"Murphy,.C.E.-.Walker.1.5.-.2005.-.BANSHEE.CRIES" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy C. E)

The phone kept ringing. I rolled out from under the Mustang and
crawled to her open door, digging the phone out from under the
driverТs seat. УWhat?Ф

Only one person outside of work had the phone number. As soon
as I spoke I realized that a politer pickup might have been kosher.
The resounding silence from the other end of the line confirmed
my suspicion. Eventually a male voice said, УWalker?Ф

I turned around to hook my arm over the bottom of the carТs door
frame and did my best to stifle a groan. УCaptain.Ф

УI need youЧФ

These were words that another woman might be pleased to hear
from Captain Michael Morrison of the Seattle Police Department.
Then again, if he was saying them to another woman, there
probably wouldnТt have been the slight tension in his voice that
suggested his mouth was pressed into a thin line and his nostrils
flared with irritation at having the conversation. He had a good
voice, nice and low. I imagined it could carry reassuring softness,
the kind that would calm a scared kid. Unfortunately, the only
softness I ever heard in it was the kind that said, This is the calm
before the storm, which happened to be how he sounded right
now. I crushed my eyes closed, face wrinkling up, and prodded the
bump on my forehead.

УЧto come in to work.Ф

УItТs my weekend, Morrison.Ф As if this would make any difference.
I could hear his ears turning red.

УI wouldnТt be calling you inЧФ

УYeah.Ф I bit the word off and wrapped my hand around the bottom
of PetiteТs frame. УWhatТs going on?Ф

Silence. УIТd rather not tell you.Ф

УJesus, Morrison.Ф I straightened up, feeling the blood return to the
line across my back where IТd been leaning on the car. УIs anybody
dead? Is Billy okay?Ф

УHollidayТs fine. Can you get over to Woodland Park?Ф

УYeah, IЧФ I tilted my head back, looking at the MustangТs roof.
Truth was, IТd been futzing around under the engine block because
I couldnТt stand to look at the damage done to my babyТs roof
anymore. A twenty-nine-inch gash, not that IТd measured or