"Wildcards - 07 - Dead Mans Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Brennan looked at her for the first time. "I don't know. But I'm going to find
out."
"The police-"
"The police think I did it."
"That's insane," Jennifer said. "We haven't been to the city for over a year."
They'd been so busy that it hadn't seemed that long since Brennan had called off
his vendetta against the Shadow Fist crime lord named Kien and left New York
City with Jennifer. They'd spent some time traveling, some time resting and
healing and learning to love one another, then settled down outside of Goshen, a
small town just north of New York City. Jennifer had begun writing what she
hoped would become the definitive biography of Robert Tomlin. Brennan, weary of
dealing in death, wanting to build rather than destroy, had started a
landscaping business. He found that he had a genuine talent for horticulture,
and Jennifer was happy researching and writing her book. They'd been quite
content with their quiet, peaceful, isolated existence.
"Someone set me up," Brennan said in a low voice. "Who?"
He looked at Jennifer. "Kien."
She leaned back, considering it. "Why?"
Brennan shrugged. "Maybe he found out that Chrysalis knew he was head of the
Shadow Fists. Maybe he thought that he could get rid of her and me at the same
time."
"The police would never find you if we stay here."
"Maybe," Brennan conceded. "But maybe they'll never find Chrysalis's real
killer, either."
"We're building something here," Jennifer said. "We can't just let it go."
Let it go. It should be easy, Brennan told himself, to let the past go, to live
for the present and the future. But he couldn't. Someone had murdered his
ex-lover. He couldn't forget that. And then the murderer had framed him for it.
He couldn't forgive that. .
He stood up. "I'm not letting anything go. I can't." Jennifer just looked at
him. After a moment he turned and went out to the back and unlocked the shed
where he kept his bows and guns. He loaded the van and sat waiting in it for
several minutes, wondering if Jennifer was going to join him.
After a while he started the engine and drove away, alone.
Noon
Maseryk played the good cop, Kant played the bad cop, and both of them deserved
rave reviews. Jay Ackroyd had seen the act before, though. Maseryk was lean and
dark, with intense violet eyes. Kant was a hairless scaled joker with
nictitating membranes and pointed teeth. As Jay ran through his story for the
seventh time, he found himself wondering whether they swapped roles when the
suspect was a joker. He took one look at Kant and decided not to ask.
By lunchtime, even the two detectives had gotten tired of going round the
mulberry bush. "If you're playing games with us, you're going to be real sorry,"
Kant said, showing his incisors.
Jay gave him a who, me? look. "I'm sure Mr. Ackroyd's told us everything he
knows, Harv," Maseryk said. "If you do happen to remember anything else that
might be of use, you'll give us a call." Maseryk gave him his card, Kant told
him not to leave town, and they walked him to the squad room to sign a copy of
his statement.
The precinct house was full of familiar faces. The doorman from the Crystal