"Robb, J D - In Death 10 - Loyalty in Death (1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

generation of Bransons to provide the world and its satellites with implements
and amusements, he'd lived lavishly.
And had died the same way.
J. Clarence's heart had been skewered with one of his own multi-power porta
drills by his steely-eyed mistress, who'd bolted him to the wall with it,
reported the incident to the police, then had calmly sat sipping claret until
the first officers arrived on the scene.
She continued to sip her drink, settled cozily in a high-backed chair in front
of a computer-generated fire while Lieutenant Eve Dallas examined the body.
"He's absolutely dead," she coolly informed Eve. Her name was Lisbeth Cooke, and
she made her living as an advertising executive in her deceased lover's company.
She was forty, sleekly attractive, and very good at her job. "The Branson 8000
is an excellent product -- designed to satisfy both the professional and the
hobbyist. It's very powerful and accurate."
"Uh-huh." Eve scanned the victim's face. Pampered and handsome, even though
death had etched a look of stunned and sorrowful surprise on his face. Blood
soaked through the breast of his blue velvet dressing gown and puddled glossily
on the floor. "Sure did the job here. Read Ms. Cooke her rights, Peabody."
While her aide attended to the matter, Eve verified time and cause of death for
the record. Even with the voluntary confession, the business of murder would
follow routine. The weapon would be taken into evidence, the body transported
and autopsied, the scene secured.
Gesturing to the crime scene team to take over, Eve crossed the royal red
carpet, sat across from Lisbeth in front of the chirpy fire that blew out lush
heat and light. She said nothing for a moment, waiting several beats to see what
reaction she might get from the fashionable brunette with fresh blood splattered
somehow gaily on her yellow silk jumpsuit.
She got nothing but a politely inquiring stare. "So ... you want to tell me
about it?"
"He was cheating on me," Lisbeth said flatly. "I killed him."
Eve studied the steady green eyes, saw anger but no shock or remorse. "Did you
argue?"
"We had a few words." Lisbeth lifted her claret to full lips painted the same
rich tone as the wine. "Most of them mine. J. C. was weak-minded." She shrugged
her shoulders and silk rustled. "I accepted that, even found it endearing in
many ways. But we had an arrangement. I gave him three years of my life."
Now she leaned forward, eyes snapping with the temper behind the chill. "Three
years, during which time I could have pursued other interests, other
arrangements, other relationships. But I was faithful. He was not."
She drew in a breath, leaned back again, very nearly smiled. "Now he's dead."
"Yeah, we got that part." Eve heard the ugly suck and scrape as the team
struggled to remove the long steel spike from flesh and bone. "Did you bring the
drill with you, Ms. Cooke, with the intention of using it as a weapon?"
"No, it's J. C.'s. He putters occasionally. He must have been puttering," she
mused with a casual glance toward the body the crime scene team was now removing
from the wall in a ghastly ballet of movements. "I saw it there, on the table,
and thought, well, that's just perfect, isn't it? So I picked it up, flicked it
on. And used it."
It didn't get much simpler, Eve mused, and rose. "Ms. Cooke, these officers will
take you down to Cop Central. I'll have some more questions for you."