"Dexter, Colin - Inspector Morse 11 - Morse's Greatest Mystery and Other Stories (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dexter Colin)

"Make sure you take his razor out of the cell when he's finished scraping that ugly mug of his. Clear? One of these days he'll do us all a favour and cut his bloody throat."

For a few seconds Evans looked thoughtfully at the man standing ramrod straight in front of him, a string of Second World War medals proudly paraded over his left breastpocket.

"Mr. Jackson? Was it you who took me nail-scissors away?" Evans had always worried about his hands.

"And your nail-file, you poncy twit."

"Look!" For a moment Evans's eyes smouldered dangerously, but Jackson was ready for him.

"Orders of the Governor, Evans." He leaned forward and leered, his voice dropping to a harsh, contemptuous whisper.

"You want to complain?"

Evans shrugged his shoulders lightly. The crisis was over.

"You've got half an hour to smarten yourself up, Evans and take that bloody hat off!"

"Me 'at? Huh!" Evans put his right hand lovingly on top of the filthy woollen, and smiled sadly.

"D'you know, Mr. Jackson, it's the only thing that's ever brought me any sort o' luck in life. Kind o' lucky charm, if you know what I mean.

And today I thought well, with me exam and all that.. ."

Buried somewhere in Jackson, beneath all the bluster and the bullshit, was a tiny core of compassion; and Evans knew it.

"Just this once, then, Shirley Temple." (If there was onething that Jackson genuinely loathed about Evans it was his long, wavy hair.) "And get bloody shaving!"

At 8.45 the same morning the Reverend Stuart McLeery left his bachelor flat in Broad Street and stepped out briskly towards Carfax. The weatherman reported temperatures considerably below the normal for early June, and a long black overcoat and a shallow-crowned clerical hat provided welcome protection from the steady drizzle which had set in half an hour earlier and which now spattered the thick lenses of his spectacles. In his right hand he was carrying a small brown suitcase, which contained all that he would need for his morning duties, including a sealed question-paper envelope, a yellow invigilation form, a special 'authentication' card from the Examinations Board, a paper-knife, a Bible (he was to speak to the Women's Guild that afternoon on the book of Ruth), and a current copy of The Church Times.

The two-hour examination was scheduled to start at 9.15 a.m.

Evans was lathering his face vigorously when Stephens brought in two small square tables, and set them opposite each other in the narrow space between the bunk on the one side and on the other the distempered stone wall, plastered at eye-level with a proud row of naked women, vast-breasted and voluptuous. Next, Stephens brought in two hard chairs, the slightly less battered of which he placed in front of the table which stood nearer the cell door.

Jackson put in a brief final appearance.

"Behave yourself, laddy!"

Evans turned and nodded.

"And these', (Jackson pointed to the pin-ups), 'off!"

Evans turned and nodded again.

"I was goin' to take 'em down anyway. A minister, isn't 'e? The chap comin' to sit in, I mean."

"And how did you know that?" asked Jackson quietly.

"Well, I 'ad to sign some forms, didn't I? And I couldn't 'do ' "You sneaky little bastard."