Pike's Pyramid. Michael Tatlow

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ English but at least he understood it.

      Pike remorsefully told them about Jack’s claims of corruption. Of his own limited collaboration.

      The policemen exchanged doubtful glances. ‘We have found no such evidence,’ said Schmidt. ‘Was Mr Sussoms sober this evening? Was he a…a man of sanity. Ah, rational?’

      ‘He was a clever old man; sober and sane. Do you have a killer suspect?’

      ‘For now, Mr Pike,’ Schmidt replied, ‘we have you.’

      Blarney saw himself being slung in a jail cell in this suddenly alien land. ‘Bloody well check at the bar!’ he protested. ‘I’ve been there since Jack left me more than two hours ago. Writing cards and having a few beers. All the time.’

      ‘All the time?’ asked Schmidt.

      ‘That’s what I bloody well said.’ The scar reddened again.

      ‘You know Czech, Mr Pike?’

      ‘The language?’ he grimaced. ‘No.’

      The three detectives conferred in Czech, glancing warily at their suspect. Schmidt frisked Pike, seeking a weapon or something stolen from the suite. Pike emptied the contents of his pockets on the bed: his brown leather-covered book of Argo business, his wallet, passport, pen, loose change, handkerchief and unused postcards, envelopes and stamps. The captain checked that there were no bloodstains on the Australian’s clothing. He also examined the contents of the book and wallet. He said nothing.

      Pike asked him how the police had found the body.

      ‘A phone call from the woman staying next door,’ said Schmidt. ‘She had heard a, a commotion.

      ‘This crime was done quick,’ the policeman informed him evenly. ‘A killer from the bar where you were, sir, would not have to be away for long. You drank all that beer for two hours and no visit to the, ah, facilities?’

      ‘Well, no,’ Pike conceded warily. ‘I did go for a piss. In the toilet near the…’ Shit. ‘Near the mail box.’

      ‘And nearer the elevators, Mr. Pike,’ Schmidt declared, glancing at Gelber.

      Pike remembered the toilet and brightened. ‘Look, when I went to the lavatory one of the waiters who’d been bringing me drinks followed me in there. We washed hands at the same time. He’s a little bloke with black hair, slicked back. And a silver stud is in his left ear. He speaks good English and he asked me what I thought of Czech beer.

      ‘I told him Czech beer is as good as Australian. A real compliment, that is. That waiter’s a bit poofy, I think.’ He found a smile. ‘We left the lavatory together. He’ll remember that.’

      ‘Poofy?’ asked Schmidt.

      ‘Sorry, I meant gay. Homosexual.’

      ‘Kindly wait as we inquire,’ Schmidt directed. The junior cop left the suite. Surely not to ask the waiter if he was queer, Pike thought.

      He sat tensely in a lounge chair, trying not to look at Jack’s body through the open door. A fly had got in. It settled on the bloodied eye socket. Pike ran to the body and waved it away as Schmidt hurtled towards him, thinking an escape was on.

      A forensic team in green coats arrived. A photographer took a couple of shots of their grim suspect. Gelber and Schmidt were absorbed in searching the premises.

      Pike remembered Jack’s weapon. ‘Did you find a gun in here?’ he called.

      Gelber trotted into the bedroom. ‘A gun, you say?’

      Ah, so the big cop talks English. ‘Jack had a 32 mill revolver. He told me about it only tonight. He kept it by this bed. Under a newspaper, he said. On the table.’

      Gelber nearly leaped at the table and lifted a copy of USA Today. ‘No gun,’ he reported. ‘We’d have found it before. Are you sure of this?’

      ‘That’s what he told me, Inspector.’

      ‘Why did he have a gun?’

      ‘For his own protection, the poor bloke.’

      ‘Protection from what, Mr Pike?’

      ‘The Argo heavies he was accusing.’

      ‘Do you know the brand of revolver?’

      ‘No. If it’s gone, you’ve got an armed killer somewhere.’

      ‘Where did Mr Sussoms get this gun?’ Gelber demanded.

      ‘Search me. Ah, sorry. He said he bought it in Prague.’

      ‘We require a mouth swab, Mr Pike, and your fingerprints.’

      ‘Sure.’

      The inspector left the bedroom and made a phone call, sounding as if he was giving instructions. Pike checked his watch. Ten after midnight.

      ‘Excuse me,’ he called to Gelber. ‘Can I use the phone to ring my wife? We’re guests in the hotel. She might be worried.’

      ‘Kindly wait, sir. If your alibi is right, you may leave.’

      Fuckoff returned, not looking pleased. He conferred with his seniors. Schmidt found a thin smile. ‘Your story is confirmed, Mr Pike. You may go but do not leave the hotel without us knowing. An officer is stationed near the exit.’

      Pike grabbed his possessions and handed Schmidt one of his Argo cards: Czech on one side, English on the other. It contained the address and phone number of their apartment in Palmovka. He had not told them about that.

      He returned to the bar, which seemed never to close. He drank a neat brandy in one toss. He hurried to the toilet where, remembering the corpse, he vomited.

      Alex was asleep in bed when he arrived in their room at one in the morning. He sat at the writing desk and noted in his book of contacts and Argo affairs the names of the three detectives. He stared out at the wakening city, gazed lovingly at his green-eyed beauty, her honey-blonde hair spread over a blue pillow. She woke soon after dawn and held up her arms to cuddle and kiss him.

      He waited until after breakfast in the hotel dining room before telling Alex about the murder and gruesome injuries. The news jolted her into shocked anguish for Jack Sussoms; indignation about her husband being suspected of murder.

      Inspector Gelber visited the couple’s room soon after with instructions not to tell anyone about what Pike had seen in Jack’s suite or about Jack’s claims of criminality in Argo.

      When the news spread during the day, the networkers at the Norvoski were agog. Three fellow Argo agents badgered Pike for details, which he declined to give them.

      The Pikes were summoned to the hotel’s top-floor penthouse, a plush sanctum, for their first-ever private audience with Argo’s owner, Abraham Harbek. The short and slender man was in СКАЧАТЬ