"Smith, Guy N - Sabat 02 - The Blood Merchants" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

'That was because of Plowden. He didn't want anybody to steal his thunder and as a result the Spode case has remained unsolved . . . officially.'

'So all is forgiven,' Sabat laughed. 'Well, fill me in on the details, Clive. Where were the murders?'

'Every one within a quarter of a mile of each other. An area in the process of demolition in the East End.' McKay moved to a wall map. Sabat's room resembled a wartime commanding officer's H.Q.; various coloured drawing pins, the meaning of which was known only to the man himself and McKay knew better than to ask. 'Dockland. Maybe it's a Triad job.'

'Doubtful,' Sabat replied. 'However, we mustn't rule out any possibility. I'd like to see the bodies, though.'

"That can be arranged right away,' McKay drained his glass.

'One thing,' Sabat hesitated. Til need a free hand. Working incognito, no publicity and no questions.'

'That's why we're calling you in.'

'Good. Let's get moving then.'

Tell me,' Sabat had the appearance of being totally relaxed in the passenger seat as McKay sped south-eastwards across deserted London suburbs. 'Is Colonel Vince Lealan still in the Service?'

'I ought not to tell you.'

'But you will because we were once both SAS agents and we've shared confidences before.'

'True enough.' McKay brought the car to a halt at a set of traffic lights and there was a brief awkward silence whilst he waited for them to change to green. 'They kicked him out less than a year after he got you booted out. If they'd court-martialled him he'd've been sent down for a spell but conclusive evidence was lacking and they couldn't afford the publicity anyway. You asking about him or Catriona?'

'Both.' Sabat saw the blonde in sparse black garments again, remembered how it had been between them and felt a slight stirring in the lower regions of his body. Catriona had hurt him in a lot of ways, but he was still hungry for punishment - her kind of punishment.

'The Colonel was a Liberation Front sympathiser. The Home Secretary had banned a demonstration but old Vince really stuck his neck out. Maybe he did it deliberately, fancied that under his leadership a fascist group might even come to power. He let them hold the demonstration in his own grounds at his place in Sussex. He was a bloody fool to show his hand like that although we'd suspected where his sympathies lay for some time. The Front were getting dangerous and had to be stamped on but you know yourself how tricky the law is in any democratic society, everybody entitled to their own views no matter how dangerous those views might be to democracy itself. The Front was watched closely and about a week after the demonstration at Lealan's place we got a tip-off about an armaments cache. It should really have been a police job but the Home Secretary decided to send the SAS in; it was a golden opportunity to destroy this cancer once and for all. But the bastards had been tipped off and there was only one source from which that tip off could have come. That was the end for Lealan as far as the Service was concerned.'

'And the Liberation Front?'

'They just seemed to evaporate into thin air, taking their armaments with them. Lealan's still active, we think, but since I came out of the Service and into the CID I haven't heard anything and I'm not likely to.'

'And Catriona?'

'Christ, Sabat, you'd still have been in the Service if you'd left her alone. She's still with old Vince but I doubt if he'll ever cure her of her sadistic delights. Maybe he's the whipping boy these days, although he never seemed the masochistic type.'

They drove on in silence. Just thinking about Catriona had given Sabat an erection and he promised himself that one day he'd look her up. He also had a score to settle with the Colonel himself which he'd never got round to. But they'd both keep. One day.. .

The small police mortuary was crowded; white-coated pathologists and a huddle of Special Branch officers crowded round the slabs. A path opened up for Sabat and he recognised the Assistant Commissioner, his normally ruddy complexion a pasty grey, his eyes red rimmed as though he had not slept in forty-eight hours. He nodded to Sabat, a kind of 'see-for-yourself gesture.

Sabat saw and grimaced. As McKay had said there was just a single wound in each of the naked corpses as though a .22 slug had drilled its way through the flesh. But one glance was enough to show Sabat that it was something much more sophisticated than gunplay. He leaned over the body of Shanda, fingered the circular incision gently; a needle of some kind, going in deep, drawing off a quantity of blood and leaving the rest to spout in a crimson fountain. But for God's sake why!

Sabat knew better than to voice any theories he might have had in official company. That was their job but he didn't have any, anyway. Not yet. Was it just a senseless maniacal attack by some psychopath seeking gruesome publicity or was there a more insidious motive? He had to find that out.

Thanks,' he inspected the other corpses, turned back to Detective Sergeant McKay. 'Now if you'd like to take me home 1 '11 get to work on it.'

Sabat was glad to be back in the car again, not because bloodshed and mutilation revolted him (he enjoyed it for the right reasons under the right circumstances), but because he resented official company. The police worked within a framework; Sabat was a free agent, neither laws nor boundaries hindering him. Judge, jury and executioner amalgamated into one.

Back outside the Hampstead house, McKay sat with the engine running, possibly wondering what he should say. His companion was not one with whom to engage in idle chatter.