"Kava, Alex - Maggie 04 - At the Stroke of Madness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kava Alex)

"Hey, Pops. The department sergeant told me he saw you on the evening news."
"How did I look?"
"Pop, what the fuck's going on?"
"Jules, you know I don't care for that language."
"He said you found a dead body in McCarty's old rock quarry. Is that true?"
"Calvin Vargus was moving some rocks and a woman fell out of a ban-el."
"You're kidding. Who the hell is she?"
"Don't know. Sounds like something you'd have down there in D.C., huh?"
"Just be careful, Pop. I don't like the sound of this. And 1 don't like you being out in the middle of nowhere by yourself."
Luc stared at the TV screen. "Frasier," he said, seeing the show's title on the screen.
"What's that, Pop?"
He felt it this time like a flipping of a switch. He blinked several times, but it didn't help. He looked around the room and the panic caught him off guard. Outside the windows it looked dark. He hated the dark. Inside there were shelves with books, a pile of newspapers in the corner, pictures on the walls, a jacket by the door. None of it looked familiar. Where the hell was he?
"Pop, are you okay?" Someone was yelling in his ear. "What the hell's going on?"
Yelling, but it sounded like it had come through a wind tunnel. There was a bit of an echo. An echo with words jumbled and then interrupted by a bark. A bark followed by another and another.
Sometimes it felt like jerking awake suddenly from a deep sleep. This time it was Scrapple sitting in front of him, looking up at him and barking as if in Morse Code.
"Pop, are you there?"
"I'm here, Jules."
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, sure."
Now there was silence on the other end. He didn't want to worry her. What was worse was that it was embarrassing. He didn't want her to know, to see what her father was becoming.
"Listen, Pop-" her voice was soft, reminding him of when she was a little girl, so sweet and shy "-I'm gonna try to get up there as soon as I can. Maybe in a couple of days, okay?"
"Jules, you don't have to do that. I'm fine."
"I'll let you know what my schedule is as soon as I check it."
"I don't want you changing your schedule for me."
"Damn! They're paging me, Pop. I gotta go. You stay out of trouble. I'll talk to you soon."
"You stay out of trouble, too. I love you, Jules." But she was already gone, a dial tone buzzing in his ear. Next time she called he'd convince her he was fine. He had to. As much as he loved seeing her, he couldn't risk her seeing him fumble and forget. He couldn't stand her being embarrassed of him, or worse, feeling sorry for him.
Luc glanced around the room again, comforted and calmed by the simple recognition of his things. He looked back at the TV, but as he did so he thought he saw someone move outside the window. He stopped. Had he imagined it? Had there been movement? A shadow walking right by the back window?
No, it was crazy. He hadn't heard a car door. No one would be out walking around in the dark. It was the stress of the day. He had to have imagined it. But as he crossed the room to pull the. blinds shut and make sure the door was locked, he saw that Scrapple was still watching the window. The dog's ears were pitched, listening, and his tail was tucked between his legs. Luc had assumed the dog had barked to get him out of his daze. But had Scrapple seen someone, too?
CHAPTER 14
It was almost midnight.
He watched from the top of the ridge, crouched low and hidden in the trees. From here he could see down into the rock quarry, although most of the action was now limited to state patrol officers waving flashlights and setting up flares. Some of the media vans had left. Those that stayed had mounted glaring strobe lights atop the vans. What the hell did they think they would see?
His anger had given in to exhaustion for the time being. His stomach ached from all the retching. He hadn't thrown up that much since he was a boy. He hated when he lost control. He hated, hated, hated it. Even now, as he watched his hiding place being invaded and desecrated, he couldn't control the cramps, the slicing sensation that ripped at his guts.
And to think it was all because of one man. One man
who must want to destroy him. He could see the old man's house in the distance. Actually all he could see was the diffused yellow light through the blinds in the front room, what he knew from a closer inspection to be the living room. He had memorized where the sofa sat in the middle of the large space. How it faced the main window with a TV set on a cheap rolling cart right in front of the window, where he imagined the old man could watch the news and still catch anyone coming up the long driveway.
When he had seen Luc Racine earlier on TV he knew the old man looked familiar. He knew he had seen him around town, but still there was something that nagged at him all day. Then suddenly he remembered as if in a flash of lightning. Yes, lightning, the storm.
The old man had been there Saturday night. He had been in Hubbard Park, wandering around with that stupid little dog. Wandering around despite the dark and despite the storm. How could he have forgotten? Yes, he remembered seeing him with that strange little black hat on his silver head. He had even watched him give Joan directions to the West Peak. He had taken extra precautions so the old man wouldn't see him. He had waited until he was gone, making him late, and he hated to be late.
Yet, despite all the precautions, the old man knew. He knew something. Had he seen him that night? Had he been hiding in the shadows? What had the old man seen? And how in the world did he find out about the rock quarry?
No, no, no. It didn't make sense.
If the old man knew, then why hadn't the sheriff arrested him? What kind of game was he playing? Did he simply want to destroy him? Was that it? Why, why, why? Why would the old man do that?
Another mess, and he hated messes. Hated, hated, hated them. His mother had always made him clean up his own messes, standing over him, pushing him down into his own vomit-face first-if he wasn't quick enough.
"You made it, you clean it." He could still hear her screech.
He needed to start cleaning up this mess and quickly.
CHAPTER 15
Tuesday, September 16
Maggie picked up her keys, badge and cellular phone from the airport security conveyor belt while shoving the plastic basin aside and trying to grab her laptop off the oncoming tray all at the same time. She pushed several buttons on the cell phone and tucked it between her neck and shoulder while she slid her laptop back into its case. She should be an expert at this by now, but still she struggled with the Velcro straps that held the computer in place.
"Hello?" said a voice in her ear.
"Gwen, it's Maggie. I'm glad 1 caught you."
"Where in the world are you? It sounds like you're calling from the bottom of the Potomac River."
"No, no. Not the bottom of the Potomac. Worse. Airport security at National." She smiled when she saw one of the security officers scowl at her words. The woman wasn't amused. She waved Maggie to the side with her wand. "Oh, shoot, hold on a minute, Gwen."
"Arms at your sides and out," the woman barked at Maggie. She set her laptop case on a nearby chair, the cell phone on top, and followed the instructions she knew by heart. It never failed. She was always getting pulled aside. And as usual she immediately set the security wand chirping. She dug her keys and badge out of her pocket and tossed those on the case, too.