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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 151 из 213Icouldn't feel it, but that's not the point, is it?"
"No," I said.
The first tear trailed down her face. I touched her hand. Her fingers wrapped around mine and held on.
"It's alright," I said, "it's alright."
She cried. I held her hand and lied. "It's alright now, Wanda. He can't hurt you anymore."
"Everyone hurts you," she said. "You were going to hurt me." There was accusation in her eyes.
It was a little late to explain good cop, bad cop to her. She wouldn't have believed it anyway.
"Tell me about Gaynor."
"He replaced me with a deaf girl."
"Cicely," I said.
She looked up, surprised. "You've met her?"
"Briefly."
Wanda shook her head. "Cicely is one sick chickie. She likes torturing people. It gets her off." Wanda looked at me as if trying to gauge my reaction. Was I shocked? No.
"Harold slept with both of us at the same time, sometimes. At the end it was always a threesome. It got real rough." Her voice dropped lower and lower, a hoarse whisper. "Cicely likes knives. She's real good at skinning things." She rolled her lips under again in that lipstick-smoothing gesture. "Gaynor would kill me just for telling you his bedroom secrets."
"Do you know any business secrets?"
She shook her head. "No, I swear. He was always very careful to keep me out of that. I thought at first it was so if the police came, I wouldn't be arrested." She looked down at her lap. "Later, I realized it was because he knew I would be replaced. He didn't want me to know anything that could hurt him when he threw me away."
There was no bitterness now, no anger, only a hollow sadness. I wanted her to rant and rave. This quiet despair was aching. A hurt that would never heal. Gaynor had done worse than kill her. He'd left her alive. Alive and as crippled inside as out.
"I can't tell you anything but bedroom talk. It won't help you hurt him."
"Is there any bedroom talk that isn't about sex?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Personal secrets, but not sex. You were his sweetie for nearly two years. He must have talked about something other than sex."
She frowned, thinking. "I … I guess he talked about his family."
"What about his family?"
"He was illegitimate. He was obsessed with his real father's family."
"He knew who they were?"
Wanda nodded. "They were rich, old money. His mother was a hooker turned mistress: When she got pregnant, they threw her out."
Like Gaynor did to his women, I thought.
"No," I said.
The first tear trailed down her face. I touched her hand. Her fingers wrapped around mine and held on.
"It's alright," I said, "it's alright."
She cried. I held her hand and lied. "It's alright now, Wanda. He can't hurt you anymore."
"Everyone hurts you," she said. "You were going to hurt me." There was accusation in her eyes.
It was a little late to explain good cop, bad cop to her. She wouldn't have believed it anyway.
"Tell me about Gaynor."
"He replaced me with a deaf girl."
"Cicely," I said.
She looked up, surprised. "You've met her?"
"Briefly."
Wanda shook her head. "Cicely is one sick chickie. She likes torturing people. It gets her off." Wanda looked at me as if trying to gauge my reaction. Was I shocked? No.
"Harold slept with both of us at the same time, sometimes. At the end it was always a threesome. It got real rough." Her voice dropped lower and lower, a hoarse whisper. "Cicely likes knives. She's real good at skinning things." She rolled her lips under again in that lipstick-smoothing gesture. "Gaynor would kill me just for telling you his bedroom secrets."
"Do you know any business secrets?"
She shook her head. "No, I swear. He was always very careful to keep me out of that. I thought at first it was so if the police came, I wouldn't be arrested." She looked down at her lap. "Later, I realized it was because he knew I would be replaced. He didn't want me to know anything that could hurt him when he threw me away."
There was no bitterness now, no anger, only a hollow sadness. I wanted her to rant and rave. This quiet despair was aching. A hurt that would never heal. Gaynor had done worse than kill her. He'd left her alive. Alive and as crippled inside as out.
"I can't tell you anything but bedroom talk. It won't help you hurt him."
"Is there any bedroom talk that isn't about sex?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Personal secrets, but not sex. You were his sweetie for nearly two years. He must have talked about something other than sex."
She frowned, thinking. "I … I guess he talked about his family."
"What about his family?"
"He was illegitimate. He was obsessed with his real father's family."
"He knew who they were?"
Wanda nodded. "They were rich, old money. His mother was a hooker turned mistress: When she got pregnant, they threw her out."
Like Gaynor did to his women, I thought.