"Quintin, Jardine - Fallen Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Quintin Jardine)

"Yes," she agreed, 'that was a shocker. What his wife must be feeling;
to have him collapse just like that in the middle of her parents'
funeral."

"Too right. As for me, well, Willie Haggerty, the assistant chief
constable and Dan Pringle, the head of CID, may be good guys, but put
together they don't make one of big Bob. I just can't get used to the
idea of him not being around any more. With everything else that's
going on in my life, the idea of turning it in and running the Trust
full-time has its appeal."

Paula drew herself up beside him. "Do you mean that?"

"I'm not sure. How would you feel if I did?"

"Honestly? A bit scared. The way things are, I can handle it when you
go home; but if we were working together through the day, it might be
more difficult. Have you talked to Neil about this?"

"Mcllhenney? About us? Not in so many words, but he's nearly as close
to me as my mother. He knows too."

"Not about us, you idiot, about leaving the force?"

"Yes. He says he feels much the same. He was the big fella's
executive assistant, remember, as well as being one of his few real
pals. But at least he can shut himself away in the Special Branch
office, and go home to Louise and the kids every night."

She turned her head and looked him in the eye. "And you can't, can
you, you poor love. All you can do is fit me in, whenever the
opportunity arises."

He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her down until they
were lying side by side once again. "It's a hard old life, Paulie," he
said,

and then he grinned, the bright wicked smile she had known for so long,
and wished for so long to have directed at her. "All we can do is get
on with it." He rolled over, into her embrace. "Hey," he whispered in
her ear. "What?"

"I really am at my best in the mornings, you know." She beamed at him.
"Oh, I know, I know. I really do!"

Four.

Deputy Chief Constable Andrew Martin flexed his heavy shoulders as he
walked into the big kitchen, feeling the muscles stretch his formal
white shirt. Bob Skinner had always disliked wearing his uniform, and