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Cerulean Sins :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 337 из 352It could be more, or it could be just one woman, but that's an awful lot of blood for only one woman, don't you think?"
He laid the baggie of polaroids carefully on the table, so that they didn't touch any of the other photos. He stared at all the pictures, his face gone death white, his eyes huge. His voice squeezed out like it was an effort to breathe, let alone talk. "What do you wish to know?"
"We want to stop this from happening again," I said.
He was staring down at the pictures, as if he couldn't look away. "He promised he would not do it here. He swore that he could control himself."
"Who?" I asked, softly. Yeah, the government had given him a name, but that was the same government that wouldn't give our John Doe one.
"Van Anders," he whispered the name. He looked up, and there was surprise underneath the shock. "The other detective said you knew it was Van Anders."
Great. Nothing like giving your suspect more information than he's giving you.
I shrugged. "Without eyewitnesses it's hard to be certain."
Something like hope sparked in his eyes and he started regaining some of his color. "You think this might be someone else? Not Van Anders?"
I riffled through the files again, and Heinrick flinched. I found the thin folder with the picture of Van Anders and the two women. I flashed him the picture. "Van Anders with the victims from last night's slaughter."
He winced at the last word, and the color that had been seeping back into his face drained away again. His lips looked bloodless. For a second I thought he might faint. I'd never had a suspect faint on me before.
His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Then it is him." He laid his forehead on the table.
"Do you need some water, something stronger?" I asked. Though truthfully, black coffee was as strong as I could give him. There were rules about giving liquor to suspects.
He raised his head, slowly, but he looked awful. "I told them that he was crazy. I told them not to include him."
"Told who?" I asked.
He sat up a little straighter. "I agreed to come here against my better judgment. I knew the team was assembled too quickly. When you rush such a task, it ends badly."
"What task?" I asked.
"To recruit you for a mission."
"What mission?" I asked.
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Some of our people got you on tape raising a man in a local cemetery. He did not look alive enough for what my employers wished. He looked like a zombie, and that is not good enough."
"Good enough for what?" I asked.
"To fool people in the country that their leader is still alive."
"What country?" I asked.
He laid the baggie of polaroids carefully on the table, so that they didn't touch any of the other photos. He stared at all the pictures, his face gone death white, his eyes huge. His voice squeezed out like it was an effort to breathe, let alone talk. "What do you wish to know?"
"We want to stop this from happening again," I said.
He was staring down at the pictures, as if he couldn't look away. "He promised he would not do it here. He swore that he could control himself."
"Who?" I asked, softly. Yeah, the government had given him a name, but that was the same government that wouldn't give our John Doe one.
"Van Anders," he whispered the name. He looked up, and there was surprise underneath the shock. "The other detective said you knew it was Van Anders."
Great. Nothing like giving your suspect more information than he's giving you.
I shrugged. "Without eyewitnesses it's hard to be certain."
Something like hope sparked in his eyes and he started regaining some of his color. "You think this might be someone else? Not Van Anders?"
I riffled through the files again, and Heinrick flinched. I found the thin folder with the picture of Van Anders and the two women. I flashed him the picture. "Van Anders with the victims from last night's slaughter."
He winced at the last word, and the color that had been seeping back into his face drained away again. His lips looked bloodless. For a second I thought he might faint. I'd never had a suspect faint on me before.
His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Then it is him." He laid his forehead on the table.
"Do you need some water, something stronger?" I asked. Though truthfully, black coffee was as strong as I could give him. There were rules about giving liquor to suspects.
He raised his head, slowly, but he looked awful. "I told them that he was crazy. I told them not to include him."
"Told who?" I asked.
He sat up a little straighter. "I agreed to come here against my better judgment. I knew the team was assembled too quickly. When you rush such a task, it ends badly."
"What task?" I asked.
"To recruit you for a mission."
"What mission?" I asked.
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Some of our people got you on tape raising a man in a local cemetery. He did not look alive enough for what my employers wished. He looked like a zombie, and that is not good enough."
"Good enough for what?" I asked.
"To fool people in the country that their leader is still alive."
"What country?" I asked.