"Tanya Huff - Victoria Nelson - 01 - Blood Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

Vicki squinted as the police photographer snapped off another quick series of shots. She couldn't see
Mike, but she could hear him down in the tunnel barking commands in his best God's gift to the
Criminal Investigations Bureau voice. Down in the tunnel . . . The hair on the back of her neck rose
again as she remembered the feeling of something lingering, something dark and, well if she had to put a
name to it, evil. She suddenly wanted to warn Celluci to be careful. She didn't. She knew how he'd react.
How she'd react if their positions were reversed.


Vicki? You sticking around?


It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, that they knew where to find her if they needed further
information, but curiosity-about what the police would find, about how long she could remain so close
to the job she'd loved and not fall apart-turned the no into a grudging, For a while. She'd be damned if
she'd run away.


As she watched, Celluci came up the stairs onto the platform and spoke to the ident man, sweeping one
arm back along the tracks. The ident man protested that he needed a certain amount of light to do his
job, but Celluci cut him off. With a disgusted snort, he picked up his case and headed for the tunnel.


Charming as ever, Vicki thought as Celluci scooped her coat off the floor and made his way toward her,
de-touring slightly around the coroner's men who were finally zipping the body into its orange plastic
bag. Don't tell me, she called as soon as he was close enough, her voice carefully dry, almost sarcastic,
and hopefully showing no indication of the churning emotions that had her gut tied in knots. The only
prints on the scene are mine? There were, of course, a multitude of prints on the scene, none of which
had been identified-that was for downtown-but the bloody handprints Vicki had scattered around were
obvious.

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Dead on, Sherlock. He tossed her the coat. And the blood trail leads into a workman's alcove and stops.

Vicki frowned as she reconstructed what had to have happened just before she reached the platform.
You checked the southbound side?

That's where we lost the trail. His tone added, Don't teach Grandpa to suck eggs. He held up a hand to
forestall the next question. I had one of the uniforms talk to the old man while Dave was dealing with
you, but he's hysterical. He keeps going on about Armageddon. His son-in-law's coming to pick him up
and I'll go see him tomorrow.

Vicki shot a glance across the station where the old man who had followed her off the bus and down the
stairs sat talking to a policewoman. Even at a distance he didn't look good. His face was gray and he
appeared to be babbling uncontrollably, one scrawny, swollen-knuckled hand clutching at the constable's