"Littleford, Clare - Death Duty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Littleford Clare)

his, Alex was being so bloody kind to me.

We sat drinking our coffee. I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray.
I thought about asking him about work, or whether he liked lodging with
Simon, or about what he'd been up to, but my head still hurt and I
couldn't bring myself to form a sentence.

Finally, he said, "I'll fetch your stuff from the office tomorrow."

I wanted to say that it was fine, he'd done enough; instead, I closed
my eyes and said, "Thanks." I felt very sleepy but I could sense his
presence even with my eyes closed.

After a minute or two he said, "How come you couldn't tell the police
more?"

I opened my eyes. He was slumped on the sofa with his arms stretched
back over his head and his socked feet crossed. "I just cant
remember," I said.

"Really?" He looked doubtful. "The doctor said '

"I know, I know. My head hurts. I'm tired. I don't want to think
about it right now."

"Well, you've got to at some point."

"But not now," I said.

"But you have to tell the police."

"I know," I said, and couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice.
"Don't you think I know that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "There's no need to get like that about it."

He sounded hurt, but I thought he might be putting that on. I sighed.
"I just got knocked unconscious in the street in broad daylight how
d'you expect me to be about it?"

"But it's over now," he said. "I mean, c'mon, statistically you're
unlikely to get mugged twice, so you don't have to worry about that any
more, eh? It's all out of the way."

He was searching out eye contact, searching out a smile. I fought back
the tears that had been threatening and forced myself to laugh. "So
I'm statistically mugger-proof now, then?"

He nodded and grinned. "Exactly," he said.