"Lumley, Brian - Necroscope - The Lost Years Volume 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

'Goodnight' lanson answered automatically. And glancing at the moon again through his window, he hoped it would be. It had started out good, anyway...
Since it was too early to eat, and much too early to get ready for his appointment at BJ.'s Wine Bar, lanson checked through the reports again. Now he was looking at cases covering attacks on people. And though five years was a long time, still, in his opinion -- based on the number of savagings alone -- there were far too many Rottweilers and Dobermanns around! As for the incidence of people bitten in the face...it was horrific! Worse, several of these attacks had been fatals.
What the hell is it in a dog, the Inspector wondered, that will make it bite a child in the face? And what the hell was it that caused them to carry on even after they'd reduced the victim to a bundle of red rags? The wolf in them, he supposed. The only good thing was that in almost every case where a rogue pet dog had savaged someone, the beast had been easily tracked back to its owner. And nine out of ten such animals -- the dogs, that is -- had been destroyed. lanson had never been much of a dog-lover, and he didn't go a lot on their owners, either.
And then there were the unsolved cases...
But the Inspector's eyes were tired; the rest of the reports could wait; he would take a break from the paperwork and try contacting ex-constable Gavin Strachan instead. He was in the book -- several of them were, in fact lanson matched addresses with the one he'd got from the records clerk and gave his man a call.
'Eh?' said a rough voice at the other end of the line.
'Good evening, sir,' lanson answered. 'Gavin Strachan?'
'Aye. What is it?'
'Ex-constable Strachan?'
'Eh? No for a long time, it isn't! Anyway, what of it?'
'Inspector lanson,' lanson told him. "We never met, but I would certainly like to.'
'Why?' (Strachan's voice was rough as sandpaper, and full of suspicion).
'Oh, routine,' (lanson's stock answer). 'A case you dealt with up in Kincraig thirty years ago -- something that happened at the wildlife park...?'
For a moment there was silence, then: 'Some kind o' joke?' Strachan's voice was harsher still.
'Joke? Not at all. I'd just like to hear it from you what really happened that night What you think you saw.'
Think, is it? But Ah told them what Ah think thirty years ago -- told the newspapers, too. Hah! Tellin' mah story was like pissin' in the
wind. Aye, and it pissed mah career away, too!' 'Mr Strachan, I -- ' Tuck ye!' the other cut him off, and slammed the phone down
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STRACHAN, BONNIE JEAN, AND...McGOWAN?
If there was one thing guaranteed to get George lanson's back up, it was someone talking to him like that Very well, maybe the man had cause, or thought he had. He'd better have or, by God, lanson would see to it that his bad manners brought him a great deal of trouble! Easiest thing in the world to have him called in to the local police station, and there let him cool his heels for an hour before seeing him. Aye, and the law was on lanson's side all the way. Judge's Rule number one: "Whenever a Police Officer is endeavouring to discover the author of a crime, there is no objection to him putting questions in respect thereof to any person or persons whether suspected or not from whom he believes useful information may be obtained." So fuck ye, too, Gavin Strachan! lanson thought as he knocked solidly on the door of the man's ground-floor flat in the Penicuik Road. We can do it the hard way or the easy way, it's up to you.
His knock was answered by a tall, surly-looking, stocky man in his mid- to late fifties. He stood straight, but still had to look up a little at lanson. And he recognized a policeman when he saw one, by which the Inspector knew that this was indeed his man. One copper can spot another a mile away; even an ex-copper.
To prove the point, Strachan squinted at him through red-rimmed eyes, and grunted, 'Inspector lanson. Well now, and is it no strange Ah was expectin' ye.' It wasn't a question.
'Gavin Strachan,' lanson replied, 'I need to talk to you. What's more I will talk to you, here or elsewhere, in my time or yours, if s your choice.'
'And have Ah done somethin" wrong?'
'Not that I know of. I was hoping you'd want to do something right, that's all. It could be you can't help me; if so this won't take very long and 111 not bother you again. It's only on an off-chance that I'm here. But...here I am.'
The other grunted, stood aside and let him in. 'Huh!1 he said. *Ye may have gathered that Ah'm no well pleased tae see ye. Polis? Aye, Ah was one, and a good yin -- much good it did me! So it's bad enough tae have tae entertain ye without that ye have tae revive a' that stuff up at the wildlife park.'
'But I do have to, Strachan, I do,' lanson answered. And there was that in his voice that made the other turn sharply and peer at him.
'So...what's happened?'
It could do no harm to tell him. In any case, the story was in the newspapers. 'A killing's what happened, like the one up at the wildlife park. But this time it wasn't a bison. Murder, Strachan. It could be -- it probably is -- that the two cases are unconnected. But it's one of those things I have to check on. That's why I need your story. I remember some of it from the time -- from the newspapers, yes -- and m be reading up on the case file tomorrow. Until then the details have sort of faded in my memory. Though not in yours, I suspect.'
While he had talked to the man, the Inspector had looked him over. Gavin Strachan looked gritty, tired and bitter. The bitterness had been there a long time; it was etched into his face like coal dust in the pores of a miner. Behind their red rims, his blue-grey eyes seemed trapped, while the bags under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights. And in his every word and move there was a whole world of suspicion, just as lanson had detected it during their brief telephone conversation.
On the other hand, the Inspector had always considered himself a judge of character, and it had to be said that he could find little to actively dislike in Strachan -- well, apart from the man's obvious dislike of him! And even that seemed to be on the wane now, as finally Strachan waved him into a chair in his drab sitting-room and said, 'Coffee? Might just as well, for as ye say, ye're here now.'
Indeed Strachan had appraised his visitor, and the Inspector's open attitude and honesty had stood him in good stead. For a policeman -and a senior one at that, used to at least a modicum of respect -- he was a hard man to dislike. 'Coffee will be fine,' he answered.
'With a little somethin' in it, maybe?'
'Just a touch,' lanson answered. Thanks.'
'What, on duty?' Strachan had gone into his tiny kitchen. The Inspector couldn't see him, but he could hear the genuine note of surprise in his voice. 'Are ye sure?'
This isn't official, Gavin, if I may call you that I'm here on spec, as I said.'
The other came back out of the kitchen, stood feeing him. He had a bottle of good whisky and two glasses that he placed on an occasional table close at hand. 'Guid!' he said. 'For if ye're wantin' me
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tae go back over a' that business, Ah for one will pour mahsel' a dram! Ye can join me or no, as ye will.'
And why not? One shot couldn't hurt The kettle whistled as lanson poured himself a drink, and Strachan went off again to fix their coffees. And by now the atmosphere was much more relaxed. Except...the Inspector could feel a definite tension in Strachan, when finally the man sat himself down facing him. And:
'So,' said Strachan, in a tone that said he was resigned to it. 'Now we get tae it.' He picked up his glass and poured a double shot straight into the back of his throat
lanson watched his gasping mouth reform, then said, 'Is that what it takes?"
'George,' said the other (which surprised the Inspector, that Strachan had remembered), 'if ye spend thirty years trying tae forget somethin', and when it still comes back tae ye in yere dreams, if s no easy thing tae talk aboot when ye're conscious. Ye've asked me what happened that nicht up at the wildlife park, and Ah'm goin* tae tell ye. But ye'd best hang on mah words, man, for Ah won't be repeatin' them -- ever!'