"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

"Then why are you so sure he had nothing to do with it?"
"She committed suicide."
"How do you know for sure?"
"The door was bolted from the inside. They had to break it down to get in."
"What about the window? Was it locked too?"
"No. The window was open. But it has bars on it. No way anybody could get in."
"When I couldn't get her to answer my knock last night, I went around to the window and looked in.
She was lying there with blood all over." She began to sniffle. Johnny got up and put his arms around her.
He looked at me, grinned, and shrugged.
"Do you have a vacancy?" I asked, getting a whiz-bang idea.
"Yes," she said, the sniffles disappearing instantly. "I have two. Actually three, but I can't rent Miss
Herndon's room for a few daysтАФ until someone claims her things."
"I'd like to rent the one closest to number seven," I said.
I wasn't lucky enough to get number six or eight, but I did get five. Lorraine Nesbitt's nameless, dingy
apartment court was a fleabag. Number five was one room with a closet, a tiny kitchen, and a tiny
bathтАФidentical with the other nine units she assured me. With a good deal of tugging and grunting, the
couch turned into a lumpy bed. The refrigerator looked as if someone had spilled a bottle of Br'er Rabbit
back in 1938 and hadn't cleaned it up yet. The stove looked like a lube rack. Well, I sighed, it was only
for three days. I had to pay a month's rent in advance anyway, but I put it down as a bribe to keep
Lorraine's and Johnny's mouths shut about my being a detective.
 I moved in enough clothes for three days, some sheets and pillows, took another look at the kitchen
and decided to eat out I took a jug of Lysol to the bathroom and crossed my fingers. Miss Tremaine
brought up the bank statement and humphed a few tunes.
Number five bad one door and four windowsтАФidentical to the other nine Lorraine assured me. The
door had a heavy-duty bolt that couldn't be fastened or unfastened from the outside. The window beside
the door didn't open at all and wasn't intended to. The bathroom and kitchen windows cranked out and
were tall and skinny, about twenty-four by six. The other living room window, opposite the door, slid
upward. The iron bars bolted to the frame were so rusted I doubted if they could be removed without
ripping out the whole window. It appeared Andrew Detweiler had another perfect alibi after allтАФalong
with the rest of the world,
I stood outside number seven suddenly feeling like a teen-ager about to pick up his first date. I could
hear Detweiler's typewriter tickety-ticking away inside. Okay, Mallory, this is what you've been breaking
your neck on for a week.
I knocked on the door.
I heard the typewriter stop ticking and the scrape of a chair being scooted back. I didn't hear
anything else for fifteen or twenty seconds, and I wondered what he was doing. Then the bolt was drawn
and the door opened.
He was buttoning his shin. That must have been the delay: he wouldn't want anyone to see him with
his shut off. Everything Td been told about him was true. He wasn't very tall; the top of his head came to
my nose. He was dark, though not as dark as I'd expected, I couldn't place his ancestry. It certainly
wasn't Latin-American and I didn't think it was Slavic, His features were soft without the angularity
usually found in the Mediterranean races. His hair wasn't quite black. It wasn't exactly long and it wasn't
exactly short His clothes were nondescript. Everything about him was neutralтАФexcept his face. It was
just about the way Lorraine Nesbitt had described it If you called central casting and asked for a male
angel, you'd get Andrew Detweiler in a blond wig. His body was slim and well-formedтАФfrom where I
was standing I couldn't see the hump and you'd never know there was one. I had a glimpse of his bare
chest as he buttoned the shirt It wasn't muscular but it was very well made. He was very
healthy-lookingтАФpink and flushed with health, though slightly pale as if he didn't get out in the sun much.
His dark eyes were astounding. If you blocked out the rest of the face, leaving nothing but the eyes,
you'd swear he was no more than four years old. You've seen little kids with those big, guileless,