"Robb, J D - In Death 08 - Midnight In Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

him, in bits and pieces. "Fairly young. What -- mid-twenties?"
"Twenty-two at time of arrest. A real prodigy, our Dave. He considers
himself a scientist, a visionary. His mission is to explore and record the human
mind's tolerance to extreme duress -- pain, fear, starvation, dehydration,
sensory deprivation. He could talk a good game, too." She sipped her coffee.
"He'd sit there in interview, his pretty face all lit with enthusiasm, and
explain that once we knew the mind's breaking point, we'd be able to enhance it,
to strengthen it. He figured since I was a cop, I'd be particularly interested
in his work. Cops are under a great deal of stress, often finding ourselves in
life-and-death situations where the mind is easily distracted by fear or outside
stimuli. The results of his work could be applied to members of the police and
security forces, the military, even in business situations."
"I didn't realize he was yours."
"Yeah, he was mine." She shrugged her shoulders. "I was a little more low
profile in those days."
He might have smiled at that, knowing it was partially her connection to
him that had changed that status. But he remembered too much of the Palmer case
to find the humor. "I was under the impression that he was safely locked away."
"Not safely enough. He slipped out. The victim this morning was dumped in
a public area -- another of Dave's trademarks. He likes us to know he's hard at
work. The autopsy will have to verify, but the victim was tortured pre-mortem.
I'd guess Dave found himself a new hole to work in and had the judge there at
least a day before killing him. Death by strangulation occurred on or around
midnight. Merry Christmas, Judge Wainger," she murmured.
"And that would be the judge who tried his case."
"Yeah." Absently, she put her mug down, reached into her bag for a copy
of the sealed note she'd already sent to the lab. "He left a calling card -another
signature. All these names are connected to his case and his sentencing.
Part of his work this time around would be, at my guess, letting his intended
victims stew about what he has in store for them. They're being contacted and
protected. He'll have a tough time getting to any of them."
"And you?" Roarke spoke with studied calm after a glance at the list, and
his wife's name. "Where's your protection?"
"I'm a cop. I'm the one who does the protecting."
"He'll want you most, Eve."

She turned. However controlled his voice was, she heard the anger under
it. "Maybe, but not as much as I want him."
"You stopped him," Roarke continued. "Whatever was done after -- the
tests, the trial, the sentence -- was all a result of your work. You'll matter
most."
"Let's leave those conclusions to the profiler." Though she agreed with
them. "I'm going to contact Mira as soon as I look through the case files again.
You can access those for me while I start my prelim report. I'll give you the
codes for my office unit and the Palmer files."
Now he lifted a brow, smiled smugly. "Please. I can't work if you insult
me."
"Sorry." She picked up her coffee again. "I don't know why I pretend you
need codes to access any damn thing."
"Neither do I."