“The cigarette pack is in Castle Rock?”
“Yes.”
Johnny stood up. “Well, let's take a ride.”
“My car?”
Johnny smiled a little as the wind rose, shrieking, outside. “On a night like this, it pays to be with a policeman, he said.
The snowstorm was at its height and it took them an hour and a half to get over to Castle Rock in Bannerman's cruiser. It was twenty past ten when they came in through the foyer of the Town Office Building and stamped the snow off their boots.
There were half a dozen reporters in the lobby, most of them sitting on a bench under a gruesome oil portrait of some town founding father, telling each other about previous night watches. They were up and surrounding Bannerman and Johnny in no time.
“Sheriff Bannerman, is it true there has been a break in the case?”
“I have nothing for you at this time,” Bannerman said stolidly.
“There's been a rumor that you've taken a man from Oxford into custody, Sheriff, is that true?”
“No. If you folks will pardon us…
But their attention had turned to Johnny, and he felt a sinking sensation in his belly as he recognized at least two faces from the press conference at the hospital.
“Holy God!” one of them exclaimed. “You're John Smith, aren't you?”
Johnny felt a crazy urge to take the fifth like a gangster at a Senate committee hearing.
“Yes,” he said. “That's me.”
“The psychic guy?” another asked.
“Look, let us pass!” Bannerman said, raising his voice. “Haven't you guys got anything better to do than-”
“According to Inside View, you're a fake,” a young man in a heavy topcoat said. “Is that true?”
“All I can say about that is Inside View prints what they want,” Johnny said. “Look, really-”
“You're denying the Inside View story?”
“Look, I really can't say anything more.”
As they went through the frosted glass door and into the sheriff's office, the reporters were racing toward the two pay phones on the wall by the dog warden's office.
“Now the shit has truly hit the fan,” Bannerman said unhappily. “I swear before God I never thought they'd still be here on a night like this. I should have brought you in the back.”
“Oh, didn't you know?” Johnny asked bitterly. “We love the publicity. All of us psychics are in it for the publicity.”
“No, I don't believe that,” Bannerman said. “At least not of you. Well, it's happened. Can't be helped now.”
But in his mind, Johnny could visualize the headlines:
a little extra seasoning in a pot of stew that was already bubbling briskly. CASTLE ROCK SHERIFF DEPUTIZES LOCAL PSYCHIC IN STRANGLER CASE. “NOVEMBER KILLER” TO BE INVESTIGATED BY SEER. HOAX ADMISSION STORY A FABRICATION, SMITH PROTESTS.
There were two deputies in the outer office, one of them snoozing, the other drinking coffee and looking glumly through a pile of reports.
“His wife kick him out or something?” Bannerman asked sourly, nodding toward the sleeper.
“He just got back from Augusta,” the deputy said. He was little more than a kid himself, and there were dark circles of weariness under his eyes. He glanced over at Johnny curiously.
“Johnny Smith, Frank Dodd. Sleeping beauty over there is Roscoe Fisher.”
Johnny nodded hello.
“Roscoe says the A. G. wants the whole case,” Dodd told Bannerman. His look was angry and defiant and somehow pathetic. “Some Christmas present, huh?”
Bannerman put a hand on the back of Dodd's neck and shook him gently. “You worry too much, Frank. Also, you're spending too much time on the case.”
“I just keep thinking there must be something in these reports… “He shrugged and then flicked them with one finger. “Something.”
“Go home and get some rest, Frank. And take sleeping beauty with you. All we need is for one of those photographers to get a picture of him. They'd run it in the papers with a caption like “In Castle Rock the Intensive Investigation Goes On,” and we'd all be out sweeping streets.”
Bannerman led Johnny into his private office. The desk was awash in paperwork. On the windowsill was a triptych showing Bannerman, his wife, and his daughter Katrina. His degree hung neatly framed on the wall, and beside it, in another frame, the front page of the Castle Rock Call which had announced his election.
“Coffee?” Bannerman asked him, unlocking a file cabinet.
“No thanks. I'll stick to tea.”
“Mrs. Sugarman guards her tea jealously,” Bannerman said. “Takes it home with her every day, sorry. I'd offer you a tonic, but we'd have to run the gauntlet out there again to get to the machine. Jesus Christ, I wish they'd go home.”
“That's okay.”
Bannerman came back with a small clasp envelope. “This is it,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, then handed the envelope over.
Johnny held it but did not immediately open it. “As long as you understand that nothing comes guaranteed. I can't promise. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't.”
Bannerman shrugged tiredly and repeated: “No venture, no gain.”
Johnny undid the clasp and shook an empty Marlboro cigarette box out into his hand. Red and white box. He held it in his left hand and looked at the far wall. Gray wall. Industrial gray wall. Red and white box. Industrial gray box. He put the cigarette package in his other hand, then cupped it in both. He waited for something, anything to come. Nothing did. He held it longer, hoping against hope, ignoring the knowledge that when things come, they came at once.
At last he handed the cigarette box back. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“No soap, huh?”
“No.”
There was a perfunctory tap at the door and Roscoe Fisher stuck his head in. He looked a bit shamefaced. “Frank and I are going home, George. I guess you caught me coopin.”
“As long as I don't catch you doing it in your cruiser,” Bannerman said. “Say hi to Deenie for me.”
“You bet. “Fisher glanced at Johnny for a moment and then closed the door.
“Well,” Bannerman said. “It was worth the try, I guess. I'll run you back…”
“I want to go over to the common,” Johnny said abruptly.
“No, that's no good. It's under a foot of snow.”
“You can find the place, can't you?”
“Of course I can. But what'll it gain?”
“I don't know. But let's go across.”
“Those reporters are going to follow us, Johnny. Just as sure as God made little fishes.”
“You said something about a back door.”
“Yeah, but it's a fire door. Getting in that way is okay, but if we use it to go out, the alarm goes off.”
Johnny whistled through his teeth. “Let them follow along, then.”
Bannerman looked at him thoughtfully, for several moments and then nodded. “Okay.”
When they came out of the office, the reporters were up and surrounding them immediately. Johnny was reminded of a rundown kennel over in Durham where a strange old woman kept collies. The dogs would all runout at you when you went past with your fishing pole, yapping and snarling and generally scaring the hell out of you. They would nip but not actually bite.
“Do you know who did it, Johnny?” “Have any ideas at all?”
“Got any brainwaves, Mr. Smith?”