"Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Claire Moffatt 01 - Dark Satanic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

"That's close enough," Jamie said. "Now. Where can I talk toЧdid the deceased author have a wife, a family?"
"Only his wife. They had no kids," Jamie said, "and she could back up this story of persecution: I gather they were throwing dead animals and similar garbage on his doorstep." He thought, his mouth tight, Damn it, I've got to get Bess's copy of that thingЧshe told me once that Jock always made three carbonsЧand find out just what was in it that's got these lunatics running scared. And then, damn it, he was plotting to himself, excitedly, how can I use this for publicity? If this is the kind of book that anyoneЧeven a group of crackpotsЧwould stop at nothing to keep out of print, maybe that would be a good publicity campaign!
He felt vaguely ashamed of himself for the thought crossing his mind: Now if they had murdered Jock, that would really be a storyЕ
Yes, and I'd give it all up to have poor Jock walk into this office right now, damn it.
He signed the complaint form the police proffered, charging a person or persons unknown with grand larceny, breaking and entering in the night, malicious mischief, use of obscene language over the telephone, harassment, and threats of grievous bodily harm. "I'm assuming this is all tied in together," the policeman said, "and I'll want to talk to Mrs. Cannon, although if her husband died within the last few hours she probably won't want to see us right away. We'll be in touch with you, Mr. Melford."
"Can I have this place cleaned up now?"
"Sure, we're done with it," the second policeman said as they left, and Jamie told his secretary, "Clean this mess up," but sat at his desk, arms crossed on the ruined blotter, scowling. He had to get the other copies of that manuscript and lock them in the office safe right away, just in case the unknown persecutors had other ideas. He had to call the newspapersЧor at least he should consult the publisher, one Andrew Burns, who, for all practical purposes, was Mr. Blackcock, about using this for publicity. He could hardly have Bess paged at the funeral homeЕ wait, he had it. He buzzed his secretary, who scrambled up from the books on the floor, and said, "Leave that there and get me the Merritt Conners Agency on the phone right away. I want to speak to whoever handles the Cannon account."
Talking to Roy Merritt ten minutes later, he lost no time, after brief condolences were exchanged on Jock's death, asking, "You've got a carbon of Cannon's latest?"
Roy Merritt chuckled cagily. "Good thing I'm an ethical man, Melford; it could be that Jock's stuff will have a vogue after his death. A man called me just this morningЧit was in the papers, you know, about Jock, just a line on page twelveЧsuggesting that maybe someone would outbid you for that latest manuscript and that I should hold on to it for a few more weeks."
"Yeah." Jamie felt that he might have anticipated that. "Well, don't hold your breath. I think I know what was behind that. Someone called me and tried to tell me I ought not to handle it."
Merritt listened to the story in silence. Then he said, "Did it ever occur to you that Jock was slipping a little, getting old?"
"Frankly, no," Melford said irritably. "The latest book is as good as any."
"Except that he seems to have begun believing it," Merritt said, "or seemed to. Of course, Jock was a smart cookie. He used to be a publicity agent, you know; I wouldn't have put it past him to try and stir up interest in the book by some such stunt as this. Did that ever occur to you?"
It hadn't, and after a stunned moment, Jamie dismissed the idea. He said dryly, "He surely didn't break into this office after he died, did he? That is, unless something really supernatural is going on."
The agent shrugged. "Cannon was a good guy, God rest him; he might have thought it was a fairly harmless way of creating some publicity. But are you suggesting that they may start trying to get after my copy, too?"
"I don't know," Jamie said slowly. "I wish I did. But if I were you, Merritt, just in case Bess loses her copy, I'd suggest that you stick yours in your office safe. Something damned peculiar is going on, and I'd rather sound like a damned old fussbudget than let these characters have the satisfaction of keeping this book out of print."
"Hey, hey," Merritt said, "you're serious about all this!"
"You're damned right I am!"
"You don't thinkЧgood God, you don't think someone did manage to murder Jock?"
"I don't," Jamie said through his teeth, "unless they scared him to death, and considering that he seems to have started believing it, I guess they could have. But anyone who would talk about such a filthy thing and try to do it, especially if they believed they really could, is somebody I'd love to raise hell with. And if I can stick a spoke in their wheels, believe me, I'm going to do it."
"I guess so," Merritt said slowly. "It would be bad enough to try and throw a scare into somebody like that even if you didn't believe in it. If you believed itЧhanging's too good!"
When Merritt had hung up, Jamie sat back, trying again to remember Cannon's confused last words. Chapter five. He made a mental note to read that chapter with special care. He had spoken of a Father Mansell, too. Jamie pulled down the Manhattan telephone directory and began running through the M section.
There were seven Mansells, all the way from Anthony J. to Roberta, M.D. Turning to the Yellow Pages for CLERGYMEN: CATHOLIC, he found none listed. But all clergymen did not have a separate Yellow Pages listing, and he might be a curate at some rectoryЧor an Episcopalian or Orthodox priestЧand not have a separate listing. After a moment's hesitation, Jamie telephoned the number of a priest he had met once in reference to publishing one of their rare religious books.
Although surprised, Father Cassidy expressed his pleasure at hearing from Jamie again. "Can I do something for you?"
"Technical question, really. Is a Father always listed in the Yellow Pages as a priest?"
"Why, no, not unless he asks to be, usually. Why? Are you checking up on something for a novel?"
"As a matter of fact, no; I'm trying to locate a friend of a friend," Jamie said. "Is there a Father Mansell in the diocese?"
"Mansell." The priest repeated the name slowly; then his voice sharpened. "What makes you ask?"
"As I said, friend of a friend. A friend of mine just died and asked me to notify Father Mansell." Jamie mentally crossed his fingers; that might have been Jock's intention.
"I see. There was a Father Mansell, down at Saint Barbara's rectory. He isn't there now."
"It's not a common name, butЧdon't tell me he's dead too?" Were all the trails going to end in blind alleys?
"Not exactly," Father Cassidy said. "As a matter of fact, it's rather a ticklish business; Father Mansell left the Church some time ago. I don't know where he is now."
Jamie felt a slight gruesome shiver; he remembered from one of Cannon's earlier books that a major component of the Black Mass was an unfrocked priest. He told himself not to be imaginative, but nevertheless he asked, "Then this man isЕ an unfrocked priest?"
"A picturesque term, and not the one we use today," Cassidy said, as if he were repressing a frown. "We prefer to say that he has been laicizedЧforbidden to administer the sacraments, restored to the laity."
"Then he isn't a priest anymore?"
"A priest is always a priest. But you could say he has been excommunicated. But I must not gossip: he was a friend of your friend? Catholic?"
"No," Jamie said, "a writer. I gather this Mansell had helped him in some research, or something like that."
"And you wanted to notify him of your friend's death? I don't know if he's still in the city," Cassidy said slowly, "but there can be no harmЕ his first name was Walter, as I remember. I can't remember the initial; I knew him only slightly."
But after Jamie had hung up again and was pondering what to do with this informationЧthere was no Walter Mansell in the Manhattan phone bookЧhis phone rang and he heard the voice he had been half expecting, and dreading, all that morning. "Jamie? I'm so sorry to bother you, when you've been so good. This is BessЕ"
"Don't worry about it. What can I do for you?"
The voice was high, frantic, now blankly terrified. "They've started on me! Oh, God, the phone rang, and they saidЕ they saidЕ they said they'd killed Jock and now it would beЕ it would be me."
Incredulously, Jamie shook his head. He said, anger slowly consolidating inside him, "Did you tell them you haven't the manuscript anymore, that I have it?"
"IЕ they knew everythingЕ" Bess's voice, at the far end of the wire, faded and broke suddenly into sobs. "It's so nasty, so ridiculous. They said they'd got your copy and now they want mine. I'm supposed to put it outside my door tonight and not look out, not sign the contractЕ"
Jamie felt his rage crystallize into action. He reached for his checkbook, the phone still tucked under his chin. He said, "I hate to' talk business with Jock still, but you can't keep this up, Bess.' I'm coming over and bringing a contract with me. You can sign it and give me all the copies you have."
Bess quavered. "Aren't you afraidЕ"
"I'm no more afraid of thoseЕ those lunaticsЕ than I am of the wind blowing," Jamie said, hoping he sounded firmer than he felt. "Hold the fort till I get there, Bess, and have all Jamie's copies ready for me. If you want them for souvenirs, I'll see that you get them back once the book's in print. Right now I'll take them over, and they can do their damnedest!"
He hung up againЧit seemed suddenly that, he had been on the phone all morningЧand told his secretary to make out a standard form for a contract for Jock's latest book. With it under his arm, he left the office, hearing the phone ring again and not realizing, until he was out of earshot, that he had been half-consciously expecting, every time it rang that day, to hear the sneering, sadistic tones of the call he had gotten yesterday.
He was not looking forward to talking to Bess in her fresh bereavement, or talking business with her, far less that he might be accused of driving a hard bargain with a newly widowed woman, but this could not be allowed to go on. There were laws against this sort of thing, but they were hard to enforceЧa girl he knew had cringed under obscene phone calls for four months and had finally had her phone taken outЧand it was better if the manuscript was out of Bess's hands. He thought firmly, They'll have a hard time scaring me off.
He left the Cannon apartment a couple of hours later as the icy chill of the December dusk was falling.
Two thick boxes, which had originally held typing paper and now held two copies of Cannon's manuscript, were under his arm. He felt ragged and exhausted; Bess had been so red-eyed, so haggard, so frayed-looking, and yet so brave and quiet. He wanted a drink, a good dinner, and to forget the whole thing for a considerable length of time. And yet, as he pushed the button to take him up to his apartment, he knew that he wanted to read through the manuscript again, this time much more carefully. The first time he had read it as an editor, judging its appeal for his large audience. This time he was just plain curious; he wanted to know what was in it to cause even a lunatic to threaten the writer, and the publisher, and the writers wife, so crudely. And Jock Cannon's last words, almost, before he had dissolved into the delirium before his death, had been "Chapter five."