Alibi for the hero. Detective novel. Elena Borisovna Speranskaya

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ with those who followed her elegant manipulations, surreptitiously watching how the ill-fated post-graduate student Oleg reacted to these actions, since the responsibility for his behavior would have to be borne by her

      “Well, how do I look at that collar? Not very funny?” she chirped with a purely Russian accent, creating around herself a circle of tourists.

      “It’s funny,” said Alice from time to time, always turning away so as not to inhale the amber, coming from the heated body of the “priestess of travel and dangerous transitions,” as she called herself, carefully concealing her passport data.

      “I want to warn you all, do not inhale the astringent aroma of my perfume,” she ordered in a stern voice, giving food for thought to the men and finally clouding Alice’s head.

      “Why is she so fussing about?” the detective thought suddenly. “I guess she has her own specific plans. I do not even have a piece of sugar in my pocket to offer it as a prize, as in the circus arena, when encouraging obedient trained animals to chew something delicious before the next performance.”

      “I have no sweets with me,” Alice said aloud, attracting the attention of an unknown bum who adhered to their group, so that he could coordinate in his manners of behavior and not fall into depression if someone had negative thoughts about his appearance.

      He wore ugly light gray trousers, an excessively shiny shirt and something like a beret with knots and holes on his large head. He found a piece of cloth on the way to the Lavra, roaming between the alleys of houses and dumps, reporting to the detective:

      “Of course, the excursion is interesting, but I’m more attracted by the ancient wall paintings and icons on those buildings that I surveyed when I served here as a novice about twenty years ago. Then I was arrested for three days for stealing a piece of bread in the store. So now I’ll try to get into the very essence of the foundations of the state system. After all, Kievan Rus came from here,” he explained edifyingly, and the white-haired vortexes of the thief and the bastard peeped out into the holes in the scarf on his head. “And my headdress from the secret storerooms of the universe resembles the usual ritual scarf of the Israelites during the Easter service.”

      Alice, in tight blue jeans and a yellow tunic, graciously putting forward the elbow, on which the handbag hung, putting the chin on the sun, sunbathing, was merging with the flag of Ukraine, even admiring self-sufficiency. For Nikifor Naumovich, this trip at his own expense was a part of the normal course of increasing the professional literacy of the population in the fight against brutal traitors and plunderers of property.

      “What lovely creations around. Just crumbs from my dreams!” the bums sang in a lazy voice.

      “Well, I will be your personal guide. It’s not worth to start early,” the guide urged him with the habits of the hetaera.

      On which Alice, internally positively reacted, was silent, so that standing next to lieutenant-colonel Regimov, there was a correct idea of such unbearable types, in whose possession his own charisma felt falsity, excessive admiration for himself and boyish posturing. In general, he fully met the requirements of the average homeless with a bias in Hinduism, Mohammedanism, Christianity, Catholicism, drug addiction and all the natural disasters that he created, knocking rhythm out of the heartbeat of guides, stewardesses, waitresses, popcorn saleswomen and those bored with a calm, life with an annoyed second half.

      “Look, what I found out,” he said, shifting his cap to one side, loudly pronounced the suddenly appeared graduate student Tkachik, so that all nearby tourists could hear. “The whole area of the monastery stretches on two picturesque hills, occupying 30 hectares of land,” he read the information from the booklet, reminding the world-famous Ostap Bender in the search for ancient treasures, as he learned to read, smoke incense of his own glory, enjoy the presence of women, at the end of the school course, which he did not immediately have to overcome.

      “The pilgrims are most attracted here by caves, from which the construction of this temple complex began, which currently includes forty-one buildings: an amazing cathedral, harmonious bell towers, many churches, buildings for everyday and secular purposes,” explained the guide when Alice and Oleg heard in microphone her pleasant voice.

      “How much useful information,” the irrepressible super-agent admired, hoping to penetrate all the dungeons and find a pyramid with a golden triangular top, the same as that depicted on the American dollar or at least its rock drawing, or printed on paper with watermarks.

      “Today the complex is divided into the Upper – historical and cultural reserve and the Lower part – the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Lavra,” the tourists again heard the detailed story in the microphone.

      “Are they open to the public?” Alice asked, hoping to search both park areas and find a murderer with material evidence of guilt in the crime, hoping for the help of their colleagues and their own experience in the detection of criminal offenses.

      “Of course, but on tickets,” the guide said, persistently agitating everyone who wanted to leave the last cash saved for pocket expenses, within the walls of the monastery, which since 1990 was included in the list of the UNESCO world cultural and historical heritage. “The monastery is distinguished by an amazing nature – there is no sternness and equanimity, as a rule, inherent in religious sketes.”

      After listening to the colorful description of the place where the bloody drama occurred, Alice, having risen to the highest place, surveyed the bright green landscapes illuminated by the sun, the shining domes, monks strolling along of the paths, the rosaries, the brilliant blue river at the foot of the monastery and the majestic monument “Homeland-mother”, reminiscent of the Russian analogue of Volgograd.

      “Let’s go on,” the guide insisted, yawning, producing a stunning impression on the representatives of stronger sex.

      “Oleg, look, here’s a picture that will be remembered for my entire life,” Alice turned into emptiness, as her assistant, soapy, had already returned under the fortress walls, jumped into the stall with pies and fled inspired back without souvenirs.

      “All at your disposal,” smiling with happiness that he had so successfully displayed his skill, he exclaimed inappropriately, trusting completely to his boss.

      “We must search all the cells of the ancient monks. I think that there are also relics that can undergo barbaric interference,” the detective said aloud, trying to find a thread to unleash a tangle of terrible crime.

      “This rogue-bum, stuck to us, will find out the ways and exits himself without the help of the police. It can be seen in the supervised bodies he is followed by a whole chain of crimes, which he must serve during the twenty years mentioned by him. He just needs to wait for this happy hour. In the meantime, we must consider him under the condition of good behavior and the fulfillment of the regime of the day,” Alice decided, to immediately dispel sincerity from bombast and ambition.

      “That’s right, do not even doubt, we’re heading there now,” the guide supported the initiative, rushing to the entrance to the catacombs.

      They all a small group of seven people, arisen spontaneously, walked along the bridges in the dungeon, alternately stopping in the cells in front of the ancient relics, where on the tables hollowed out in the ground stood lamps. Carefully examined the burial places of the martyrs themselves, niches hollowed out in the wall, where you could put only the very thin, withered figure of the old man. СКАЧАТЬ