Chapter 17 Chapter Sixteen

one Pangble left to find Dr. Humer, and the FBI agents had just concluded their interrogation when George Stark called, less than five minutes after the two technicians claimed to have secured the equipment in question. The two technicians were annoyed, but not particularly surprised, to discover that the Beaumonts' phone still had the ancient rotary-dial system inside. "Man, this is unbelievable." said the technician, Vance, but his tone made it clear that he didn't really expect anything else here. Another technician, David, walked up to the comm van, looking for the right part.Vance rolled his eyes at Tad, as if Tad should have told them he was living in the days when the telephone was just invented.

The two men brushed off the FBI.The FBI men flew from Boston to Bangor and then drove bravely through the wolf- and bear-infested wasteland between Bangor and Ludlow, blinded by state police technicians. "All the phones in town are like that," Ted said modestly.He now has indigestion, which in general makes him irritable and difficult to live with.But today he just feels tired, weak and terribly sad. He kept thinking about Rick's father in Tucson, and Miriam's parents in San Luis Obispo.What would old Mr Cowley be thinking now?What were Miriam's parents thinking?He only knew these people in conversation, but never met them. How on earth did they face these things?How do people deal with these grim, irrational murders?

Ted realizes he's thinking about the living instead of the victims for one simple and depressing reason: He feels responsible for everything.why not?If he wasn't to blame for George Stark, who?He also felt guilty about having his old phone add to the difficulty of installation. "I think that's all, Mr. Beaumont," said an FBI agent.He was going over his notebook, ignoring Vance and David as they were ignoring him.The agent, Marlowe, closed the notebook, which was bound in leather and had his initials embossed on the lower left corner of the cover.He was wearing a gray suit and his hair was parted straight on the left. "What else do you have, Bill?"

Bill, who was Burrell, closed his notebook too and shook his head. "No, I don't think so." Berrell was wearing a kind of brown suit, and his hair was also parted straight on the left. "We may still have problems with future investigations, but for now we've got what we need, thank you for your cooperation." He grinned at them, showing a set of straight teeth.Ted thought: If we were five-year-olds, he would give each of us a good boy certificate, let us take it home and show it to Mommy. "You're welcome," Liz said slowly and absently, massaging her left temple with her fingers as if she had a headache.

Perhaps, Tad thought, she did have a headache. He glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw that it was only half-past two.Was it the longest afternoon of his life?He didn't want to jump to conclusions so quickly, but he suspected it was. Liz stood up. "I think I'll lie down for a while, if I can. I don't feel very well." "That's a good—" He was about to make an idea, but before he could say it, the phone rang. They both looked at it, and Tad felt a blood vessel in his neck start to throb violently, and a hot, sour breath slowly rose from his chest and spread out in the back of his throat.

"Well," said Vance cheerfully, "we don't have to send anyone out for a trial fight." Tad suddenly felt as if he were being enveloped in a cloud of cold air that propelled him toward the phone, which sat on the table next to the phone, an ingenious machine that looked like a glass brick with many small lights, one of which blinks as the phone rings. where is the birdI should hear birds chirping.but no.The only sound was the urgent ringing of the telephone. Kneeling by the hearth, Vance put the tools back into a black box with a large lock, much like a workman's lunchbox.David leaned on the porch between the living room and dining room.After obtaining Liz's consent, he took a banana from the bowl on the table and was slowly peeling it. Like an artist in creation, he stopped from time to time to critically inspect his work.

"Get out the circuit tester," David said to Vance, "if we need to make the circuit clearer, we'll get it done while we're here, so we don't have to come back." "Good idea," said Vance, taking from the case something in the shape of a pistol grip. The two looked a little eager to try.Marlowe and Burrell stood, putting away their notebooks, shaking their stiff trousers.They confirmed what Ted had thought: These people were more like tax consultants than FBI agents with guns.Marlowe and Berrell seemed completely unaware that the phone was ringing. But Liz knew.She had stopped massaging her temples and was staring at Tad wide-eyed like a cornered animal.Berrell, who was thanking her for her coffee and pastries, seemed oblivious to her failure to answer, any more than he had noticed the phone ringing.

What's wrong with you people?Ted suddenly felt like shouting.Why on earth are you installing these devices? Of course, that's not fair.It was so accidental that the person they were after was the first to call less than five minutes after the recording and tracking equipment was installed... that's what they'd say if anyone asked.They'll say, in the twentieth century, that kind of thing doesn't happen, it must be another writer calling to ask you, Ted, or someone to borrow a cup of sugar from your wife.But the guy who thinks he's your alter ego calls?No, absolutely not.Too fast, too coincidental.

It must be Stark, Thad could smell him.He looked at Liz and knew she could too. Vance watched him, no doubt wondering why he didn't answer the phone he had just installed. Take it easy, Tad thought.Don't worry, he'll wait, he knows we're home, you see. "Well, we're leaving soon, Mrs. Beaumont—" Liz said calmly and bitterly, "I think you'd better wait." Ted picked up the phone and yelled, "What do you want, you bastard? What the hell do you want?" Vance startled, David was about to take his first bite of a banana when he froze, and the heads of the feds jerked around.Thad found himself strongly wishing that Alan Pangble was here, not talking to Dr. Humer in Orono.Pangpo didn't trust Stark either, at least not yet, but at least he had empathy.Ted thought these people might have, too, but he very much doubted that they knew anything about him and Liz.

"It's him, it's him!" Liz said to Burrell. "Ah, my God!" said Berrell, exchanging a very confused look with the other agent: what the fuck are we going to do now? Tad hears and sees this, but is cut off from them, even from Liz.Now it's just Stark and him, reunited again, just like the old sideshow posters said. "Calm down, Tad," said George Stark.He sounded happy. "There's no need to get mad." The voice was exactly as he'd expected.Even that vague southern accent. The heads of the two technicians pressed together momentarily, and then David ran to the comm van and standby phone, still holding his banana, while Vance ran to the basement to check the voice-activated tape recorder.

Two federal agents stared in the middle of the living room, looking as if they were about to hug each other for comfort, like lost children in the woods. "What do you want?" Thad asked in a calmer voice. "Well, just to tell you it's over," Stark said. "I killed the last one at noon today—the little girl who worked for Darwin Press' financial director." He spoke with a slight southern accent. "She was the one who tipped off to Clausen," Stark said. "The cops will find her. She lives down there on Second Street downtown. Part of her is on the floor. I put the other part on the floor." kitchen table." He smiled. "It's been a busy week, Ted. I've been running around, I've been busy, and I'm just calling to reassure you." "I don't feel at ease." "Hey, it's going to take time, old man, it's going to take time. I think I'll go down south and go fishing, I'm tired of life in the city." He laughed, and the sound was joyously scary, and Tad felt like he had worms crawling. He is lying. Ted knew that, just as he knew that Stark had deliberately waited until the recording and tracking equipment was installed before making the call.Can he know that kind of thing?The answer is yes.Stark was probably calling from somewhere in New York City, but the two of them were linked like twins by an invisible but undeniable bond.They are twins, two halves of the same whole.Ted was horrified to find himself floating out of the body, along the phone, not all the way to New York, but halfway; meet this monster in the west of Massachusetts, maybe they will meet and reunite One, like they met and became one every time he closed the typewriter and picked up a goddamn Belore pencil. "Don't you fucking lie!" The FBI agent jumped up as if someone had stabbed him in the anus. "Hey, Ted, that's not good!" Stark said, sounding aggrieved, "You think I'm going to hurt you? Hell, no! I'm getting back on you, friend! I know I have to. I know you are as cowardly as a mouse, but I don't deny you because of this, the world needs all kinds of people. Why should I take revenge on you?" Tad's fingers landed on the white scar on his forehead and rubbed it so hard that the skin was red.He found himself struggling to hold on to himself, to hold on to his own basic being. "He's lying, I know why, he knows I know, he knows it's okay because no one will believe me. He knows the cops will think it's weird, he knows they're eavesdropping, he knows what they're thinking...but he Also know what they think, that keeps him safe. They believe he's a psychopath, they just think he's George Stark because that's what they have to think. All other ideas are against them All that he's learned, all the fingerprints in the world aren't going to change that. He knows if he hints that he's not George Stark, if he hints that he's finally calling it quits, they're going to slack off, they're not going to take off the police right away protection ... but he can make the police remove the protection early." "You know whose idea it was to bury you, and that was my idea." "No, no!" Stark said lightly. "You've been led astray, that's all. When that shit Clausen shows up, he freaks you out—that's all. And then you call that self-proclaimed literary agent monkey, he gave you some really bad advice. Ted, it's like who put a pile of shit on your dining table, and you call and ask someone you trust what to do, and one guy said , 'Never mind, just pour pork broth over it. Pork broth tastes so good with manure on a cold night.' You never do it willingly, I know, man." "It's a bloody lie and you know it!" Suddenly he realized how cunning it all was, how well Stark knew the people he was dealing with. "He came out at the right time, he came out and said he wasn't George Stark, and they're going to believe him when he says that, and they're going to listen to the tape that's being played in the basement right now, and they're going to believe everything that's being said, Pangbo and All the others. Because that's not only what they believe, that's what they already believe." "I'm by no means lying," said Stark, calmly, almost genially, "I'm not going to bother you anymore, Tad, but before I go, let me give you at least one piece of advice that might do you good .Don't you think I'm George Stark, that was my fault, I had to kill a lot of people to get my head back." Ted was stunned when he heard this.He didn't know what he was talking about, but he had an odd feeling of being out of his own flesh, and at the same time, was amazed at the man's audacity. He thought of his fruitless conversation with Alan Pangble, and wondered again who he was when he invented Stark, who had started to be just another story to him.Where exactly is the credible limit?Did he create a monster by losing the boundary?Or was there some other unknown factor, which he couldn't see but heard only in those ghostly bird calls? "I don't know," Stark said, laughing, "I was probably as crazy as they were when I was there." "Ah well, fine, sending the police to a madhouse looking for a tall, broad-shouldered blond man, that won't take all the police's attention away, but it will start, won't it?" Tad clutches the phone tightly, his head throbbing with rage. "But I don't regret what I did because I loved those books so much, Ted. When I was... there... in the madhouse... I thought they were the only thing that kept me sane .You know what? I feel better now, I know who I am now, which is amazing. I believe you could call what I'm doing psychotherapy, but I think that's the end of it, you say?" "Don't lie, fuck!" Ted yelled. "We can discuss it," Stark said. "We can discuss it thoroughly, but it will take time. I guess the police told you to hold me off the phone, right?" "No, they don't need you hanging up, and I know that too." "Say hello to your lovely wife," Stark said, almost respectfully, "take care of your children and take it easy on yourself, Tad, I won't bother you any more—" "How's the bird?" Thad asked suddenly. "Did you hear the bird, George?" There was a sudden silence on the phone line.Ted could sense Stark's surprise... for the first time in their conversation it seemed as if something had strayed from George Stark's carefully prepared script.He didn't know why, but it seemed his nerve endings possessed some mysterious understanding that his other half didn't.He felt momentary victory, the way an amateur boxer feels when he hits Mike Tyson. "George—did you hear the bird?" The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock above the fireplace as Liz and the FBI agents watched him. "I don't know what you're talking about, man," Stark said slowly, "can you—" "No," Tad said, laughing wildly, rubbing his fingers at the little white scar on his forehead that looked like a question mark. "No, you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, listen to me, George." .I hear birds, I don't know what they mean yet...but I'll know, when I do..." The conversation stopped here.What will happen when he knows?he does not know. The voice on the other end of the line said slowly and thoughtfully, "Whatever you're talking about, Ted, it doesn't matter. Because it's over now." With a click, Stark hung up the phone.Ted could almost feel, along the telephone wire, being jerked back from that mysterious meeting in West Massachusetts, not at the speed of sound or light but at the speed of thought, thrown back hard into his body, and again. is alone. gosh. He dropped the microphone, which slammed sideways on the microphone stand.He turned on his legs stiffly, not bothering to put it back. David burst into the room from one direction and Vance from the other. "It's working great!" Vance yelled, and the two FBI agents jumped again, and Marlowe yelped like a woman in a cartoon when she spots a mouse.Ted tried to imagine what it would be like for these two to face a gang of terrorists or a bank robber at gunpoint, but he couldn't.Maybe I'm just too tired, he thought. The two technicians jumped awkwardly, patted each other on the back, and ran together to the comms van. "It was him," Thad said to Liz. "He said he wasn't, but it was him." She came and hugged him tightly, he needed this hug - he didn't know how much he needed it until she did. "I know." She whispered in his ear, and he put his face in her hair and closed his eyes. two The yelling woke the twins, and they both cried loudly upstairs.Liz went up to tend to them, and Ted started to follow her, then came back to put the phone back where it belonged.It rang at once, and it was Alan Pombo.He went to the Orono police station for a coffee before meeting with Dr. Humer, where he heard the news of the call and preliminary trace results from Technician David.Pangbo sounded very excited. "We haven't quite tracked it down yet, but we know it's New York City, area code 212," he said. "Five minutes later we were able to track down the call." "It was him," Thad repeated. "It was Stark. He said he wasn't, but it was him. Someone has to look up the girl he mentioned. Her name might be Darla Gates." "Slutty woman from Vassar with bad nose tradition?" "Right," Ted said, though he doubted Darla Gates would worry about his nose any more.He is very tired. "I'll give the NYPD my name. How are you, Ted?" "I'm very good." "Where's Liz?" "Don't be polite to me now, okay? Did you hear me? It's him. Whatever he says, it's him." "Okay...why don't we wait and see how the trace turns out?" There was something in his voice that Tad hadn't heard before, not mistrust but embarrassment.It was too obvious in the sheriff's voice for Ted to ignore.It's a special kind of embarrassment, the way you feel ashamed for someone who's too stupid or too insensitive to realize it.Ted was both amused and slightly offended by this. "Well, we'll see," Ted agreed, "while we wait, I want you to keep going to my doctor's appointment." Pangbo replied that he would call again, but Ted suddenly lost interest, and the sour gas rose from his stomach again, this time violently.Tricky George, he thought, the cops thought they saw through him, Stark was making the cops think that, he was watching them through Ted, and when they went away Tricky George would come in a black Toronado Now, how can I stop him? he does not know. He hung up, cut off Alan Pombo, and went upstairs to help Liz change the twins' diapers and dress them for the afternoon. three Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.In between the ringing, Vance called out to Tad for his phone, and he went downstairs to answer it. "Where's the FBI agent?" he asked Vance. For a moment he wished Vance had said: FBI agent?I haven't met any FBI agents. "They? They're gone." Vance shrugged, as if asking Tad what else he was expecting. "They have all kinds of computers, and if anyone doesn't play with them, I guess someone will wonder why the machines are always turned off, and they might have to cut back on funding." "Did they do anything?" "No," said Vance simply. "Nothing is done in this sort of thing. If they did, I wouldn't be around. They took the material and put it into a computer, like I just said." "I see." Vance looked at his watch. "David and I are leaving too. The device will work automatically, and you don't even need to spend money." "Okay," Ted said, walking towards the phone, "thank you." "You're welcome, Mr. Beaumont." Ted turned around. "If I'm going to read a book by you, do you think I should read it in your own name, or in another guy's name?" "Try reading a book written under another guy's name," Thad said, picking up the phone. "The plot is more engaging." Vance nodded, held out his hand in salute, and went out. "Hello?" Ted said.He felt as if he should graft a phone to the side of his head, it would save time and hassle, and of course, carry recording and tracking equipment, which he could carry in his backpack. "Hey, Ted, I'm Pangbo. I'm still at the police station. Look, the phone tracking isn't very good. Your friend called from a payphone booth at Paine Station." Ted remembered what David the Technician had said about installing all this expensive high-tech equipment, only to be traced to a row of kiosks in the mall. "Are you surprised?" "No. Disappointed, but not surprised. We hope he makes a mistake, and believe it or not, we'll catch one sooner or later. I'll come over tonight, okay?" "Okay," said Thad, "why not? If it's all right, we can play bridge." "We can get a sound ripple map tonight." "So you've got his soundwave. So what?" "Not sound waves. Sound ripple patterns." "I do not--" "Voice ripple maps are computer-generated graphs that precisely map the characteristics of a voice," Pangbo said. "It has nothing to do with speaking—we're not interested in things like accents, stammers, pronunciation. Computer synthesis The most important thing is pitch and timbre—experts call it head voice—and timbre and reverberation, which is called chest or visceral voice. They are fingerprints of sound, and like fingerprints, no two people are exactly alike. I listen to Said that the voice ripple patterns of the twins are very different from each other, much more than their fingerprints are different." He paused. "We made a good quality copy of the audio tape we got and sent it to FOLE in Washington. We'll get a comparison of your rippogram to his. The State Police guy wants to say I'm crazy , I can see it on their faces. But after the fingerprints and your alibi incident, no one dares to come out and say that." Tad opened his mouth, tried to say something, but couldn't, licked his lips, tried again, still couldn't. "Ted? Are you hanging up again?" "No," he said, and his voice seemed suddenly grateful. "Thank you, Pangpo." "No, don't say that. I know why you thanked me, and I don't want to mislead you. Everything I do is routine. Of course, in this case, the procedure is a bit weird, because the specific circumstances are a bit weird, and that's not the case. Means you should make inappropriate assumptions, get me?" "Understood. What is FOLE?" "Ah, that's short for Federal Law Enforcement, and probably the only good thing Nixon did during his administration. It consisted mostly of a bunch of computers that processed some information for local law enforcement. We were able to get the data of every criminal since 1969." Fingerprints. FOLE also provides various comparison charts. Criminal blood type, voice ripple map, and computer-generated images of suspects.” "Then we'll see if my voice and his—" "Yes. We get the results at seven o'clock in the evening, maybe eight o'clock if the computer is busy." Ted shook his head. "We don't sound alike." "I've listened to the tape and I know," Pangbol said. "Let me repeat: Voice ripples have nothing to do with speaking. There's a big difference between head voice and visceral voice, Ted." "but--" "Tell me something. Do you think Alma Ford has the same voice as Duffy Dark?" Ted blinked: "Uh...not the same." "I don't feel the same way," Pangbol said, "but it's a guy named Mel Blanc who voiced them...not to mention countless other character voices. I'm leaving, tonight see you?" "Ok." "Between seven-thirty and nine, will you?" "We're waiting for you, Pangpo." "Very well. Whatever the case may be, I've got to get back to Castle Rock tomorrow, and unless there's a breakthrough in the case, I'll stay there." "Hope there's a fingerprint breakthrough, eh?" Thad said, thinking at the same time: That's what he's counting on, after all. "Yeah—I've got other things to do. None of these things are as important as this one, but Castle Rock pays me for them. You know what I mean?" Thad seemed to feel that It's a serious question, not pure chit chat. "Yes, I know." Both of us knew.Me...and Sly George. "I've got to go, but you'll see a state trooper patrol car parked in front of your house twenty-four hours until it's over. These guys are tough, Ted. It's a little careless to say that the NYPD If not, those who protect you will not, and no one will ever underestimate this ghost again. No one will forget you, or leave you and your family to deal with this on their own." "Yeah, I see." Thad thought again: Today, tomorrow, next week, maybe next month.But what about next year?Impossible, I know it, and he knows it, and now they don't believe him when he says he's come to his senses and quit.Later, they'll believe it... as the weeks go by and it's business as usual, they'll believe it, not only politically but economically as well.Because George and I both know that everyone has other things to do, and when they start doing other things, George will show up and kill me, kill us. Four Fifteen minutes later, Pangpo was still at the Orono State Police, still on the phone.There was a click on the phone, and a young woman said to him slightly apologetically, "Can you wait a little longer, Director Pangbo? The computer is very slow today." Pang Bo wanted to tell her that he was the sheriff, not the chief, but he still didn't say it. This is a mistake that everyone makes. "Okay," he said. There was a crackling sound. He was sitting in a small, cramped office at the back of the police station, beyond the bushes.The room was full of dusty files, and the only desk was a battered school desk with a sloping top, a lid, and an inkwell.Pangbo balanced it on his knees while rocking gently.He turned a piece of paper on the table, and on it were two messages written in small print by Pangbo: Hoof Brichard and Burgenfield Hospital, Burgenfield, New Jersey. He thought back to his conversation with Ted half an hour earlier.He told Ted in that conversation that the brave state troopers would protect him and his wife if the maniac who thought he was George Stark showed up.Pangbol wondered if Tad believed that, and he suspected he didn't.He guessed that a man who wrote fiction for a living was sensitive to fairy tales. Well, they'd try to protect Ted and Liz, but Pangbol always remembered something that happened in Bangor in 1985. A woman asked for and received police protection as her estranged husband beat her up and threatened to come back and kill her if she tried to get a divorce.After two weeks, the husband did nothing.The police department was about to lift the protection when the husband showed up in a laundry car, wearing a green work shirt with the laundry's name on the back, and walked up to the door with a bundle of clothes.If he had come earlier, the police might have recognized him, even though he was wearing overalls, because they were more alert then.But when he did show up, they didn't recognize him.He knocked on the door, and when the woman answered, her husband drew a pistol from his trousers pocket and shot her dead.Before the officers protecting her realized what was happening, let alone sprinted out of their car, the man stood on the steps with his hands up and threw the smoking pistol into the rose bushes. "Don't shoot," he said calmly, "I'm done." It turned out that the truck and uniform had been borrowed from a drinking buddy who had no idea the criminal was going to kill his wife. The moral is simple: if someone really wants to kill you, if that person is a little lucky, he can kill you.Look at Oswald, look at Chapman, look at what this guy Stark did to those guys in New York. There was a clack. "Are you still there, Director?" a female voice from Burgenfield Hospital asked softly. "Yes," he said, "I'm still here." "I found the information you were looking for," she said. "Dr. Hoof Brichard retired in 1978. I have his address and phone number in Fort Lamarie, Wyoming." "Please tell me." She told him, and Pombo thanked her, hung up, and dialed the number.Just as the phone rang, an answering machine came in and began speaking a pre-recorded message. "Hi, I'm Hoof Brichard," said a hoarse voice.Well, thought Pangbo, the guy wasn't dead, and anyway, it was a step in the right direction. "Helga and I are not here right now. I may be playing golf, God knows what Helga is doing." Then an old man's hoarse laughter, "If you have anything to do, please leave a message when you hear the voice, you have thirty seconds bell." Beep-beep! "Dr. Brichard, I'm Sheriff Alan Pumppole," he said, "I'm a police officer from the State of Maine. I'm going to tell you about a man named Ted Beaumont. He had a tumor removed from his brain when he was eleven years old. Please call me collect at Orono State Police - 207-555-2121. Thank you." He was sweating, and talking to the answering machine always made him nervous. "Why are you busy with these things?" His answer to Ted was simple: routine.Pangbol himself was not satisfied with this answer, since he knew it was not routine.If this Brichard had operated on a man who called himself Stark, it would have been routine, but he hadn't, he had operated on Beaumont, and that was twenty-eight years ago. So why? Because nothing is right, and that's why.Something wasn't right about the fingerprints, something wasn't right about the blood type you got from the cigarette butts, something wasn't right about their apparent intelligence and brutality, something wasn't right about Ted and Liz's insistence that their pseudonyms were real, everything was wrong.The state trooper accepted the man's assertion that he now really understood it himself, which Pangble found not credible at all, it was clearly a ruse, a tactic, an excuse. Pangbol thought maybe the man would come again. "But none of this answers the question at hand," he whispered to himself. "Why are you busy with these things? Why are you calling up an old doctor in Wyoming who probably doesn't remember Ted Beaumont at all?" "Because I have nothing better to do," he answered himself uneasily. "Because I'm calling from here without the town officials complaining about long distance charges. And because they believe it - Ted and Liz." It's unwise, but they seem to be sane in other ways... Damn, they believe it, that doesn't mean I do. " He doesn't believe it. really? Time passed slowly, and Brichard didn't answer.But the sound ripple map came after eight, and the results were startling. Fives They were completely unexpected to Ted. He would have expected a chart with undulating hills and valleys, and Pombo would try to explain it to them, and he and Liz would nod their heads, like people who listen to explanations that are too complicated, and they know that if they really Ask a question and the explanation that follows will be more difficult to understand. Instead, Pang Bo showed them two plain, blank sheets of paper.A line runs through the middle of each sheet, and there are two or three raised points on it, but most of them are very gentle ripples, and you can tell that the two lines are either the same or very close to each other with the naked eye. "That's it?" Liz asked. "Not quite," said Pangbol. "Look." He laid one sheet of paper on top of the other, doing it with the air of a conjurer performing a trick.He held the two sheets up to the light, and Tad and Liz gazed at the stack. "They really are," Liz whispered in a tone of awe, "they're exactly the same." "Uh... not quite," said Pangbo, pointing out three differences in the lower paper, one above the lines on the upper paper, two below the lines, all three differences where the lines rose, and the ripples themselves Seems to fit perfectly. "The differences are in Ted's ripples, and they're only at the accent points." Pangborn tapped the differences in turn, "Here: 'What do you want, you bastard? What the hell do you want .' And here: 'You don't fucking lie.' And finally: 'It's a fucking lie and you know it'. Now everyone's emphasizing the difference between the three because they're dead set on not having two The voiceprint is the same as this assumption. But the truth is, there wasn't any rereading point in Stark's conversation, and the bastard had been very calm." "Yeah," said Thad, "he sounds like he's drinking lemonade." Pang Bo put the sound ripple map on the small table. "No one at State Police Headquarters really believed that these were two different sound patterns, even small ones," he said. "We got sound patterns from Washington very quickly. The reason I'm here so late, is奥古斯塔的一位专家看了这些图，他要我们送一份磁带拷贝给他，我们通过东方航空公司的班级送了过去，他们把它放在一个叫增听器的机器当中，他们用这机器分辨受审的人是不是真的说了那些话，或他们听到的是不是录在磁带上的声音。” “他们的结论是什么？”泰德说，他正坐在壁炉边喝汽水。 丽兹看了声音波纹图后回到围栏边，两腿交叉坐在地板上，努力不让威廉和温蒂的头撞在一起，他们俩正在检查对方的脚趾。“为什么他们那么做呢？” 庞波冲泰德竖起大拇指，后者咧着嘴冷笑。“你丈夫知道。” 泰德问庞波：“由于这些微小的差别，他们至少可能欺骗自己说两个不同的声音在说话，即使他们知道不是这样——这是你的观点，对吗？” “是。即使我从没听说过声音波纹图，”庞波耸耸肩，“当然我并不像专门研究这些的人那么精于此道，但我的确读过有关资料，当结果传来的时候我在那儿，他们的确在欺骗自己，但他们并不是在使劲欺骗自己。” “所以他们找到了三个不同点，但他们并不满足。问题是我的声音是加重的，而斯达克没有。于是他们用这机器来做另一次尝试，他们实际上希望证明斯达克那一头只是录音，也许是我做的。”他冲庞波扬起眉毛，“我说得对吗？” “不仅是对的，而且是非常对。” “那是我听过的最不可思议的事。”丽兹坦率地说。 泰德干笑一声：“整个事件就不可思议。他们认为我可能变了我的声音，就像小里奇……或麦尔·布朗克。他们认为我用乔治·斯达克的声音录了一盘磁带，留下足够的时间让我在众人面前回答，用我自己的声音。当然我必须买一个装置能把盒式录音机挂到一个付费电话上。有这样的装置吗，庞波？” “当然有。在好的电器商店都能买到，或只要打800，它就将出现在你的屏幕上，接线员就在一边站着。” “对。我惟一需要的是一个同谋——一个我可以信任的人，他将去潘恩车站，把录音机连在一个公用电话上，在适当的时间往我家里打电话。然后——”他突然停下来，“怎么付费呢？我忘了这事，它不是对方付费电话。” “用你的电话信用卡号，”庞波说，“显然你把它给了你的同谋。” “对，显然是这样。这个骗局一旦开始，我只需做两件事：一是确保我自己接电话，另外就是记住我的台词，在停顿中把它们插进去。我做得非常好，你说是吗，庞波？” “对，棒极了。” “我的同谋按计划挂断电话，他从电话上取下录音机，夹在胳臂下——” “不，把它放在口袋里，”庞波说，“这玩意儿现在非常高级，甚至中央情报局也在收音机店买。” “好吧，他把它放进口袋里走开。结果是人们看到和听到我和五百里之外的一个人在谈话，他听上去不同——他有点儿南方口音——但和我的声音波纹图一模一样。这又是指纹问题，只是更好一点儿。”他看着庞波等他肯定。 “仔细想一想，”庞波说，“我们用飞机送磁带拷贝真是太浪费了。” "thanks." "You're welcome." “那不仅是发疯了，”丽兹说，“这是难以置信的。我认为那些人应该保持头脑清醒——” 在她注意力分散时，双胞胎的头终于撞到一起了，他们开始大哭起来。丽兹抱起威廉，泰德救起温蒂。 当孩子们终于不闹了时，庞波说：“这的确是令人难以相信的。你们知道，我知道，他们也知道。但是，柯南道尔笔下歇洛克·福尔摩斯至少有一句话还是对的：当你排除了所有不可能的解释，留下的就是你的答案……不管它看上去多么不可信。” “我认为原话更文雅。”泰德说。 庞波咧嘴一笑：“去你的。” “你们俩可能觉得这很好笑，我可一点儿也不，”丽兹说，“泰德一定疯了才做那种事。当然，警察可能认为我们俩都疯了。” “他们没这么想，”庞波严肃地回答，“至少到现在为止，他们没有，只要你们别谈你们古怪的故事。” “那么你呢，庞波？”泰德问，“我们把所有古怪故事告诉了你——你怎么想呢？” “你们没有发疯。如果我真的相信，这一切都会简单多了。我不知道到底是怎么回事。” “你从胡默医生那里得到什么了？”丽兹想知道。 “泰德小时候给他开刀的医生的名字，”庞波说，“是胡夫·布里查德——还记得这名字吗，泰德？” 泰德皱着眉想了一会儿，最后他说：“我想它有点儿熟悉……但我可能只是在自己骗自己，时间太久了。” 丽兹俯身向前，眼睛发亮；威廉从他母亲的膝盖上瞪眼看着庞波。“布里查德告诉你什么了？”她问。 “什么也没有。我找到了他的留言机——这使我推断他还活着——如此而已，我留了话。” 丽兹在椅子上重新坐好，显然很失望。 “我的检查结果呢？”泰德问，“胡默拿回什么了吗？或他不愿告诉你？” “他说当他拿到结果时，你是第一个知道的。”庞波说，有咧嘴笑笑，“胡默医生似乎不愿告诉一个警长任何事情。” “乔治·胡默是这样的，”泰德微笑着说，“他很倔强。” 庞波在座位上动了一下。 “你想喝什么吗，庞波？”丽兹问，“啤酒还是百事可乐？” “不，谢谢。让我们回到州警察相信和不相信的事情上去。他们不相信你们俩牵扯进去了，但他们保留相信你们可能涉入的权利。他们知道昨晚和今天早晨的事不能归到泰德头上。也许有一个同谋犯，但不是你，你就在这儿。” “达拉·盖茨怎么样？”泰德平静地问，“那个为财务总监工作的姑娘吧？” “死了。正像他暗示的，肢解得很厉害，但先往头上打了一枪，她并没有遭多大痛苦。” “这是瞎扯。” 庞波冲他眨眨眼。 “他不会那么便宜她的。在他对克劳森的所作所为之后，他不会的。毕竟她是第一个告密者，对吗？克劳森拿钱引诱她——从克劳森的经济状况看钱不会很多——她泄露了秘密。所以别跟我说他在肢解之前先打死了她，她并没遭罪。” “你说得对，”庞波说，“不是那样的。你想知道真相吗？” “不。”丽兹马上说。 随后屋里是一阵令人压抑的沉默，甚至双胞胎也感觉到了，他们很严肃地瞧着对方。最后泰德问：“让我再问你一次：你相信什么？你现在相信什么？” “我没有一个确定的意见。我知道你没录制斯达克那头的话，因为增听器没有发现任何磁带的嘶嘶声，而且，当提高声音时，能听到潘恩车站喇叭说去波士顿的'朝圣者'号在第三轨道，可以上车了。今天下午'朝圣者'号的确在第三轨道，上车时间是下午两点三十六分，和你们谈话时间恰好相符。但我甚至不需要那个证明，如果斯达克那头放的是录音，我一谈起增听器你们就会问我结果如何，但你们根本没有问。” “虽然如此，你仍不相信，对吗？”泰德说，“我的意思是，你有些动摇，所以你去追寻布里查德医生，但你真的不明白到底是怎么回事，对吗？”他自己都觉得这话听上去很沮丧和痛苦。 “那家伙自己承认他不是斯达克。” “啊，对，他也是很真诚的。”泰德笑了。 “好像这并不令你吃惊。” “对。它让你吃惊吗？” “坦率地说，它让我大吃一惊。经过那么大的努力确定了这一事实，即：你和他有一样的指纹，一样的声音波纹图——” “庞波，停一下。”泰德说。 庞波停下来，探询地看着泰德。 “今天早晨我告诉你我认为乔治·斯达克在干这些事，不是我的一个同谋，不是一个心理变态者，当时你不相信我的话。现在呢？” “不信，泰德。我不想让你失望，但我所能做到的就是：我相信这一事实，即你相信，”他眼睛转过去把丽兹也包括在进去，“你们俩都相信。” “我要寻找真相，否则我会被杀死，”泰德说，“我的家人会跟我一起死去。在现阶段，听到你说你没有一个确定的意见，这使我感到有一点儿安慰，总算向前进了一步。我现在试图让你明白的，是指纹和声音波纹图无关紧要，斯达克也知道这一点。你说到要排除不可能的，留下的就是答案，不管它看上去多么不可信，但你并没这么做。你不接受斯达克，而他是你排除其他可行性之后留下的。让我这么表述，庞波，如果你有那么多证据表明你脑中有一个肿瘤，你会去医院做手术，即使你有可能死在手术台上。” 庞波张开嘴，摇摇头，又闭上嘴。客厅里只有钟声和双胞胎的咕噜声，泰德突然觉得他度过了所有的成年时光。 “一方面，你们有足够的证据证明这是一桩刑事案，”泰德继续轻声说，“另一方面，你们从电话上的声音毫无根据地假定他'恢复了理智'，他'现在知道他是谁了'。你还是相信这假定，而无视所有的证据。” “不，泰德，不是这样的，现在我没有接受任何假定——不接受你的、你妻子的，更不接受打电话那个人的，我的选择仍是开放的。” 泰德用大拇指指指身后的窗户，透过轻轻飘动的窗帘，他们能够看到州警察的汽车，那是保护泰德家的警察用的。 “他们怎么样呢？他们的选择仍是开放的吗？我真希望你留在这儿——我愿意拿你换整整一军的警察，因为你至少一只眼半开着，他们是完全闭上的。” “泰德——” “别在意，”泰德说，“那是真的。你知道……他也知道，他会等待。当所有的人都认为事情结束了，波蒙特家安定了，当所有的警察都撤离了，这时，乔治·斯达克会到这里。” 他停下来，他得脸阴暗复杂，庞波看到遗憾、决心和恐惧交替出现在他的脸上。 “我现在要告诉你一件重要的事——我要告诉你们俩。我完全知道他想要什么：他要我以斯达克笔名再写一部小说。我不知道我是否能做到，但如果我认为有好处的话，我会试一试的，我会扔掉《金狗》，今晚就开始写！” “泰德，不！”丽兹喊道。 “别着急，”他说，“它会杀了我的。别问我我怎么知道的，我就是知道。但如果我的死亡能结束这一切，我仍然会试试。但我不认为会那样，因为我根本不认为他是个人。” 庞波沉默不语。 “好啦！”泰德说，他的神情就像一个人结束了一件重要的事情，“事情就是这样：我不能写，我不愿写，我不应该写，这意味着他将到这儿来。当他到来时，天知道会发生什么事。” “泰德，”庞波艰难地说，“你需要用正确的眼光看待这事，当你明白后，这一切都会……烟消云散，就像早晨的一场恶梦。” “它不是我们需要的眼光，”丽兹说。他们看着她，发现她在默默地哭泣，不是很厉害，但在流泪，“我们需要的是谁去绞死他。” six 庞波第二天凌晨两点钟回到家。他轻手轻脚地走进屋里，发现安妮又忘了接通防盗警报。他不想为此说她——她的偏头痛最近变得更频繁了——但他认为他早晚得说她。 他手里拿着鞋子，像飘一样的往楼上走。 他的姿态非常优雅，和泰德的笨拙完全相反，他很少显露出这种优雅；他的肉体好像知道行走的秘密，他的心灵都为此感到尴尬。现在，在寂静中，没有必要隐藏它了，于是他幽灵般轻巧地走着。 走到楼梯中间他停下……又走下楼梯。在客厅边他有一个小房间，里面有一张桌子和几个书架，但很合他的需要。他努力不把工作带回家，但往往做不到，但他总是努力这么做。 他关上门，打开灯，看着电话。 你不会真的这么做，是吗？他问他自己。我的意思是，现在差不多是半夜了，这家伙不仅是个退休的医生，他是一个退休的神经科医生。你把他叫醒，他会骂死你的。 这时，庞波想起丽兹·波蒙特的眼睛——她乌黑的、惊恐的眼睛——决定他还是要打电话。也许这会有好处，半夜打电话会使布里查德医生意识到这事的重要性，因而认真考虑。庞波然后在合适的时间给他回电话。 谁知道呢，他带点儿幽默地想，也许他喜欢半夜被叫醒呢。 他从制服上衣口袋拿出那张纸，拨打布里查德的电话号。他这么做时站着，准备迎接那愤怒的沙哑声音。 他白担心了，留言机又插进来，重复了一遍同样的信息。 他沉思着挂上电话，坐到桌子后面。台灯在桌面上投下圆的光圈，庞波开始在这光中做各种各样的动物影子——兔子、狗、鹰，甚至一个挺像的袋鼠，他的手具有同样的轻巧优雅，这是他一个人放松时才会显露出来的。在那些灵巧的手指下，动物门似乎排队走过光圈，一个接一个。这种游戏总是使他的孩子们着迷，也经常使他焦虑的心情平静下来。 现在它没有起作用。 “胡夫·布里查德死了，斯达克也杀了他。” 当然，那是不可能的。他想，如果谁拿枪顶着他的头，他会承认有一个幽灵，但不是一个能一跃而过整个大陆的超人幽灵。他能想起好几个半夜开电话留言机的理由。避免半夜被像庞波警长这样的陌生人打扰，这并非不是理由。 “对，但他死了，他和他的妻子。她叫什么？赫尔佳。“我可能在玩高尔夫球，天知道赫尔佳在干什么。”但我知道赫尔佳在干什么，我知道你们俩在干什么。你们喉咙被切断，躺在血泊中，客厅墙上写着一排字。它是：麻雀又飞起。” 阿兰·庞波打了个冷战，这是不可能的，但他仍打了个冷战，就像电穿过他全身一样。 他打通怀俄明州查询台，得到福特·拉马里镇警长办公室的电话，又打过去。一个睡意朦胧的调度员接的电话。庞波说了自己的身份，告诉调度员他在找谁和这人在哪儿住，然后问布里查德医生和他妻子是否在他们的度假名单上。如果医生和他妻子出去度假了——现在正是度假季节——他们可能会通知当地警察局，要他们注意空房子。 “好吧，”调度员说，“为什么你不给我你的电话号码？我得到消息后给你回电话。” 庞波叹了口气，这是例行程序，存粹是浪费时间。这家伙在确认庞波身份前不想告诉他有关情况。 “不，”他说，“我是从家里打的，现在是半夜——” “这儿也不是中午，庞波警长。”调度员简洁地回答。 庞波叹了口气。“的确如此，”他说，“我还相信你的妻子和孩子并没睡在楼上。这么做，我的朋友：给缅因州警察局打电话——我给你电话号——查对我的名字。他们会给你我的工作证号。我十分钟后回电话，这样我们可以交换口令。” “告诉我电话号码，”调度员说，但他听上去很不高兴。庞波猜他可能打扰了这人看午夜节目或本月的《阁楼》杂志。 “这是有关什么事的？”调度员问。 “谋杀，”庞波说，“而且很紧迫，我不是为自己的健康而给你打电话，伙计。”他挂上电话。他坐在桌子后面，边玩动物影子边等待。时间过得似乎非常慢。过了五分钟，书房门打开，安妮走了进来，她穿着粉红色睡袍，看上去像个幽灵，他又打了个冷战，似乎他看到了未来某种不愉快的甚至危险的东西。 如果他追逐的是我，我会有什么感觉呢？It occurred to him suddenly.是我、安妮、陶比、陶德呢？我会有什么感觉，如果我知道他是谁……而别人都不相信我？ “庞波？这么晚了，你坐在这干什么？” 他微笑着站起来，轻轻地吻他我。“等着药劲消退。”他说。 “别瞎扯，说真的——是有关波蒙特的事吗？” “是。我在努力找一个医生，他或许知道一些事。我总是打到他的留言机上，所以我给警长办公室打电话，看看他们是不是在他们的度假名单上。电话另一头的先生正在验证我的真实身份。”他关心地看着安妮，“你怎么样，宝贝？今晚头疼了吗？” “没有，”她说，“但我听到你进来。”她微微一笑，“如果你愿意，你是世界上最安静的人，庞波，但你无法让你的汽车也那么安静。” 他拥抱她。 “你想喝杯茶吗？”她问。 “天哪，不。如果你愿意，来一杯牛奶吧。” 她出去一分钟后，拿着一杯牛奶回来了。“波蒙特先生长得怎么样？”她问，“我曾在镇上见过他，他妻子曾到商店买过东西，但我从没和他说过话。”那家商店是一个叫波丽·查默丝的女人开的，安妮在那儿兼职干了四年。 庞波想想。“我喜欢他，”他最后说，“开始我并不喜欢他——我认为他是个冷血动物。但我是在最困难的环境下见到他的，他只是……有点儿冷淡，这也许跟他的职业有关吧。” “我非常喜欢他的书。”安妮说。 他扬起眉毛：“我不知道你读过他的书。”“你从没问过，庞波。当另一个笔名曝光后，我读了用另一个笔名写的书。”她很不高兴地皱起鼻子。 “写得不好吗？” “可怕，吓人，我没有读完，我不敢相信这些书是同一个人写的。” “宝贝，”庞波想。“他自己也不相信。” “你应该回去睡觉了。”他说，“否则你醒来后又会头痛。” She shook her head. “我认为头痛怪物已经走了，至少暂时地。”她低头瞟了他一眼。 “你上来时我还会醒着……如果你很快上来的话。” 他握住她一个乳房，吻吻她张开的嘴唇。“我会尽快上来。” 她离开了，庞波发现已过了十分钟，连忙又往怀俄明州打电话，还是那个睡意朦胧的调度员接的电话。 “我以为你已经忘了我，朋友。” “没有。”庞波说。 “愿意给我你的工作证号吗，警长？” “109-44-205-ME。” “我想你是真的。很抱歉让你过这些无聊的手续，庞波警长，但我想你能理解。” “我理解。你能告诉我布里查德医生的情况吗？” “啊，他和他妻子在度假名单上。”调度员说。“他们在黄石公园野营，一直到月底。” 哎，庞波想。你瞧，你半夜在这儿疑神疑鬼。没有割开的喉咙，没有写在墙上的字，只有两个出去野营的老人。 但他并没有感觉轻松，至少下两周，很难找到布里查德医生。 “如果我要给他留个话，你认为我能做到吗？”庞波问。 “我想可以。”调度员说。“你可以往黄石公园管理处打电话，他们会知道他在哪儿，或应该在哪儿。也许要费点儿时间，但他们会为你找到他的。我见过他一两次，似乎是个很可爱的老人。” “啊，这很好。”庞波说。 "Thank you." “别客气——我们就是干这行的。”庞波可以听到翻动纸的声音，他能想象出这个看不见脸的人又捡起《阁楼》杂志看。 “晚安。”他说。 “晚安，警长。” 庞波挂上电话，望着黑乎乎的窗外，坐了一会儿。 “他就在那儿，再什么地方，他在走来。” 庞波又一次想到，如果他自己的生命——还有安妮和他的孩子们的生命——处在危险中，他的感觉会是什么样的。如果他知道，而别人都不相信他所知道的，那么，他会是什么感觉。你又把工作带回家了，亲爱的，他听到安妮在他心中说。 Yes.十五分钟前，他还确信胡夫和赫尔佳·布里查德倒在血泊中，但事实证明他错了，他们今晚平静地睡在黄石自然公园的星空下。直觉太多了，它们就会逐渐减弱。 “当我们发现真是怎么回事，当我们发现了符合自然规律的解释时，泰德也会有这种感觉。” 他真这么想吗？ 对，他下了决心——他真这么想，至少在他头脑中，他的神经末梢却不那么确信。 庞波喝完牛奶，关掉台灯，到楼上。安妮还醒着，脱得一丝不挂。她把他抱进怀中，庞波高兴地让自己忘记一切。 seven 两天后，斯达克又打来电话。那时，泰德·波蒙特在大卫商店。 大卫商店是一家夫妻店，离波蒙特家一里半。当去布鲁厄的超级市场太麻烦时，人们就去这家商店。 泰德是星期五晚上去那里买六瓶百事可乐、一些炸马铃薯片和调料，保护他们家的一位警察和他一起前往。那天是六月十日，晚上六点半，天空还挺亮。夏天又来到了缅因州。 警察坐在车中，泰德走进商店。他找到了汽水，正在看一排排调料，这时，电话响了。 他立即抬起头，想：啊，好吧。 柜台后的罗莎丽拿起电话，说你好，听了一下，然后把电话递给他，正如他预料的那样。他又被梦幻般的预感吞没。 “电话，波蒙特先生。” 他感到很镇静，心脏猛跳了一下，但只一下，现在它又以正常的速度跳动着。他没有出汗。 没有鸟群。 他没有感到三天前的恐惧和愤怒，没有问罗莎丽是不是他妻子的电话，要他再买些鸡蛋或漫画。他知道是谁。 他站在计算机旁，计算机绿色的屏幕正在宣告上周没有中奖者，本周彩票的总金额已达到四百万元。他从罗莎的手中接过电话，说：“你好，乔治。” “你好，泰德。”声音中还有些南方口音，但乡下口音已完全没有了。 "what do you want?" “你知道答案，我们不必玩游戏，对吗？那已经太晚了。” “也许我想要听你大声说出来的。”那种古怪的感觉又回来了，泰德觉得自己被吸出身体，沿着电线被拉到他们中间的地方。 罗莎丽走到柜台的另一端，她从一堆纸盒中拿出几条香烟，放到长长的货架上，装得好像没在听泰德谈话，但装得很拙劣，让人觉得好笑。鲁德娄中每个人都知道泰德处在警察保护之下，而且谣言已经满天飞了。有些人认为他将因贩毒而被捕，有些人相信他犯了虐待儿童或妻子罪。可怜的老罗莎丽极力使自己显得和蔼有礼，泰德已经很感激她了。另外，他看她时觉得有一种变形的感觉，好像把望远镜拿倒了一样。他觉得自己又潜入电话线，和狡猾的乔治·斯达克相遇。 狡猾的乔治，在这儿麻雀又飞起来了。 他极力抑制这种感觉。 “说吧，乔治。”他说，对他自己声音中流露出来的愤怒感到惊讶，他有点眩晕，但他的声音却很清醒，“大声说出来，为什么不呢？” “如果你非要我说的话。” “我要你说。” “该写一本新书了，一本新斯达克小说。” "I do not think so." “别那么说！”斯达克声音里充满了火药味，“我已为你画了一幅图画，泰德，我为你画的，别让我在你身上画。” “你死了，乔治，你应该理智地死去。” 罗莎丽稍稍转过头，泰德瞥见她眼睛睁得大大的，然后她又急忙掉头看烟架。 “别胡说八道！”这声音真的很愤怒，但除了愤怒之外是不是还有别的呢？有没有恐惧？pain?还是两者都有？还是他只不过自己骗自己？ “怎么啦，乔治？”他突然嘲笑道：“你的高明主意失败了？” 斯达克不吭声了。泰德确信那句话让他大