"Doherty, Jim - Death And Taxes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doherty Jim)

experienced with FPS), I drifted off to sleep.
During the night it snowed. And I mean snowed. Cold as it was the day before,
the skies had been clear and blue, but I awoke the next morning to find that
storm clouds had gathered over Sac Prairie County during the night and dumped
several feet of the stuff in the matter of a few hours. Had dumped and were
continuing to dump. It took me over fifteen minutes, after IТd checked out, to
dig my squad out of all the accumulated snow, and another fifteen minutes to
warm it up enough that I felt reasonably confident I could proceed without the
engine dying. Once started, it took me a another half-hour to go all of one
mile down US 14 toward Madison with the snow, ice, and wind flaying
unmercifully at my windshield and my wipers ineffectually trying to give me a
reasonably clear picture of the road ahead.
УHell with this!Ф I said out loud. I stopped, turned the squad around, and
headed back to the Red Barn. As I walked into the lobby, the desk clerk was
already holding up the key to Room 9.
УFigured youТd be back,Ф she said.
By the time I d returned to my room it was past 0800. I called the office in
Chicago to inform my supervisor, Sergeant Albin, that weather conditions would
prevent me from returning.
УThe way itТs coming down, IТm not even sure IТd make it to Madison, let alone
Chicago, and if IТm going to spend the night away from home, I might as well
just stay here.
The sergeant reluctantly agreed. I said that IТd probably see him the next
day, if the weather moderated. He said he hoped so, and to keep him informed.
I told him I certainly would, and we rang off. Katie Anne wasnТt expecting me
home till that evening so I figured I could call her later.
ThereТs something about heavy snowfall that makes crawling under nice warm
covers particularly appealing, and, as I still hadnТt completely made up the
sleep deficit of the night before last, and was now off the hook with the
sarge, I saw no reason not to try to catch a few more hours shuteye. Fifteen
minutes and a chapter of Siragusa later, thatТs just what I was doing.
The knocking at the door was loud and insistent. So was the voice that
accompanied it.
УMr. Sullivan? Please open up!Ф
I shook myself awake. Damn! Had I forgotten to put out the УDo Not DisturbФ
sign? I looked at my watch on the nightstand. 1000 hours. Well, that was
probably time to get up anyway. I called, УJust a minute,Ф pulled on a t-shirt
and jeans, and opened the door to find the desk clerk, in a state of extreme
agitation, on the other side.
УItТs Mr. Coogan in Room 6,Ф she said. УPlease come look.Ф
УWhatТs the problem?Ф
УJust please come!Ф she said.
We went down the hall to CooganТs room. She fumbled with a key ring, found the
room master, slipped it into the lock, and led me into the room.
Coogan was still in bed, turned on his left side. As I moved closer, I saw a
brownish-red stain, not as large as you might imagine, but still noticeable,
on his pillow. There was a small hole, like a puncture, under his right ear,
but the black burn marks around it suggested a gunshot with a small caliber
weapon, maybe a .22.
His face, or anyway the right side of it, was unnaturally pale, and cold to