"Kim Newman - The Serial Murders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Newman Kim)

they needed to be shut down. Richard dreaded to consider what might happen if the advertising industry
discovered this possible psychic anomaly and tried to replicate the process of affecting reality via cathode
rays.
There was a slap, a rip, and a clinch. Richard felt the wardrobe assistant's inner groan and the security
guard's spasm of hate.
There was no shortage of suspects.
"That's a wrap for the day," said Loss, though not before getting a nod of the producer's hat from Squiers.
"The talent are released. The rest of you strike the boardroom and throw up тАж" (Squiers whispered in the
director's ear) "тАж Mavis' lounge for tomorrow."
Squiers clapped, and the orders were followed. Television was not a director's medium.
Vanessa threw Richard a look, then slipped out with the other dismissed persons. Her co-star had a quiet,
hissy row with Geordie. Lionel shrugged and angled his head, tossing off a "told-you-so" flounce, sneaking a
gander under his shades at Vanessa's departing legs. Richard was amused but not yet ready to write off the
PR as comedy relief. In this soap, anyone could be anything. No rule said killers couldn't be amusing.
He stood by Barbara.
"Is it all you expected? Or are you faintly disappointed?"
She smiled. "You're sharp, but try not to be too clever. I'm interested in The Northern Barstows and what it
means, in why it's popular, why so many people find it important. Whether it's, in objective terms, 'any good'
is beside the point."
"So these people aren't the new Dickens or Shakespeare."
"No, though Dickens and Shakespeare might have been the old 'these people.' Come back in a century and
we'll decide whether the Marcus Squiers method counts as art or not."
"Method?"
"Crowd control is a method, Richard."
"Is he in control?"
"Not completely. He knows that, you can tell. June O'DellтАФwho, you'll note, hasn't been around all dayтАФhas
more say, if only negatively, in what goes out on the show. In the end, the audience has the conductor's
baton. If they switch off a storyline, it gets dropped. If they tune in, it's extended. This is all about showing
people what they want to see and telling them what they want to hear."
"Wonderful. Fifteen million suspects."
Barbara laughed, pretty lines taut around her mouth and eyes. "If it were an easy puzzle, it wouldn't be a
Diogenes Club case."
"You pick up a lot."
"So do you. Tell me, is this place really haunted?"
"Of course. Want to meet a ghost?"
She laughed again, then realised he meant it.
"There's a ghost?"
"Several."
He led her to Emma's arc-light patch. The lamp was off, but she was still tethered to her spot.
"I don't see anything."
"I'm not surprised. Hold out your hand."
He took her wrist, easing back filigree bracelets and her sleeve, enjoying the warmth of her skin, and
puppeteered her arm. She stretched her fingers, which slid into the ghost's wet dress.
"Feel that?" he asked.
"Cold тАж damp?"
She took her hand back, shivering, somewhere between fear and delight.
"A frisson. I've always wondered what that meant. It really was a frisson. Tell me, what should I see?"
"You don't have to see anything. I can't see anything, though I have an image in my mind."
"Like a recording?"
Richard realised Emma was in black and white. She had been around before films were in colour.