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

'OK, I'll see what I can do.' Sabat flicked the door catch.

'You know where to contact me.'

'I do, but don't rely on hearing from me. But I'll sort something out.'

And then Sabat was gone, the pre-dawn darkness swallowing him up. McKay sighed as he let the clutch in. He knew his man only too well; Sabat had his own brand of justice and this case's conclusion might never reach the official files. Perhaps the AC preferred it that way, the end justifying the means.

Sabat returned to the interrupted pleasures of his bed, recaptured the mood that only the thought of Catriona Lealan could fire him with, and then slept the deep sleep of exhaustion. He awoke an hour before dark as surely as though some alarm clock was incorporated into his system.

He felt refreshed, invigorated as he stretched his naked body, flexed his muscles. He never slept in pyjamas, likening them to going to bed in a suit, a hindrance to a lot of enjoyable bedtime pursuits.

For some minutes he lay and mulled the recent events over in his mind. Certainly the killings were not the work of mythical vampires although the victims bore marked similarities to the work of these living dead creatures. He wondered if that was the impression the killer or killers were trying to create. Again, if so, why! That was something he had to find out and he wasn't going to discover the answer by lying in bed.

Fully dressed in his dark attire he went downstairs to the kitchen and helped himself to a plate full of coleslaw from the fridge. Although not strictly a vegetarian he attributed his physical fitness to a diet of natural foods, nothing stodgy to create surplus flesh on his lean body, fat to slow his reactions, dull his thinking. For tonight he must venture into the playground of blood and death, a redlight area where hideous danger lurked in the shadows.

It was dark as he left the house, drove his Daimler in a south-easterly direction, not hurrying because the night was young and he had plenty of time. The evening traffic thinned, the street lighting became more sparse as he left the city behind him and entered the suburbs that had changed little except for decay over the past half century. Yet Sabat's itinerary was by no means haphazard; this was no casual foray in the hope of happening upon a clue which would lead him to the perpetrators of these vile murders. He had a destination in mind and after an hour or so he pulled the car to a halt in a street where the terraced houses were three storeys tall, an area that had withstood change and progress, brothels which paid for their own upkeep.

Locking the Daimler he mounted a short flight of steps and rang the bell of a house which bore the number 66 on its door, an air of familiarity about the way he listened for approaching footsteps down the hallway beyond.

'Mr Sabat!' there was both surprise and pleasure on the features of the lanky red-haired woman who opened the door, framed in a shaft of light so that he saw every detail. Approaching fifty, like the house she lived in she had resisted the passing of time, wrinkles creamed so that they were virtually invisible, her makeup so perfect that a stranger might have mistaken her for forty. Attractive, sensuous in a long flowing dress, her movements graceful as she stood back for him to enter.

'Good to see you, Ilona,' he smiled as she closed the door behind him, ushering him down the passage and into an exquisitely furnished lounge where she indicated an open cocktail cabinet whose contents would have graced any West End residence.

'Whisky?'

'Please. With a dash of pep.'

'There's nobody I'm more delighted to see.' Her slender manicured fingers shook slightly as she poured liberal shots of amber liquid into two tumblers. 'In fact, I'd even considered contacting you. My girls are scared to go out at night now. In fact, they're terrified of callers here also. It's really going to clobber the business.'

'The murdered girls, were they yours?' Sabat watched her closely, saw the fear in her green eyes.

She nodded. 'Two of them, Joyce and Elaine. The third one was one of Rick's. Much as I hate that fat pimp I wouldn't wish that on any of his girls. And that poor innocent kid, too. What the hell's going on, Sabat? There's a rumour going around that . . . that their throats had a mark on them ... as though they'd been attacked by ... a vampire!'

Sabat pursed his lips. He'd read the midday editions of the papers and whatever the official police statement, the press had drawn their own conclusions, obtained accurate information from some source. It was always the case.

'I think the press are overreacting,' he said, 'but, nevertheless, there have been some ghastly killings, four in one night and the killer or killers are still at large, which is why I'm here.'

'Thank God,' Ilona managed a smile. 'What are you going to do, Sabat?'

'Well, I'm not going to find whoever is responsible just by sitting here,' he replied. 'There again, if I go out and wander the streets it's unlikely that whoever is lying in wait for women will attack me. Therefore . . . '

'Therefore you need a decoy,' she was tight lipped, pale faced. 'Christ, Sabat, suppose

'I know the risks. Whoever goes as decoy might be killed before I can rescue them. But it's the only way; we have to risk one life to save maybe dozens. I'm afraid the police patrols will prove ineffective.'

'Who?' her voice was tense. 'Who d'you want, Sabat?' 'It's not for me to say. It'll have to be a volunteer, somebody who is willing to risk their life.' 'Then it'll have to be me!'

He regarded her steadily, admiration in his expression. Ilona was not just an ordinary brothel keeper. Her girls were her 'family', each and every one of them virtually worshipping this tall attractive redhead who paid them well and gave them freedom. They were free to come and go as they chose, no threats or blackmail chaining them to the beds upstairs. And above all they provided a very necessary service to society, maybe saving scores of innocent women from predatory, sexually frustrated men, which was just another reason why Sabat had to save these prostitutes from the terrible fate which awaited any who walked the ill-lit streets after dark.