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

machinery of the show, and directing it, essentially, to kill people. To order, for cash. So, yes, there's a
culprit. One who either needs or wants money for their services. In my experience, that tends to rule out
ghosts and demons. Some miserly spirits cling to the idea of worldly goods even when they're beyond a
plane in which they'd be any good to them. You've heard of the ghost who collects bright trinketsтАФcoins and
jewelsтАФlike a magpie. A nuisance, but not serious, especially since you usually get the pleasant surprise of
finding the hoard of goodies at the end of the day. This isn't like that. This is large sums transferred to Swiss
bank accounts. This is organised crime."
Barbara, intent on what he was saying, put down her salmon sandwich.
"But how is it done? How can something that happens on a television programme, which boils down to actors
pretending, lead to something happening to real people out there in the real world? When Delia rode Jockie to
death, what happened to make Della do the same thing to Jamie? Or am I getting the order wrong?"
"I have ideas about that. Vanessa, what was the most significant thing Della told us about the case?"
Vanessa shrugged.
"Think 'Penny for the Guy.'"
"Old clothes," said Vanessa, tumbling to it at once. "We were told that Jamie fired a groom who was
supposed to have stolen some of their clothes. Jamie thought the actors' costumes included items filched
from him and Della."
"And not just clothes, but other things, personal things."
Vanessa snapped her fingers. "It's pins! Pins in dolls!"
Barbara shook her head. She hadn't caught up.
"What do you think the personal things were?" Vanessa asked. "We can find out from Della, but what do you
think тАж"
"Anything really. Combs, with hair. Makeup. Cigarette-ends. Rings. Things impregnated with sweat, skin,
hair. Clothes should do it alone, but the rest would put the pink bow on it."
"Voodoo dolls," said Barbara, catching on. "On the Barstows, Mama Cartouche made a doll of Brenda, with
nail-clippings and hair pressed in, and stuck pins through it. Brenda had twinges."
"Probably where our culprit got the idea," said Richard.
"You have to admit this is a new one," said Vanessa. "Fashioning characters on a television programme into
voodoo dolls, then torturing or killing them in front of fifteen million people тАж"
"тАж some of whom believe in the characters. June said the Barstows were more real to viewers than their own
families. All that belief has to mean something, has to do something, has to go somewhere!"
"God, there's a paper in this," said Barbara.
Richard and Vanessa looked at her.
"But there is," she said. "This is what I've been saying all along. TV soaps matter. They shape reality. I'm not
saying it's a good thing, I'm saying it's a thing thing."
Richard slipped an arm around the professor and kissed her ear.
"Hold off on publication for a while, Barbara. Let's at least nab the killer first."
"I have a name," said Fred.
They looked at the stage door. Fred had come in, motorcycle helmet under his arm. Richard knew he had
heard enough to be up to speed.
"I went after the gambling syndicate, the ones who hired Jamie's murder," said Fred. "Price hauled in some
minor faces, put the squeeze on тАж and someone coughed up a name. Our hit man."
Fred let the pause run.
"Do tell," prompted Richard.
"Stop faffing about, Regent," said Vanessa. "This isn't the end of an episode and we can pick up on
Thursday."
"'Darius,'" said Fred. "That's the name he uses. 'Darius Barstow.'"
Richard was sure he had turned to where the camera would be and frozen his face long enough for the credits
to start rolling.
He shivered as he heard the Barstows theme in his head.