"Dean Ing - Devil You Don't Know" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

need for institutional treatment in the SoutheastтАФand lower per capita effectiveness. The region was
catching up; but, in 1989, still lagged. To Chris, it was a problem in analysis. To Val, stumbling up
Gulfview's steps with her luggage, the first problem was a dread akin to stage fright. It always was; and
as always, she hid her fear from Chris. The air conditioning was a relief, but a new fear sidled up to Val
when they found the receptionist. She was, and wasn't, old Ms. Endicott.

Chris saw that Ol' Miz Endicott had very high arches for such small feet. He stood watching as May
Endicott ushered a vacant-eyed Val Clarke from the reception room. A waist he could span with two
hands, but la Endicott hourglassed to very nice extremes. Rather like a pneumatic gazelle by Disney, he
judged.
Endicott boasted thick brown curls. "Dye job" was Val's whispered aside as she stumbled, entirely in
character, with her luggage. But Chris was not listening.

The Endicott woman returned in moments, to help Chris complete papers placing Val Clarke squarely in
the hands of a private jailтАФor asylum, rehab home, whatever it might prove to be. "We were expectin'
you, but the senior staff are busy at the moment. The child's history seems well documented," she
remarked in a soft patrician drawl. "Do you think she might be a trainable?"

Chris hesitated. A trainable might have free run of the place, or might be closely watched if it were more
of a prison. Suddenly he remembered that May Endicott was, after all, a potential ally. "Depends on how
good you are, I guess," he said. "I'm told you're concerned for the patients."

"We tryтАФI think," she said as if genuinely pondering.

"I mean you, personally."

A flicker of subtlety in the dark sloe eyes. "I can't imagine who ..."

"Just a friend in the discipline," he said easily. "Henry E. Wilks. How's that for a set of initials?"

"I don't ..." she began, and then she did. "Well," she said in a throaty whisper. It set Maffei atingle. "And
what are all the Wilkses doin' these days?"

"Waiting to hear from me," he replied, enjoying the respect in her oval face. "And I'm waiting to hear
from you. I don't need to meet the staff just yet."

"I'm in the book, M. A. Endicott, in town. Perhaps this evenin'?"

He nodded and continued with the forms, pointedly sliding a blank set into his disreputable attache case.
As he rose, he noted that May Endicott's hands trembled. Anticipation? Fear?

Chris made a leisurely trip into town, bought a sandwich, then found the Endicott address. It was after
five P.M. when he parked. He began to study the commitment formsтАФthe fine print could sometimes
raise hacklesтАФand remembered the barbecue sandwich. During his third bite he remembered Val Clarke
and fumbled for his comm unit. Although the major amplification and tight-band scrambling modes were
built into the car, they also enhanced the signal to and from his pocket unit. Without the car, his range
was perhaps two kilometers. With it, over thirty. Val, behind high fencing and well beyond the town
limits, should be within range. But you never knew ...

He thumbed the voice actuator. The cassette, as usual, was recording all transmission into the system.