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

'Wolf, aye!' the other snapped, more decisively now. 'But as for how she got here, her origin..." He offered a twitch of his thin shoulders, stamped numb feet, blew into cupped hands. 'If s your move, George. It's your move.'
'Me...I say we move in out of the cold!' lanson shook himself, both mentally and physically, breathed deeply of the wintry air, deliberately forced himself to draw back from the morbid spell, the dreadful fascination of the case -- for the moment, anyway. For if McGowan was right, which in all likelihood he was (or there again not, for after all, the Inspector did have information to the contrary), then it was out of his hands. Murder by a man is one thing...but by a dog, a wolf, or some other wild creature, then it becomes something else: a savaging, a misadventure, simply a killing. (And what of a man and a dog?) But л/McGowan was right then they'd need to call in a different kind of hunter with a very different brief: to kill on sight!
Old Angus guessed what he was thinking -- the latter part of it, anyway -- and was quick to say, 'But first we must try to prove it or narrow down the suspects, at least'
'Back to the house?' lanson ducked out into the open with his small friend close behind. The house he referred to was one of a picturesque cluster standing some three hundred yards away across
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the footbridge. Once a great farm with outbuildings, now Sma' Auchterbecky housed a small community, scarcely a hamlet, in the very lee of the mountains.
'Ah can make a few calls frae there, aye,' Angus nodded. 'D'ye see the telephone wires?"
'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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revenge, then this new killer can only be someone who knew the Glasgow girl, surely?'
lanson frowned. 'Or someone who knew John Moffat, what he was doing -- someone close to him, maybe? -- who thought it was time he was stopped.'
'No just someone protectin' this girl especially, then?'
'Eh?' lanson paused and stared hard at the other. "When I said she'd been protected, I meant by accident; by someone just happening on the scene, as it were.'
'Ye hadnae thought o' the other sort o' protection, then? That this one's pimp might have been lookin' out for her?'
'Pimp?'
'Well, it follows that if yere man only kills whores, the girl must be one. And if so, she probably has a pimp. Someone -- and his dog? -who was waiting for her when she got dropped off last night!'
The Inspector started, then grinned and took the other's arm above the elbow. Frail as old Angus seemed, the resilience of his flesh never failed to surprise lanson; he felt the muscles move under the man's clothing, bunching at his unexpected grip as if resenting it. 'Now see!' lanson said. 'What a grand team we make! Why, it's possible ye've just hit the nail right on the head!'
McGowan freed himself and said, 'Maybe. But it's like ye said: nothing's solved until everything is known.' And now it was time to change direction again: 'Personally, well, Ah still opine tae a big animal. On its own. A wild thing come down out o' the hills tae hunt'
'I thought we had discounted the wolf theory?' The Inspector was making for the houses again.