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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 138 из 205They mightget me on film, but they wouldn't be able to show it on television. Good taste and all, you know.
I had a little plastic-enclosed card, complete with picture, that gave me access to police areas. I always felt like a junior G-man when I clipped it to my collar.
I was stopped at the yellow police banner by a vigilant uniform. He stared at my I. D. for several seconds, as if trying to decide whether I was kosher or not. Would he let me through the line, or would he call a detective over first?
I stood, hands at my sides, trying to look harmless. I'm actually very good at that. I can look downright cute. The uniform raised the tape and let me through. I resisted an urge to say, “Atta boy.” I did say, “Thank you.”
The body lay near a lamp pole. Legs were spreadeagled. One arm twisted under the body, probably broken. The center of the back was missing, as if someone had shoved a hand through the body and just scooped out the center. The heart would be gone, just like all the others.
Detective Clive Perry was standing by the body. He was a tall, slender, black man, and most recent member of the spook squad. He always seemed so soft-spoken and pleasant. I could never imagine Perry doing anything rude enough to piss someone off, but you didn't get assigned to the squad without a reason.
He looked up from his notebook. “Hi, Ms. Blake.”
“Hello, Detective Perry.”
He smiled. “Sergeant Storr said you'd be coming down.”
“Is everyone else finished with the body?”
He nodded. “It's all yours.”
A dark brown puddle of blood spread out from under the body. I knelt beside it. The blood had congealed to a tacky, gluelike consistency. Rigor mortis had come and gone, if there had been rigor mortis. Vampires didn't always react to “death” the way a human body did. It made judging the time of death harder. But that was the coroner's job, not mine.
The bright summer sun pressed down over the body. From the shape and the black pants suit, I was betting it was female. It was sort of hard to tell, lying on its stomach, chest caved in, and the head missing. The spine showed white and glistening. Blood had poured out of the neck like a broken bottle of red wine. The skin was torn, twisted. It looked like somebody had ripped the freaking head off.
I swallowed very hard. I hadn't thrown up on a murder victim in months. I stood up and put a little distance between myself and the body.
Could this have been done by a human being? No; maybe. Hell.
I had a little plastic-enclosed card, complete with picture, that gave me access to police areas. I always felt like a junior G-man when I clipped it to my collar.
I was stopped at the yellow police banner by a vigilant uniform. He stared at my I. D. for several seconds, as if trying to decide whether I was kosher or not. Would he let me through the line, or would he call a detective over first?
I stood, hands at my sides, trying to look harmless. I'm actually very good at that. I can look downright cute. The uniform raised the tape and let me through. I resisted an urge to say, “Atta boy.” I did say, “Thank you.”
The body lay near a lamp pole. Legs were spreadeagled. One arm twisted under the body, probably broken. The center of the back was missing, as if someone had shoved a hand through the body and just scooped out the center. The heart would be gone, just like all the others.
Detective Clive Perry was standing by the body. He was a tall, slender, black man, and most recent member of the spook squad. He always seemed so soft-spoken and pleasant. I could never imagine Perry doing anything rude enough to piss someone off, but you didn't get assigned to the squad without a reason.
He looked up from his notebook. “Hi, Ms. Blake.”
“Hello, Detective Perry.”
He smiled. “Sergeant Storr said you'd be coming down.”
“Is everyone else finished with the body?”
He nodded. “It's all yours.”
A dark brown puddle of blood spread out from under the body. I knelt beside it. The blood had congealed to a tacky, gluelike consistency. Rigor mortis had come and gone, if there had been rigor mortis. Vampires didn't always react to “death” the way a human body did. It made judging the time of death harder. But that was the coroner's job, not mine.
The bright summer sun pressed down over the body. From the shape and the black pants suit, I was betting it was female. It was sort of hard to tell, lying on its stomach, chest caved in, and the head missing. The spine showed white and glistening. Blood had poured out of the neck like a broken bottle of red wine. The skin was torn, twisted. It looked like somebody had ripped the freaking head off.
I swallowed very hard. I hadn't thrown up on a murder victim in months. I stood up and put a little distance between myself and the body.
Could this have been done by a human being? No; maybe. Hell.