"Elrod, P N - Vampire Files 09 - Lady Crymsyn E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

him some steady and lucrative work.
"You've got three things going at once, don't you?" I asked.
"Yes, as it happens I doЧ"
"Then you don't need this on top of 'em. This is cop-work. Let them do their
job."
"But who is she, how did she come to be here?" He was a lean silhouette against
the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders bunched with tension. I suddenly
realized I'd not turned on the room light. He hadn't bothered with it either.
Probably so he could better watch the street below. "Are you not curious?"
"I'm still in shock; gimme some time to get over it."
"You'd best do so straightaway. A police car just pulled up."
"That was quick."
"It has a radio antenna. They must have been very close."
We went downstairs. The two uniforms who'd been sent to check things had already
pushed their way into the outer lobby and were gaping at the scenery, but
covered up their initial awe pretty fast. For the first of several times that
night I gave my name, where I lived, my occupation, and told them the problem.
Escott did the same, but since he'd just come along for the ride and wasn't the
owner of the joint, they weren't as interested in him.
We took the cops down to the basement and showed them what they needed to see,
then stood back for the next few hours as things took their course. Eventually
some plainclothes detectives and a photographer turned up. Anyone who didn't
have a badge was herded upstairs for questioning.
Everyone got a grilling, and I could understand why the other guys had been so
anxious to leave. It wasn't to avoid trouble so much as to get away from the
aggravation of telling the same story over and over again.
The cops kept an eye on me the whole time and weren't exactly subtle about it. I
shrugged it off, unworried since I had an alibi. The murder had taken place long
before I decided to come west.
The coroner's wagon arrived, and I started to have hope that the circus would
wind down once they carted off the remains. I had to revise my thinking when
another big car pulled up behind, and out stepped Lieutenant Nick Blair, a
homicide cop who didn't much like me.
He was even more nattily dressed than I'd remembered, this time in a
midnight-black double-breasted suit with a matching fedora at a rakish angle.
The getup looked to be worth about two months' pay for him. It was reasonable to
assume that he was either on the take or had another source of money than his
modest paycheck. He had hard brown eyes, slick dark hair, and sported a thick,
wide mustache trimmed to give his mouth a kind of perpetual smile. Its confident
good humor was entirely superficial when aimed at me. Along with the workmen and
Escott, I stood outside watching all the comings and goings. Blair still managed
to right away pick me from the crowd. I heard that sharks do the same thing when
it comes to finding fish.
"This could be interesting," Escott murmured.
"Aw, you're just trying to make me feel good."
Blair aimed that false smile that didn't reach his eyes my way for a long ten
seconds, then walked into the club without saying a word.
"Most interesting, indeed," Escott added out of the side of his mouth. You
couldn't see it, because he was good at holding to a poker face, but I knew he
was hiding an amused smirk under there somewhere.