"Roberts, Nora - A Matter of Choice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

being cool, perhaps a shade too cool, but his arrests were clean. Dodson
didn't need a man who looked for trouble, but one who knew what to do
once he found it.

"Slade..." He allowed a small smile to escape. "That's what you're
called, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." The familiarity made him uncomfortable; the smile made him
suspicious.

"I'm sure you've heard of Justice Lawrence Winslow."

Curiosity came first, then a quick search through his mental file.
"Presided over the New York Appellate Court before he was elected chief
justice of the Connecticut Supreme Court about fifteen years ago. Died
of a heart attack four, maybe five years ago."

Facts and figures, Dodson mused. The boy didn't waste words. "He was
also a damn fine lawyer, a judge who understood the full meaning of
justice. A good man. His wife remarried two years ago and lives in
southern France."

So what? Slade thought with fresh impatience as Dodson gazed broodingly
over his shoulder.

"I'm godfather to his daughter, Jessica." The same question zipped
through Slade's mind as Dodson focused on him again. "She lives in the
family home near Westport. Beautiful place--a stone's throw from the
beach. It's quiet, peaceful." He drummed his fingers against the desk.
"I imagine a writer would find it very appealing."

There was an uncomfortable premonition which Slade pushed aside.
"Possibly." Was the old man matchmaking? Slade almost laughed out loud.
No, that was too ridiculous.

"Over the last nine months there has been a rash of thefts throughout
Europe."

The abrupt change of subject startled Slade so much that the surprise
showed clearly on his face. Quickly he controlled it and lifted a brow,
saying nothing.

"Important thefts," Dodson continued. "Mainly from museums--gems, coins,
stamps. France, England, Spain, and Italy have all been hit. The
investigation has led the respective authorities to believe the stolen
articles have been smuggled into the States."

"Smuggling's federal," Slade said briefly. And, he thought silently, has
nothing to do with a homicide detective--or some justice's spoiled
daughter. Another uncomfortable thought came to him which he ignored.