"Whitley Strieber - The Wolfen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strieber Whitley)

could happen to two experienced policemen on marking duty at the auto pound? That
was a question nobody would even try to answer until a search was made for the men.
Police work might be dangerous, but nobody seriously believed that DiFalco and
Houlihan were in any real trouble. Maybe there had been a family emergency and the two
had failed to check in. Maybe a lot of things. And maybe there was some trouble. Nobody
realized that the world had just become a much more dangerous place, and they wouldnтАЩt
understand that for quite some time. Right now they were just looking for a couple of
missing policemen. Right now the mystery began and ended with four cops poking
through the auto pound for signs of their buddies.
тАЬThey better not be sleeping in some damn car.тАЭ Secretly all four men hoped that the
two AWOL officers were off on a bender or something. YouтАЩd rather see that than the
other possibility.
A cop screamed. The sound stunned the other three to silence because it was one they
rarely heard.
тАЬOver here,тАЭ the rookie called in a choking voice.
тАЬHold on, man.тАЭ The other three converged on the spot as the rookieтАЩs cries sounded
again and again. When the older men got there he slumped against a car.
The three older cops cursed.
тАЬCall the hell in. Get Homicide out here. Seal the area. Jesus Christ!тАЭ
They covered the remains with their rainslickers. They put their hats where the faces
had been.
The police communications network responded fast; fellow officers were dead, nobody
wasted time. Ten minutes after the initial alarms, had gone out the phone was ringing in
the half-empty ready-room of the Brooklyn Homicide Division. Detective Becky Neff
picked it up. тАЬNeff,тАЭ the gruff voice of the Inspector said, тАЬyou and WilsonтАЩre assigned to a
case in the Seventy-fifth Precinct.тАЭ
тАЬThe what?тАЭ
тАЬItтАЩs the Fountain Avenue Dump. Got a double cop killing, mutilation, probable sex
assault, cannibalism. Get the hell out there fast.тАЭ The line clicked.
тАЬWake up, George, weтАЩve got a case,тАЭ Neff growled. тАЬWeтАЩve got a bad one.тАЭ She had
hardly absorbed what the Inspector had saidтАФmutilation and cannibalism? What in the
name of God had happened out there? тАЬSomebody killed two cops and cannibalized
them.тАЭ
Wilson, who had been resting in a tilted-back chair after a grueling four-hour
paperwork session, leaned forward and got to his feet.
 тАЬLetтАЩs go. WhereтАЩs the scene?тАЭ
тАЬFountain Avenue Dump. Seventy-fifth Precinct.тАЭ
тАЬGoddamn out-of-the-way place.тАЭ He shook his head. тАЬGuys must have gotten
themselves jumped.тАЭ
They went down to Becky NeffтАЩs old blue Pontiac and set the flasher up on the
dashboard. She pulled the car out of its parking place and edged into the dense traffic of
downtown Brooklyn. Wilson flipped on the radio and reported to the dispatcher. тАЬSirenтАЩs
working,тАЭ Wilson commented as he flipped the toggle switch. The siren responded with an
electronic warble, and he grunted with satisfaction; it had been on the blink for over a
month, and there had been no response from the repair unit. Budget cuts had reduced
this once-efficient team to exactly twelve men for the entire fleet of police vehicles.
Unmarked cars were low on the list of precedence for flasher and siren repairs.
тАЬI fixed it,тАЭ Becky Neff said, тАЬand IтАЩm damn glad now.тАЭ The ride to the car pound
would be made much easier by the siren, and time could not be wasted.
Wilson raised his eyebrows. тАЬYou fixed it?тАЭ