"Robb, J D - In Death 13 - Betrayal In Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

"He's a sociopath, and is probably intelligent and self-aware enough to know it. It may be a point of pride. Pride is one of the engines that drives him. He considers himself a businessman, the top in his chosen field. And choose it, he did. He enjoys fine things. He may not be aware that the rape adds to his satisfaction. It's just another way of erasing his victim. Male or female matters not at all. It isn't sex, of course, it's debasement."
Mira glanced at her wrist unit, her 'link, then into space. "More efficient would be the simple garroting, but he most often beats and rapes. These are part of the whole to him, like a man testing the color and bouquet of a good wine before drinking."
"He enjoys his work."
"Oh, yes," Mira confirmed. "Very much. But it is, in his mind, very much work. It's unlikely he ever kills indiscriminately or for personal motives. He's a professional, and expects to be paid and paid well. The silver wire is his calling card, an advertisement if you will to potential customers."
"He hides nothing. The wire, his face, makes no attempt to conceal DNA. Yet he does wear moderate disguises."
"My belief would be he wears those disguises to amuse himself. To add a bit of adventure. Partly vanity." She wandered the office, her movements restless and out of character.
"He would enjoy fussing with himself, viewing the results before heading out to work. The way another man might select a new shirt for a day at the office. You, the law, don't worry him in the least. He's evaded the legal system for years. I would say, at most, you amuse him."
"He won't be laughing for long."
Eve glanced back over her shoulder, saw Mira look down at her wrist unit yet again, frown. She'd forgotten the tea, too, and that was a first as far as Eve knew. "Everything okay?"
"Hmm. Oh, yes, everything's fine."
"You seem a little distracted."
"I suppose I am. My daughter-in-law's in labor. I'm waiting for word. Babies tend to take their own sweet time while the rest of us wait."
"I guess." Because Mira gave her desk 'link a worried look, Eve went to the AutoChef, retrieved the tea.
"Thank you. That's the second time in an hour I've forgotten I've made tea. I'll write your profile, Eve. It'll help keep my mind occupied. But I don't think it'll add much to what you already know."
"Why Roarke? Can you tell me that?"
Her own concerns, Mira realized, had blinded her to the fact that Eve was worried on a personal level. Now Mira sat, waited for Eve to do the same. "Not beyond what I imagine you already suspect. He's rich, powerful, has enemies. Professional and personal rivals. He has a background with a great many holes, officially. There may be people hiding in those holes who wish to cause him difficulties. I'm sure you've discussed it with him."
"Yeah, but it's not getting me anywhere. If someone had tried a frame, tried to set up a murder so he'd look like a suspect, or have some direct involvement, I could see it. Go after one of his business rivals, somebody high profile. Hit someone who's given him grief or causing him trouble. But a chambermaid at one of his hotels? What's the damn point?"
Mira laid a hand over Eve's. "It has both of you concerned and troubled. Perhaps that was point enough."
"To take a life for it? Yost, all right. To him it's a job. But there has to be more in it for the client. Yost bought four lengths. That's too many for backup on Darlene French, Dr. Mira. He's still on the clock."
"I'll continue to study the data. Run an analysis. I wish I could do more."
Her desk 'link beeped, and she was out of the chair like a woman on springs. "Excuse me."
Eve was surprised to see the dignified Mira scramble around the desk.
"Yes? Oh, Anthony, is -- "
"It's a boy. Eight pounds, five ounces, twenty-one perfect inches."
"Oh. Oh." Mira's eyes swam as she lowered herself into a chair. "Deborah?"
"She's great. She's fine. They're beautiful. Have a look."
Eve shifted, angling her head enough so that she could see a dark-haired man hold up a wriggling, red, squalling baby.
"Say hello to Matthew James Mira, Grandma."
"Hello, Matthew. He has your nose, Anthony. He's gorgeous. I'll come by to see you all as soon as I can. I can't wait to hold him. Have you called your father?"
"He's next."
"We'll be over tonight." She ran a finger over the screen as if stroking the baby's head. "Tell Deborah we love her. And we're so proud of her."
"Hey, how about me?"
"And you." She kissed her fingertips, laid them on the screen. "I'll see you all soon."
"I'll call Dad. You have a good cry."
"I will." She dug out a handkerchief even as she ended transmission. "Sorry. A new grandchild."
"Congratulations, he looked..." Like a red, wrinkled fish with limbs, Eve thought, but figured that wasn't the thing people wanted to hear at such moments. "... healthy."
"Yes." Mira sighed, dabbed at her eyes. "There's nothing like a new life coming into the world to remind us why we're here. The hope and the possibilities."
Eight pounds, was all Eve could think. It must be like passing an arena ball with limbs. She got to her feet. "You'll want to get out of here. I'll just -- "
Her communicator signaled. "Dallas."
"Sir." Peabody's face, sober and stern, filled the little screen. "We have another homicide, same MO. Private residence in this case. Upper East Side."
"Meet me in the garage. I'm on my way."
"Yes, sir. I ran the address through. The residence is owned by Elite Real Estate, a Roarke Industries division."
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a lovely brownstone in a neighborhood known for its high rents, swank restaurants, and fancy, specialized markets. Sumptuous white flowers shimmered on long pink stems in a trio of slim stone pots on the front steps.
A few blocks south, and those pots would have been lucky to stay put and intact overnight.
But here, people lived comfortably, privately, and didn't stoop to vandalizing their neighbors' homes. Security was ensured by the addition, at residents' expense, of private droids who patrolled on foot in snappy navy blue uniforms. This precaution tended to keep the riff and raff from outside the area from sneaking in and soiling the sidewalks.
Jonah Talbot had enjoyed that comfortable security in his two-story home where he had lived alone. And there he had died, but it hadn't been comfortable.
Eve stood over him. He'd been a well-built male in his early thirties. He'd been beaten, as had Darlene French, primarily around the face. There was additional bruising around the kidney area and the ribs. He wore only a gray T-shirt. The matching athletic shorts were tossed into a corner. He'd been sodomized.
His killer had left him facedown, with the silver wire crossed at the back of his neck, curled up into loops at the edges.
"Looks like he was working at home. Did you run his data yet?"