"Linnea Sinclair - Rhapsody In The Key of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sinclair Linnea)

тАЬDerek! You said youтАЩd play Blue Moon Rhapsody after your break. DonтАЩt
forget.тАЭ
So the musicianтАЩs name was Derek. He nodded slowly, rising. The
dark-haired woman turned, almost plowed into me.
тАЬSorry!тАЭ I steadied her. She looked tired, frazzled. I fully understood. тАЬI hope
he plays your song.тАЭ
тАЬHe was supposed to before. But he takes a break every twenty minutes of
so. Goes into the bar for a smoke. Like now.тАЭ She wrinkled her nose. тАЬFilthy habit. I
didnтАЩt think people did that anymore. Must be something artsy.тАЭ
 Archaic was more like it. Few people smoked since nicotine addiction, along
with every other malady and affliction, had been eradicated.
But I was less concerned with DerekтАЩs habits than his memory. Had he seen
or spoken to Truedell? I prayed he had. He was on staff, no doubt knew the
regulars, might well have noticed an out-of-place stranger. I needed his eyes.
The bar was deserted except for a тАШdroid tender stacking glasses, and another
wiping down trays near the door.
Derek had hoisted himself onto a stool at the bar and faced the door. He
caught my approach when I was a few steps away, a half-smile on his lips.
I matched it with one of my own. тАЬI heard you play in the lounge. So did a
colleague of mine. He was very impressed. I donтАЩt know if he got a chance to tell
you.тАЭ
тАЬMost people come for the tables, not the music. But thanks. Was there a
particular song you liked?тАЭ
His voice was deep, somewhat raspy and had a barely perceptible drawing out
of the vowels. His breath, I noticed as I leaned on the bar to catch his words, had a
pungent, sharp, unusual odor.
An odor Trudell hadnтАЩt been able to identify.
Mental warning bells clanged to life in my head. I glanced immediately at his
hands. Thick, strong fingers, possibly callused from hours of practice. They toyed
with a long cigar case, tapping the metal cylinder against the bar. Derek smoked
cigars.
Then I knew. The odor that had puzzled Truedell hadnтАЩt been from something
his killer had eaten. But something he habitually smoked.
Adrenaline shot up my spine, tingled through my limbs. I froze my smile in
place. Straightened. My mind raced. If I could get to my stunner, tucked in the back
of my pants, I might be able to take him by surprise.
But I also might not. He was a trained assassin. I was only a lowly corpse
cop. I chased the dead, not the living. Better to let him return to his piano, let IagoтАЩs
people handle him. IтАЩd answer his question, then leave, alert the detectives.
тАЬRhapsody. Blue Moon Rhapsody. IтАж we heard you play it yesterday.тАЭ
A hand grasped my shoulder from behind. тАЬYou Dr. San Jenro?тАЭ
It was a uniformed officer, a broad shouldered woman who mangled my
name. She stood behind me, a comm unit in her hand. тАЬYouтАЩre that psychic who
saw TruedellтАЩs memories, right? Lieutenant IagoтАЩs looking for you.тАЭ
Shock, cold and harsh ripped through me. The tapping noise behind me
halted, almost infinitesimally, then started again. Faster. It came from Derek, from the
murderer behind me. Hearing what I was: that psychic who saw a dead manтАЩs
memories. Believing IтАЩd come after him because of what IтАЩd seen through Truedell.
Not knowing IтАЩd seen nothing and hadnтАЩt suspected, until a few seconds ago, who
he was.