Needful Things - Stephen King [237]
"No, I'll connect you," Sheila said. Her heart felt strangely troubled, as if something terrible had happened. She, like many of the women in Castle Rock, had believed Alan and Polly were deeply in love, and, like many of the other women in town, Sheila tended to see them as characters in a dark-tinged fairy-tale where everything would come right in the end somehow love would find a way.
But now Polly sounded more than angry; she sounded full of pain, and something else as well. To Sheila, the something else sounded almost like hate. "You're going on hold now, Polly-it may be awhile."
"That's fine. Thanks, Sheila."
"Welcome." She pushed the hold button and then found her cigarette. She lit it and dragged deeply, looking at the small flickering light with a frown.
16
"Alan?" Henry Payton called. "Alan, you there?" He sounded like an announcer broadcasting from inside a large empty Saltines box.
"Right here, Henry."
"I got a call from the FBI just half an hour ago," Henry said from inside his cracker-box. "We caught an incredibly lucky break on those prints."
Alan's heartbeat kicked into a higher gear. "The ones on the doorknob of Nettle's house? The partials?"
"Right. We have a tentative match with a fellow right there in town. One prior-petty larceny in 1977. We've also got his service prints."
"Don't keep me hanging-who is it?"
"The name of the individual is Hugh Albert Priest."
"Hugh Priest!" Alan exclaimed. He could not have been more surprised if Payton had named J. Danforth Quayle. To the best of Alan's knowledge, the two men had known Nettle Cobb equally well. "Why would Hugh Priest kill Nettle's dog? Or break Wilma Jerzyck's windows, for that matter?"
"I don't know the gentleman, so I can't say," Henry replied.
"Why don't you pick him up and ask him? In fact, why don't you do it right away, before he gets nervous and decides to visit relatives in Dry Hump, South Dakota?"
"Good idea," Alan said. "I'll talk to you later, Henry. Thanks."
"Just keep me updated, scout-this is supposed to be my case, you know."
"Yeah. I'll talk to you."
There was a sharp metallic sound-bink!-as the connection broke, and then Alan's radio was transmitting the open hum of a telephone line. Alan wondered briefly what Nynex and AT&T would think of the games they were playing, then bent to rack the mike. As he did so, the telephone-line hum was broken by Sheila Brigham's voice-her uncharacteristically hesitant voice.
"Sheriff, I have Polly Chalmers on hold. She's asked to be patched through to you as soon as you're available. Ten-four?"
Alan blinked. "Polly?" He was suddenly afraid, the way you're afraid when the telephone rings at three in the morning. Polly had never requested such a service before, and if asked, Alan would have said she never would-it would have gone against her idea of correct behavior, and to Polly, correct behavior was very important.
"What is it, Sheila-did she say? Ten-four."
"No, Sheriff. Ten-four."
No. Of course she hadn't. He had known that, too. Polly didn't spread her business around. The fact that he'd even asked showed how surprised he was.
"Sheriff?"
"Patch her through, Sheila. Ten-four."
"Ten-forty, Sheriff."
Bink!
He stood there in the sunshine, his heart beating too hard and too fast. He didn't like this.
The bink! sound came again, followed by Sheila's voice-distant, almost lost. "Go ahead, Polly-you should be connected."
"Alan?" The voice was so loud he recoiled. It was the voice of a giant an angry giant. He knew that much already; one word was enough.
"I'm here, Polly-what is it?"
For a moment there was only silence. Somewhere, deep within it, was the faint mutter of other voices on other calls. He had time to wonder if he had lost the connection time to almost hope he had.
"Alan, I know this line is open," she said, "but you'll know what I'm talking about. How could you? How could you?"
Something was familiar about this conversation. Something.
"Polly, I'm not understanding