"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Long-Term Investment" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

By the time the fourth body was discovered, only five days after the third, fear was all but palpable in
the air. Activity on the docks became hasty, furtive. More constables patrolled, and fewer businesses
kept their offices open past seven in the evening except when it was absolutely necessary. Everyone
looked upon strangers as dangerous, and occasional fights broke out as a result of quickened tempers
and unlucky mistakes.
After sustaining a third visit from the police in as many days, Edward found himself wandering
restlessly around the main floor of the warehouse, looking at the stacked coffins and trying to steady his
chaotic thoughts. He knew Inspector Uriah Ames was suspicious of him; his experience of the police told
him that once they had settled on a man, they were tenacious in their purpose, no matter how much in
error they might be; the implications worried him. Why did Inspector Ames think he was guilty of some
criminal act? How could any policeman believe that he was a murderer? He paused beside the largest
stack of caskets, noticing that one or two of them were slightly out of alignment. Sighing with a sense of
ill-use, but secretly glad to have something to take his mind off his problems, Edward did his best to
shove the coffins back into position.
The uppermost coffin teetered, rocked, and fell, crashing onto the rough planking with an ominous
crack as the lid split open at the lock, spilling out a load of dark-red earth on the warehouse floor.
Edward stood in silence, staring at the fallen casket and its unaccountable contents. He could not
bring himself to move. What was earth doing inside a coffin? he asked himself, and found no answer.
Very slowly he let his breath out, unaware until that instant that he had been holding it. He noticed that
this coffin was one of the ones that had been tagged to be picked up by the drayage firm the next day,
and that made him more puzzled than ever. Who wanted the earth, and what would he do with it? He
had no answer, so he approached the matter from a different angle: why should any undertaker buy a
coffin filled with earth? To whom was Carfax selling these coffins, and why?
The sound of a carriage in the street brought him back to himself. He swore obscenely and
comprehensively under his breath as he resisted the panic that threatened to overcome him. He was
aware that he had to clean up the dirt and make some attempt to repair the coffin before Mister Carfax
could see what a mess had been made. This galvanized him into action: in a flurry of activity, he removed
his jacket and turned up his sleeves in preparation for all he had to do, searched for the wide broom he
used every night before he left to make a pile of the dirt, and he improvised a dustpan to collect it and
stuff it back in the carved wooden box. The lock was a trickier problem, and it so engrossed him as he
glued the various bits back together that he did not notice when the door opened and Carfax himself
slipped into the warehouse, taking refuge in the shadows where Edward could not see him.
When he was satisfied that he had repaired the worst of the damage, Edward hurried off to the
washroom to clean his hands and neaten himself up. He combed his hair with his fingers and patted cold
water on his face to diminish the flush of exercise, then straightened his collar and tie before going to fetch
his jacket. He stopped still when he saw Carfax standing in the doorway. "Good afternoon, sir," he said
nervously. "I did not hear you arrive."
"I daresay," said Carfax, strolling into the center of the warehouse, his voluminous European-style
cloak swinging around him. "Is all well?"
"The police still haven't caught the murderer, but your business is thriving," said Edward uneasily. He
hoped that Carfax would not notice that the caskets were not stacked as they had been.
"Five bodies, is it?" Carfax asked.
"Four, actually," said Edward.
"Oh, yes. Four." He paused beside the first stack of coffins. "How sad." Then he turned abruptly. "If
you will fetch the accounting books down from the office? I want to assure myself that our records are
accurate. There have been enough orders for these coffins for a review of our stock."
Glad to be doing something useful, Edward bolted for the stairs; he did not see Carfax open the
nearest coffin, take rumpled, stained clothing from under his cloak, and thrust the clothing inside; he
closed the lid carefully, making almost no sound. Smiling slightly, he waited for Edward to come down
with the account book.