Needful Things - Stephen King [273]
"Don't worry about it, Clut. Has anyone collared Keeton yet?"
"Well I don't know how to tell you this, Alan, but. -."
Alan felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach and closed his eyes.
He had been right; it wasn't over.
"Just tell me," he said. "Never mind the protocol."
"Buster-Danforth, I meanerove home and used a screwdriver to knock the doorhandle off his Cadillac. You know, where he was cuffed."
"I know," Alan agreed. His eyes were still shut.
"Well he killed his wife, Alan. With a hammer. It wasn't a State cop that found her, because the Staties weren't much interested in Buster up to twenty minutes ago. It was Seat Thomas. He drove by Buster's house to double check. He reported in what he found, and got back here not five minutes ago. He's having chest pains, he says, and I'm not surprised. He told me that Buster took her face 'bout right off. Said there's guts and hair everyplace. There's a platoon or so of Payton's bluejackets up there on the View now.
I put Seat in your office. Figured he better sit down before he fell down." 4 6 Jesus Christ, Clut-take him over to Ray Van Allen, fast. He's sixty-two and been smoking Camels all his damn life."
"Ray went to Oxford, Alan. He's trying to help the doctors patch up Henry Beaufort."
"His P.A. then-what's his name? Frankel. Everett Frankel."
"Not around. I tried both the office and his house."
"Well, what does his wife say?"
"Ev's a bachelor, Alan."
"Oh. Christ." Someone had scrawled a bit of graffiti over the telephone. Don't worry, be happy, it said. Alan considered this sourly.
"I can take him to the hospital myself," Clut offered.
"I need you right where you are," Alan said. "Have the reporters and TV people shown up?"
"Yeah. The place is crawling with them."
"Well, check on Seat as soon as we're done here. If he doesn't feel any better, here's what you do: go out front, grab a reporter who looks halfway bright to you, deputize him, and have him drive Seat over here to Northern Cumberland."
"Okay." Clut hesitated, then burst out: "I wanted to go over to the Keeton place, but the State Police they won't let me onto the crime-scene! How do you like that, Alan? Those bastards won't let a County Deputy Sheriff onto the crime-scene!"
"I know how you feel. I don't like it much myself. But they're doing their job. Can you see Seat from where you are, Clut?"
"Yuh."
"Well? Is he alive?"
"He's sitting behind your desk, smoking a cigarette and looking at this month's Rural Law Enforcement."
"Right," Alan said. He felt like laughing or crying or doing both at the same time. "That figures. Has Polly Chalmers called, Clut?"
"N wait a minute, here's the log. I thought it was gone. She did call, Alan. Just before three-thirty."
Alan grimaced. "I know about that one. Anything later?"
"Not that I see here, but that doesn't mean much. With Sheila gone and these darned old State Bears clumping around, who can tell for sure?"
"Thanks, Clut. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Yeah, a couple of things."
"Shoot."
"They've got the gun Hugh used to shoot Henry, but David Friedman from State Police Ballistics says he doesn't know what it is. An automatic pistol of some kind, but the guy said he's never seen one quite like it."
"Are you sure it was David Friedman?" Alan asked.
"Friedman, yeah-that was the guy's name."
"He must know. Dave Friedman's a walking Shooter's Bible."
"He doesn't, though. I stood right there while he was talking to your pal Payton. He said it's a little like a German Mauser, but it lacked the normal markings and the slide was different. I think they sent it to Augusta with about a ton of other evidence."
"What else?"
"They found an anonymous note in Henry Beaufort's yard," Clut said. "It was crumpled into a ball beside his car-you know that classic T-Bird of his? It was vandalized, too. just like Hugh's."
Alan felt as if a large soft hand had just whacked him across the face. "What did the note say, Clut?"
"Just a minute." He heard a faint whick-whick sound as Clut