was found in his stomach, and then find himself all at once with a bite he wasn’t able to swallow once it was chewed.”
“That must have been it!” Stephanie cried. “Whoever dosed the meat sat there and just watched him choke! Then, when Cogan was dead, the murderer propped him up against the litter basket and took away the rest of the steak so it could never be tested! It was never a gull at all! It…” She stopped, looking at them. “Why are you shaking your heads?”
“The autopsy, dear,” Vince said. “Nothing like that showed up on the bloodgas chromatograph tests.”
“But if it was something exotic enough…”
“Like in an Agatha Christie yarn?” Vince asked, with a wink and a little smile. “Well, maybe…but there was also the piece of meat in his throat, don’t you know.”
“Oh. Right. Dr. Cathcart had that to test, didn’t he?” She slumped a little.
“Ayuh,” Vince agreed, “and did. We may be country mice, but wedo have the occasional dark thought. And the closest thing to poison on that chunk of chewedup meat was a little salt.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said (in a very low voice): “Maybe it was the kind of stuff that disappears.”
“Ayuh,” Dave said, and his tongue rounded the inside of one cheek. “Like the Coast Lights after an hour or two.”
“Or the rest of theLisa Cabot ’s crew,” Vince added.
“And once he got off the ferry, you don’t know where he went.”
“No, ma’am,” Vince said. “We’ve looked off n on for over twentyfive years and never found a soul who claims to have seen him before Johnny and Nancy did around quarter past six on the morning of April 24th. And for the record—not that anyone’s keepin one—I don’t believe that anyone took what remained of that steak from his hand after he choked on his last bite. I believe a seagull stole the last of it from his dead hand, just as we always surmised. And gorry, I reallydo have to get a move on.”
“And I have to get with those invoices,” Dave said. “But first, I think another little reststop might be in order.” That said, he lumbered toward the bathroom.
“I suppose I better get with this column,” Stephanie said.
“He said there were certain muscle relaxants, some of em exotic, and Cogan’s midnight snack might have been treated with one of those,” Vince said. “He might get the first few bites down all right, accounting for what was found in his stomach, and then find himself all at once with a bite he wasn’t able to swallow once it was chewed.”
“That must have been it!” Stephanie cried. “Whoever dosed the meat sat there and just watched him choke! Then, when Cogan was dead, the murderer propped him up against the litter basket and took away the rest of the steak so it could never be tested! It was never a gull at all! It…” She stopped, looking at them. “Why are you shaking your heads?”
“The autopsy, dear,” Vince said. “Nothing like that showed up on the bloodgas chromatograph tests.”
“But if it was something exotic enough…”
“Like in an Agatha Christie yarn?” Vince asked, with a wink and a little smile. “Well, maybe…but there was also the piece of meat in his throat, don’t you know.”
“Oh. Right. Dr. Cathcart had that to test, didn’t he?” She slumped a little.
“Ayuh,” Vince agreed, “and did. We may be country mice, but wedo have the occasional dark thought. And the closest thing to poison on that chunk of chewedup meat was a little salt.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said (in a very low voice): “Maybe it was the kind of stuff that disappears.”
“Ayuh,” Dave said, and his tongue rounded the inside of one cheek. “Like the Coast Lights after an hour or two.”
“Or the rest of theLisa Cabot ’s crew,” Vince added.
“And once he got off the ferry, you don’t know where he went.”
“No, ma’am,” Vince said. “We’ve looked off n on for over twentyfive years and never found a soul who claims to have seen him before Johnny and Nancy did around quarter past six on the morning of April 24th. And for the record—not that anyone’s keepin one—I don’t believe that anyone took what remained of that steak from his hand after he choked on his last bite. I believe a seagull stole the last of it from his dead hand, just as we always surmised. And gorry, I reallydo have to get a move on.”
“And I have to get with those invoices,” Dave said. “But first, I think another little reststop might be in order.” That said, he lumbered toward the bathroom.
“I suppose I better get with this column,” Stephanie said.