"Reichs, Kathy - Temperance Brennan 01 - Deja Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichs Kathy)

A human face stared out at me. Sealed off from the insects that hasten
decomposition, the flesh had not fully rotted. But heat and moisture had
altered the features, converting them into a death mask bearing scant
resemblance to the person it had been. Two eyes, shriveled and
constricted, peered out from under half-closed lids. The nose lay bent
to one side, the nostrils compressed and flattened against a sunken
cheek. The lips curled back, a grin for eternity with a set of perfect
teeth. The flesh was pasty white, a blanched and soggy wrapper molding
itself closely to the underlying bone. Framing the whole was a mass of
dull red hair, the lusterless corkscrew curls plastered to the head by
an ooze of liquefied brain tissue.

Shaken, I closed the bag. Remembering the Hydro workers, I glanced over
to where I'd left them. The younger was watching me closely. His
companion remained some distance behind, shoulders hunched, hands thrust
deep into the pockets of his work pants.

Stripping off my gloves, I walked past them, out of the woods and back
toward the CUM squad car. They said nothing, but I could hear them
following, scraping and rustling in my wake.

Constable Groulx was leaning against his hood. He watched me approach
but didn't change position. I'd worked with more amiable individuals.

"May I use your radio?" I could be cool, too.

He pushed himself upright with both hands and circled the car to the
driver's side. Leaning in through the open window, he disengaged the
mike and looked at me questioningly.

"Homicide," I said. He looked surprised, regretted it, and put through
the call. "Section des bomicides," he said to the dispatcher. After the
usual delays, transfers, and static, the voice of a detective came over
the air.

"Claudel'" it said, sounding irritated. Constable Groulx handed me the
mike. I identified myself and gave my location. "I've got a homicide
here," I said. "Probable body dump. Probable female. Probable
decapitation. You'd better get recovery out here right away." There was
a long pause. No one was finding this good news. "Pardon?"

I repeated what I'd said, asking Claudel to pass the word along to
Pierre Lamanche when he called the morgue. There would be nothing for
the archaeologists this time.

I returned the mike to Groulx, who'd been listening to every word. I
reminded him to get a full report from the two workers. He looked like a
man who'd just been sentenced to ten to twenty. He knew he wouldn't be
going anywhere for some time. I wasn't terribly sympathetic. I wouldn't
be sleeping in Quebec City this weekend. In fact, as I drove the few