JК
The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 154 из 213Why did I want to cry over a whore whom I'd just met? Over the unfairness of the world in general?
Jean-Claude wasright. There would always be prey and predator. And I had worked very hard to be one of the predators. I was the Executioner. So why were my sympathies always with the victims? And why did the despair in Wanda's eyes make me hate Gaynor more than anything he'd ever done to me?
Why indeed?
26
The phone rang. I moved nothing but my eyes to glance at the bedside clock: 6:45 A.M. Shit. I lay there waiting, half drifted to sleep again when the answering machine picked up.
"It's Dolph. We found another one. Call my pager …»
I scrambled for the phone, dropping the receiver in the process. "H'lo, Dolph. I'm here."
"Late night?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Our friend has decided that single family homes are easy pickings." His voice sounded rough with lack of sleep.
"God, not another family."
"Fraid so. Can you come out?"
It was a stupid question, but I didn't point that out. My stomach had dropped into my knees. I didn't want a repeat of the Reynolds house. I didn't think my imagination could stand it.
"Give me the address. I'll be there."
He gave me the address.
"St. Peters," I said. "It's close to St. Charles, but still …»
"Still what?"
"It's a long way to walk for a single family home. There are lots of houses that fit the bill in St. Charles. Why did it travel so far to feed?"
"You're asking me?" he said. There was something almost like laughter in his voice. "Come on out, Ms. Voodoo Expert. See what there is to see."
"Dolph, is it as bad as the Reynolds house?"
"Bad, worse, worst of all," he said. The laughter was still there, but it held an edge of something hard and self deprecating.
"This isn't your fault," I said.
"Tell that to the top brass. They're screaming for someone's ass."
"Did you get the warrant?"
"It'll come in this afternoon late."
"No one gets warrants on a weekend," I said.
"Special panic-mode dispensation," Dolph said. "Get your ass out here, Anita. Everyone needs to go home." He hung up.
I didn't bother saying bye.
Another murder. Shit, shit, shit. Double shit. It was not the way I wanted to spend Saturday morning. But we were getting our warrant. Yippee. The trouble was I didn't know what to look for. I wasn't really a voodoo expert. I was a preternatural crimes expert. It wasn't the same thing. Maybe I should ask Manny to come along.
Jean-Claude wasright. There would always be prey and predator. And I had worked very hard to be one of the predators. I was the Executioner. So why were my sympathies always with the victims? And why did the despair in Wanda's eyes make me hate Gaynor more than anything he'd ever done to me?
Why indeed?
26
The phone rang. I moved nothing but my eyes to glance at the bedside clock: 6:45 A.M. Shit. I lay there waiting, half drifted to sleep again when the answering machine picked up.
"It's Dolph. We found another one. Call my pager …»
I scrambled for the phone, dropping the receiver in the process. "H'lo, Dolph. I'm here."
"Late night?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Our friend has decided that single family homes are easy pickings." His voice sounded rough with lack of sleep.
"God, not another family."
"Fraid so. Can you come out?"
It was a stupid question, but I didn't point that out. My stomach had dropped into my knees. I didn't want a repeat of the Reynolds house. I didn't think my imagination could stand it.
"Give me the address. I'll be there."
He gave me the address.
"St. Peters," I said. "It's close to St. Charles, but still …»
"Still what?"
"It's a long way to walk for a single family home. There are lots of houses that fit the bill in St. Charles. Why did it travel so far to feed?"
"You're asking me?" he said. There was something almost like laughter in his voice. "Come on out, Ms. Voodoo Expert. See what there is to see."
"Dolph, is it as bad as the Reynolds house?"
"Bad, worse, worst of all," he said. The laughter was still there, but it held an edge of something hard and self deprecating.
"This isn't your fault," I said.
"Tell that to the top brass. They're screaming for someone's ass."
"Did you get the warrant?"
"It'll come in this afternoon late."
"No one gets warrants on a weekend," I said.
"Special panic-mode dispensation," Dolph said. "Get your ass out here, Anita. Everyone needs to go home." He hung up.
I didn't bother saying bye.
Another murder. Shit, shit, shit. Double shit. It was not the way I wanted to spend Saturday morning. But we were getting our warrant. Yippee. The trouble was I didn't know what to look for. I wasn't really a voodoo expert. I was a preternatural crimes expert. It wasn't the same thing. Maybe I should ask Manny to come along.