sk.cujo-第51部分

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t　out；　closing　the　door　quietly。　The　street　was　dark；　fast　asleep。
He　paused　for　a　moment；　pulling　the　wet　cloth　of　his　uniform　trousers　away　from　his　crotch　（grimacing　as　he　did　it）；　and　then　went　up　the　driveway。　The　driveway　was　empty；　and　so　was　the　small　one…car　garage　at　the　end　of　it。　He　saw　a　Big　Wheels　trike　parked　inside。　It　was　just　like　the　one　his　own　son　had。
He　closed　the　garage　door　and　went　around　to　the　front　porch。　He　saw　that　this　week's　copy　of　the　Call　was　leaning　against　the　porch　door。　Roscoe　picked　it　up　and　tried　the　door。　It　was　unlocked。　He　went　onto　the　porch；　feeling　like　an　intruder。　He　tossed　the　paper　on　the　porch　glider　and　pushed　the　bell　beside　the　inner　door。　Chimes　went　off　in　the　house；　but　no　one　came。　He　rang　twice　more　over　a　space　of　about　three　minutes；　allowing　for　the　time　it　would　take　the　lady　to　wake　up；　put　on　a　robe；　and　e　downstairs　。。。　if　the　lady　was　there。
When　there　was　still　no　answer；　he　tried　the　door。　It　was　locked。
Husband's　away　and　she's　probably　staying　over　with　friends；　he　thought　…　but　the　fact　that　she　hadn't　notified　her　husband　also　struck　Roscoe　Fisher　as　mildly　strange。
He　felt　under　the　peaked　eave；　and　his　fingers　knocked　off　the　key　Vic　had　hung　up　there　not　long　after　the　Trentons　had　moved　in。　He　took　it　down　and　unlocked　the　front　door　…　if　he　had　tried　the　kitchen　door　as　Steve　Kemp　had　that　afternoon；　he　could　have　walked　right　in。　Like　most　people　in　Castle　Rock；　Donna　was　slipshod　about　buttoning　up　when　she　went　out。
Roscoe　went　in。　He　had　his　flashlight；　but　he　preferred　not　to　use　it。　That　would　have　made　him　feel　even　more　like　an　unlawful　intruder　…　a　burglar　with　a　large　coffee　stain　on　his　crotch。　He　felt　for　a　switchplate　and　eventually　found　one　with　two　switches。　The　top　one　turned　on　the　porch　light；　and　he　turned　that　one　off　quickly。　The　bottom　one　turned　on　the　living…room　light。
He　looked　around　for　a　long　moment；　doubting　what　he　was　seeing　…　at　first　he　thought　it　must　be　some　trick　of　his　eyes；　that　they　had　not　adjusted　to　the　light　or　something。　But　nothing　changed；　and　his　heart　began　to　pump　quickly。
Musn't　touch　anything；　he　thought。　Can't　balls　this　up。
He　had　forgotten　about　the　wet　coffee　splotch　on　his　pants；　and　he　had　forgotten　about　feeling　like　an　intruder。　He　was　scared　and　excited。
Something　had　happened　here；　all　right。　The　living　room　had　been　turned　topsy…turvy。　There　was　shattered　glass　from　a　knickknack　shelf　all　over　the　floor。　The　furniture　had　been　overturned；　the　books　had　been　scattered　every　whichway。　The　big　mirror　over　the　fireplace　was　also　broken　…　seven　years'　bad　luck　for　somebody；　Roscoe　thought；　and　found　himself　thinking　suddenly　and　for　no　reason　about　Frank　Dodd；　with　whom　he　had　often　shared　a　cruiser。　Frank　Dodd；　the　friendly　small…town　cop　who　had　just　happened　to　also　be　a　psycho　who　murdered　women　and　little　children。　Roscoe's　arms　broke　out　in　gooseflesh　suddenly。　This　was　no　place　to　be　thinking　about　Frank。
He　went　into　the　kitchen　through　the　dining　room；　where　everything　had　been　swept　off　the　table　…　he　skirted　that　mess　carefully。　The　kitchen　was　worse。　He　felt　a　fresh　chill　creep　down　his　spine。　Someone　had　gone　absolutely　crazy　in　here。　The　doors　to　the　bar　cabinet　stood　open；　and　someone　had　used　the　length　of　the　kitchen　like　a　Pitch…Til…U…Win　alley　at　a　county　fair。　Pots　were　everywhere；　and　white　stuff　that　looked　like　snow　but　had　to　be　soap　powder。
Written　on　the　message　board　in　large　and　hurried　block　letters　was　this：
I　LEFT　SOMETHING　UPSTAIRS　FOR　YOU；　BABY。
Suddenly　Roscoe　Fisher　didn't　want　to　go　upstairs。　More　than　anything　else；　he　didn't　want　to　go　up　there。　He　had　helped　clean　up　three　of　the　messes　Frank　Dodd　had　left　behind　him；　including　the　body　of　Mary　Kate　Hendrasen；　who　had　been　raped　and　murdered　on　the　Castle　Rock　bandstand　in　the　mon。　He　never　wanted　to　see　anything　like　that　again　。。。　and　suppose　the　woman　was　up　there；　shot　or　slashed　or　strangled？　Roscoe　had　seen　plenty　of　mayhem　on　the　roads　and　had　even　got　used　to　it；　after　a　fashion。　Two　summers　ago　he　and　Billy　and　Sheriff
Bannerman　had　pulled　a　man　out　of　a　potato…grading　machine　in　pieces；　and　that　had　been　one　to　tell　your　grandchildren　about。　But　he　had　not　seen　a　homicide　since　the　Hendrasen　girl；　and　he　did　not　want　to　see　one　now。
He　didn't　know　whether　to　be　relieved　or　disgusted　by　what　he　found　on　the　Trentons'　bedspread。
He　went　back　to　his　car　and　called　in。
When　the　telephone　rang；　Vic　and　Roger　were　both　up；　sitting　in　front　of　the　TV；　not　talking　much；　smoking　their　heads　off。　Frankenstein；　the　original　film；　was　on。　It　was　twenty　minutes　after　one。
Vic　grabbed　the　phone　before　it　had　pleted　its　first　ring。　'Hello？　Donna？　Is　that　…'
'Is　this　Mr。　Trenton？'　A　man's　voice。
'Yes？'
'This　is　Sheriff　Bannerman；　Mr。　Trenton。　I'm　afraid　I　have　some　rather　upsetting　information　for　you。　I'm　sor　…'
'Are　they　dead？'　Vic　asked。　Suddenly　he　felt　totally　unreal　and　two…dimensional；　no　more　real　than　the　face　of　an　extra　glimpsed　in　the　background　of　an　old　movie　such　as　the　one　he　and　Roger　had　been　watching。　The　question　came　out　in　a　perfectly　conversational　tone　of　voice。　From　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　saw　Roger's　shadow　move　as　he　stood　up　quickly。　It　didn't　matter。　Nothing　else　did；　either。　In　the　space　of　the　few　seconds　that　had　passed　since　he　had　answered　the　phone；　he　had　had　a　chance　to　get　a　good　look　behind　his　life　and　had　seen　it　was　all　stage　scenery　and　false　fronts。
'Mr。　Trenton；　Officer　Fisher　was　dispatched　…'
'Dispense　with　the　official　bullshit　and　answer　my　question。　Are　they　dead？'　He　turned　to　Roger。　Roger's　face　was　gray　and　wondering。　Behind　him；　on　the　TV；　a　phony　windmill　turned　against　a　phony　sky。　'Rog；　got　a　cigarette？。'　Roger　handed　him　one。
'Mr。　Trenton；　are　you　still　there？'　'Yes。　Are　they　dead？'
'We　have　no　idea　where　your　wife　and　son　are　as　of　right　now；'　Bannerman　said；　and　Vic　suddenly　felt　all　of　his　guts　drop　back　into　place。　The　world　took　on　a　little　of　its　former　color。　He　began　to　tremble。　The　unlit　cigarette　jittered　between　his　lips。
'What's　going　on？　What　do　you　know？　You're　Bannerman；　you　said？'
'Castle　County　Sheriff；　that's　right。　And　I'll　try　to　put　you　in　the　picture；　if　you'll　give　me　a　minute。'
'Yes；　okay。'　Now　he　was　afraid；　everything　seemed　to　be　going　too　fast。
'Officer　Fisher　was　dispatched　to　your　home　at　Eightythree　Larch　Street　as　per　your　request　at　twelve　thirty…four　this　morning。　He　ascertained　that　there　was　no　car　in　the　driveway　or　in　the　garage。　He　rang　the　front　doorbell　repeatedly；　and　when　there　was　no　answer；　he　let　himself　in　using　the　key　over　the　porch　eave。　He　found　that　the　house　had　been　severely　vandalized。　Furnishings　were　overturned；　liquor　bottles　broken；　soap　powder　had　been　poured　over　the　floor　and　the　built…ins　of　the　kitchen　…'
'Jesus；　Kemp；'　Vic　whispered。　His　whirling　mind　fixed　on　the　note：　DO　YOU　HAVE　ANY　QUESTIONS？　He　remembered　thinking　that　note；　regardless　of　anything　else；　was　a　disquieting　index　into　the　man's　psychology。　A　vicious　act　of　revenge　for　being　dumped。　What　had　Kemp　done　now？　What　had　he　done　besides　go　through　their　house　like　a　harpy　on　the　warpath？
'Mr。　Trenton？'
'I'm　here。'
Bannerman　cleared　his　throat　as　if　he　were　having　some　difficulty　with　the　next。　'Officer　Fisher　proceeded　upstairs。　The　upstairs　had　not　been　vandalized；　but　he　found　traces　of　…　uh；　some　whitish　fluid；　most　probably　semen；　on　the　bedspread　of　the　master　bedroom。'　And　in　an　unwitting　ic　ellipsis；　he　added；　'The　bed　did　not　appear　to　have　been　slept　in。'
'Where's　my　wife？'　Vic　shouted　into　the　phone。　'Where's　my　boy？　Don't　you　have　any　idea？'
'Take　it　easy；'　Roger　said；　and　put　a　hand　on　Vic's　shoulder。　Roger　could　afford　to　say　take　it　easy。　His　wife　was　home　in　bed。　So　were　his　twin　girls。　Vic　shook　the　hand　off。
'Mr。　Trenton；　all　I　can　tell　you　right　now　is　that　a　team　of　State　Police　detectives　are　on　the　scene；　and　my　own　men　are　assisting。　Neither　the　master　bedroom　nor　your　son's　room　appear　to　have　been　disturbed。'
'Except　for　the　e　on　our　bed；　you　mean；'　Vic　said　savagely；　and　Roger　flinched　as　if　struck。　His　mouth　dropped　open　in　a　gape。
'Yes；　well；　that。'　Bannerman　sounded　embarrassed。　'But　what　I　mean　is　that　there　are　no　signs　of　…　uh；　violence　against　person　or　persons。　It　looks　like　straight　vandalism。'
'Then　where　are　Donna　and　Tad？'　The　harshness　was　now　breaking　up　into　bewilderment；　and　he　felt　the　sting　of　helpless　little…boy　tears　at　the　corners　of　his　eyes。
'At　this　time　we　have　no　idea。'
Kemp。。。　my　God；　what　if　Kemp　has　them？
For　just　a　moment　a　confusing　flash　of　the　dream　he　had　the　previous　night　recurred：　Donna　and　Tad　hiding　in　their　cave；　menaced　by　some　terrible　beast。　Then　it　was　gone。
'If　you　have　any　idea　of　who　might　be　behind　this；　Mr。　Trenton　…'
'I'm　going　out　to　the　airport　and　rent　a　car；'　Vic　said。　'I　can　be　there　by　five　o'clock。'
Patiently；　Bannerman　said：　'Yes；　Mr。　Trenton。　But　if　your　wife　and　son's　disappearance　is　somehow　connected　with　this　vandalism；　time　could　be　a　very　precious　modity。　If　you　have　even　the　slightest　idea　of　who　might　bear　a　grudge　against　you　and　your　wife；　either　real　or　imagined　~'
'Kemp；'　Vic　said　in　a　small；　strangled　voice。　He　couldn't　hold　the　tears　back　now。　The　tears　were　going　to　e。　He　could　feel　them　running　down　his　face。'　Kemp　did　it；　I'm　sure　it　was　Kemp。　Oh　my　Christ；　what　if　he's　got　them？'
'Who　is　this　Kemp？'　Bannerman　asked。　His　voice　was　not　embarrassed　now；　it　was　sharp　and　demanding。
He　held　the　phone　in　his　right　hand。　He　put　his　left　hand　over　his　eyes；　shutting　out　Roger；　shutting　out　the　hotel　room；　the　sound　of　the　TV；　everything。　Now　he　was　in　blackness；　alone　with　the　unsteady　sound　of　his　voice　and　the　hot；　shifting　texture　of　his　tears。
'Steve　Kemp；'　he　said。　'Steven　Kemp。　He　ran　a　place　called　the　Village　Stripper　there　in　town。　He's　gone　now。　At　least；　my　wife　said　he　was　gone。　He　and　my　wife　。。。　Donna　。。。　they　。。。　they　had　。。。　well；　they　had　an　affair。　Banging　each　other。　It　didn't　last　long。　She　told　him　it　was　over。　I　found　out　because　he　wrote　me　a　note。　It　was　。。。　it　was　a　pretty　ugly　note。　He　was　getting　his　own　back；　I　guess。　I　guess　he　didn't　like　to　get　brushed　off　much。　This