"Guardino, Louise - 666 Upside Down" - читать интересную книгу автора (Guardino Louise)

They were always young. Under fourteen. If caught, theyТd be out ten, twenty,
maybe thirty years later. Still able to pick up where theyТd left off, with
another kill. Recycled, at taxpayer expense.
On his second day in town, he interviewed a police lieutenant. He learned
nothing new.
John spent a day analyzing the murders. The Raleigh killings had all happened
at night, between eight and ten: A jogger, lured into a side park, a man just
outside of his parked van in a shopping center, and the other three victims in
their homes.
John knew what the police didnТt-only do-gooders qualified as victims. Someone
who delivered Meals-On-Wheels, manned a crisis line, or was an icon for good.
The one constant in the murders John investigated.
John tracked back through six months of local news. All five victims had been
mentioned, if only in a captioned picture, for their good acts. In this, they
were not alone. But one thing differentiated these five from the others-their
photos; all a touch overexposed, lacking shadows and clarity. A common
characteristic of the victims whose deaths John had investigated.
He checked his map again. No kill had been more than seven miles from another.
No doubt the police had also plotted it out. But they might not be thinking
child as perp, as John was. A child no more than twelve. It was always a
child. Means of transportation: feet or bike. He couldnТt assume the kills
were equidistant from a specific starting point, but he was sure that only
local streets were used. He plotted a new map, this one based on time of day
of the kill. The earlier kills in green, the later in red. The later ones
would be closer to home. Do the deed, clean up and still get home in plenty of
time. The earlier kills would be those farthest from the killerТs starting
point.
He knew the area to concentrate on now. He checked the news files again,
finding three more potential victims living within the target area. There
could be more, probably were, but he had to start somewhere. He stuck a
magnetic REYNOLDS SECURITY plaque to the door of his rental car and began
spending his nights parked near one of the possibles.
On the third day, the morning radio informed him of his poor choice.
У...another murder in North Raleigh last night. On Rainwater Drive...Ф
One of the three on his list. If he was right about the other two, he now had
a fifty-fifty chance of staking out the right place. The killings were coming
less than a week apart.
Three nights later he was parked near a target home. It was 8:01. It was dark.
Clouds blocked the moon. The nearest street lamp was more than a block away. A
slight mist hazed the sparse light. Not even a cricket could be heard. In the
darkness, he could barely make out the jogger coming down the hill towards
him, a moving shade of black against gray.
There was an edge to the night. A damp breeze brushed his face and neck
through the open window. His hands throbbed. He scanned the area. Nothing but
the nearing jogger.
The night changed. Shimmered, wavered, fractured. He cursed. He felt it. He
was too late. John threw open the car door and ran across and up the street
towards the target home. He ran up the driveway into a patch of soft, warm,
and sweet smelling, night air. He turned back towards the street in time to
see the jogger stop, and breathe deeply. The air crackled.