"Newman, Kim - The McCarthy Witch Hunt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Newman Kim)

Pandora's Box.

1953
Brother Dwight spun the racks, looking through the comics. His big case
had been an investigation into comic books, and his most notable success
ensuring the cancellation of The Haunt of Fear, which featured a character
called the Old Witch whom he alleged was seducing children into Satanism.
Dwight had a framed photograph of himself piling up a bonfire with The
Haunt of Fear. Today all he could find was Bible Stories Illustrated and
Disney Funnies. He probably had suspicions about Pluto; after all, wasn't
Mickey Mouse's dog named after the Lord of the Underworld?
Finlay sat at the counter of the drugstore and drank coffee. This place
didn't fit in with the Stevens's Westport. It was like something from his
own childhood when a drugstore was an Aladdin's cave, mysteriously
attracting his older brothers and sisters with its wonders. Besides comic
books, the place had medicines, candy, magazines, stationery and a
thousand oddities that might come in useful.
Everywhere had somewhere like this. It was a hang-out.
Dwight came back and got his mouth round a large jelly doughnut. Most
people would be getting home from the office now, kissing the little wife,
patting the little kids, saying a little prayer at the little household
altar, putting their feet up and lighting a smoke. Finlay never went off
duty, except for rare vacations. He didn't even have a regular apartment,
because the Bureau shifted him around so much. As for a wife and kids,
he'd never had the time ...
There was a teen-aged boy behind the counter, paper hat on his crew-cut,
football shoulders swelling his T-shirt. The place wasn't busy yet, the
after-school crowd had gone home and the night-out bunch not yet picked up
their dates.
'Say, kid,' Dwight asked, 'what's your name?'
The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously until Finlay flopped open his wallet,
letting his identification rest on the counter-top.
'Jim,' the kid said. 'Jim Rogers.'
It would have been hard to think of a name that sounded more American,
more Christian.
'Jim,' Finlay said, 'you must know this neighbourhood pretty well?'
'I guess.'
'You know the Stevenses? Young couple, with a daughter?'
'I guess I know them.'
'What kind of a person names their kid Tabitha, do you think? Not Nancy or
Sally or Joan?'
'I reckon it is unusual, now you come to mention it.'
'You ever heard anything ... uh, funny about Goodwife Stevens?'
Jim didn't say.
'Come on, kid,' Dwight prompted.
'Not a church-goer, is she?'
Jim's nervous face erupted into a smile.
'Hey, I get it. You guys are after witches. Like in that book, I Was a
Satanist for the FBI?'
That had been a serial in the Saturday Evening Post, ghost-written for