"Barker, Clive - Sacrament (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

photographers at his door.

Will turned now, slowly. Guthrie was standing back from the step, and the porchlight threw very little
illumination upon him. All Will could make out was a very tall man silhouetted against the murky interior of the
shack. 'I don't blame you,' Will said, 'not wanting to be photographed. You've got a perfect right to your
privacy.'

'Well then what the fuck do you want?'

'Like I said: I just want to talk.'

Guthrie had apparently seen enough of his visitor to satisfy his curiosity, because he now stepped back a pace
and started to push the door closed. Will knew better than to rush the step. He stayed put and played the only
card he had. Two names, spoken very softly. 'I want to talk about Jacob Steep and Rosa McGee.'

The silhouette flinched, and for a moment it seemed certain the man would simply slam the door, and that
would be an end to it. But no. Instead, Guthrie stepped back out onto the step. 'Do you know them?' he said.

'I met them once,' Will replied, 'a very long time ago. You knew them too, didn't you?'

'Him, a little. Even that was too much. What's your name again?'

'Will - William - Rabjohns.'

'Well . . . you'd better come inside, before you freeze your balls off.



CHAPTER II



Unlike the comfortable, well-appointed houses in the rest of the tiny township, Guthrie's dwelling was so
primitive it barely seemed habitable, given how bitter the winters up here could be. There was a vintage electric
fire heating its single room (a small sink and stove served as a kitchen; the great outdoors was presumably his
toilet) while the furniture seemed to have been culled from the dump. Its collector was scarcely in better
condition. Dressed in several layers of grimy clothes, Guthrie was plainly in need of nourishment and
medication. Though Will had heard that he was no more than sixty, he looked a good decade older, his skin red-
raw in patches and sallow in others, his hair, what little he had, white where it was cleanest. He smelt of
sickness and fish.

'How did you find me?' he asked Will as he closed and triple-bolted the door.

'A woman in Mauritius spoke to me about you.'

'You want something to warm you up a bit?'

'No, I'm fine.'

'What woman's this?'