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

A shelf to the left of the cash register held bottles of red wine. My
weapon of choice. As I looked at them, for the thousandth time I felt
the craving. I remembered the taste, the smell, the dry, tangy feel of
the wine on my tongue. I remembered the warmth that would start in my
gut and spread upward and outward, navigating a path through my body,
lighting the fires of well-being along its course. The bonfires of
control. Of vigor. Of invincibility. I could use that right now, I
thought. Right. Who was I kidding? I wouldn't stop there. What were
those stages? I'd move right on to bulletproof and then to invisible. Or
was it the other way around? No matter. I'd carry it too far, and then
the crash would come. The comfort would be short term, the price heavy.
It'd been six years since I'd had a drink.

I took my food home and ate it with Birdie and the Montreal Expos. He
slept, curled in my lap, purring softly. They lost to the Cubs by two
runs. Neither mentioned the murder. I appreciated that.

I took a long, hot bath and fell into bed at ten-thirty. Alone in the
dark and quiet I could no longer suppress the thought. Like cells gone
mad, it grew and gathered strength, finally forcing itself into my
consciousness, insisting on recognition. The other homicide. The other
young woman who'd come to the morgue in pieces. I saw her in vivid
detail, remembered my feelings as I'd worked on her bones. Chantale
Trottier. Age: sixteen. Strangled, beaten, decapitated, dismembered.
Less than a year ago she'd arrived naked and packaged in plastic garbage
bags.

I was ready to end the day but my mind refused to clock out. I lay there
as mountains formed and the continental plates shifted. Finally, I fell
asleep, the phrase ricocheting in my skull. It would haunt me all
weekend. Serial murder.

WAS CALLING MY FLIGHT. I HAD AN ENORMOUS SUITCASE and couldn't maneuver
it down the jetway, The other passengers were annoyed, but no one was
helping me. I could see Katy leaning out to watch me from the front row
of first class. She was wearing the dress we'd chosen for her high
school graduation. Moss green silk. But she'd told me later she didn't
like it, regretted the choice. She would've preferred the floral print.
Why was she wearing it? Why was Gabby at the airport when she should
have been at the university? Her voice over the loudspeaker was becoming
louder, more strident.

I sat up. It was seven-twenty. Monday morning. Light illuminated the
edges of the window shade, but little seeped into the room. Gabby's
voice continued. ". . . but I knew I wouldn't be able to get ya later.
Guess you're an earlier riser than I thought. Anyway, about to... I
picked up the phone. "Hello." I tried to sound less groggy than I was.
The voice stopped in mid-sentence.