"Brian Lumley - Necroscope 10 - Lost Years 02 - Resurgence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

'And I've a few more questions for the girl,' the Inspector replied, turning up the collar of his coat He scanned the land all about, noted that it
had started to snow again: great fat flakes that fell straight out of a leaden sky. In the lowering atmosphere there was little or no
wind.
'A pretty enough place in the summer,' McGowan commented. 'But in the winter? A hell o' a place for a man tae die. Huh! An* a
hell o' a way for one tae die, too!' They stood side by side a while, scanning the valley between the hills. Nearby, a police Land Rover hunched on
the verge at the side of the road, also a squad car fitted with snow chains, and an ambulance with its rear doors open, waiting. The
blue lights of the vehicles, silently revolving, loaned eerie, intermittent illumination to the handful of stamping,
arm-flapping uniformed policemen and paramedics in attendance. Exhaust fumes from the Land Rover went up in a blue-grey spiral,
mimicking the smoke from the cluster of near-distant cottage chimneys.
lanson signalled the paramedics forward; now they could take the body - its remains - out of here. The forensic lab in Edinburgh would be its
next port of call, then the morgue. But there wouldn't be much gutting of this one. He'd had more than his fair share of that already.
'A hell of a way to die?' The Inspector echoed his companion curiously, enigmatically. 'Or maybe a weird sort of... I don't know,
justice, maybe?' There was that in his voice which caused old McGowan to glance at him sharply. Something he'd not
been informed of, then? Oh, the vet would stand by his claim to the bitter end, that this was the work of a wolf. For he'd seen (indeed he had
sensed./fe//) evidence which to him was indisputable. But lanson was the policeman after all, and a damned good one! Anyway, it wouldn't do to
press the point; a man can't be seen to know too much, or he might have too much explaining to do. A hunch is one thing, but an assertion needs
proving.
'Justice?' Angus let his sharp tone reveal his own suspicions. 'Somethin' ye've nae told me, George?' It was hardly surprising;
this was the way their game usually went
lanson's smile was grim. 'Oh, a lot to come from this yet, Angus... not least from you! Nothing's solved until everything is known.' And before
the other could question further: 'Let's get on over to the house now. We can talk as we go...'
'I know him,' lanson admitted, as they crossed the footbridge.
The victim?'
'Victim, villain, whatever,' the Inspector shrugged. 'John Moffafs his name. I wouldn't have known his body - who would? But I
recognized his face. Moffat aye: prime suspect in a murder case in Glasgow just a year ago. Then, too, he'd done it in the snow; a park on the
outskirts of the city, in the wee small hours of the morning. The same modus operandi: he dug a hole in a snowdrift, chose a
prostitute on her way home and dragged her in. He raped and murdered her. Slit her throat ear to ear. He'd been seen in
the park earlier. There were one or two other bits of inconclusive evidence... not enough to pin it on him.'
'He walked away frae it' McGowan nodded.
'But not away from this one,' lanson's voice was grim. 'So it's one down... but it's still one to go.'
'Ye're saying that this was... what, revenge? Which means ye believe it was a man. A man and his bloody big dog, maybe?'
lanson glanced at him out the corner of his eye. 'Maybe,' he answered. "Which would put the whamrny on your wolf theory.'
The other made no reply. It suited him either way. He knew that lanson wouldn't have asked him along if he hadn't at least suspected a large
canine or some other animal. The Inspector had admitted as much.
'I only know that someone protected the girl,' lanson went on. 'Except he did too damn thorough a job of it!'
'Someone close to the Glasgow prostitute, maybe?'
'Eh? Aye, possibly. Close to that one, anyway.'
'Oh? Has there been more than one, then? Unfair, George!' McGowan tut-tutted. 'A man cannae play if the lights are out! Ah have
tae know all yere moves.'
'One more at least,' lanson said. 'Gleneagles, two winters ago.'
'In the snow again! And no too far away, at that A prostitute, was she?'
'Aye. We didn't find that one until the first of the warm weather when the snow melted. She'd been there a month or
more. Any evidence had been washed away. Our wee man back there could have done it, though. Again, same modus operandi. But of
course we didn't know him then. He didn't come into the picture until the Glasgow thing.'
'And that's it?'
That's it for the prostitute murders... well, as far as I'm aware. Of course there could be others we don't know about People
disappear and are never found - as well you know.' And again he gave that sideways glance.
'But if our man John Moffat wasnae linked to the Gleneagles murder, and if who or whatever killed him was
somebody out for
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