Mortal Fear. Greg Iles

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and put it to my ear.

      “Harper, it’s me.” Drewe’s voice is tight with pent-up emotion.

      “What is it? What happened?”

      “A lot of things.”

      A wave of heat rolls up my back and neck as an image of Erin flashes in my mind. “Where are you?”

      “Woman’s Hospital.”

      “Can you talk? What is it?”

      “The FBI,” she says quietly.

      “What? They called you?”

      “No. They called my bosses. They called my friends.”

      “What?”

      “And not just the FBI. A detective from New Orleans called the hospital administrator and asked permission to question colleagues about me.”

      Mayeux. “What kind of questions are they asking?”

      “Embarrassing ones. Do I drink heavily. Do I ever bring you around the hospital, or even to Jackson. How you and I get along. Why don’t we have any kids.” Her voice cracks slightly at that. “Harper, this is not acceptable.”

      “I know, babe. Goddamn it. I’ll try to see if I can do something about it.”

      “You’ve got to do something about it. My world isn’t isolated like yours. The good opinion of these people is a prerequisite for keeping my privileges.”

      “I get the message, Drewe. Let me make some phone calls.”

      “Please do that. I’m being paged.”

      And she is gone.

      Let me make some phone calls. I said it with such confidence. Who the hell was I kidding? Am I going to call a New Orleans homicide detective and say, “Listen, shrimphead, leave my wife alone or take the fucking consequences!”

      No.

      Am I going to call Bob Anderson and say, “Dr. Anderson, it turns out I actually can’t take care of your little girl so could you please call the governor and ask him to get the FBI off our backs?”

      Hell no.

      Am I going to call the FBI and say, “Could you please stop questioning my wife about this murder case? She doesn’t like it.”

      Maybe.

      I take Baxter’s card from my wallet, punch in the number of Quantico, and ask for Agent Baxter.

      “Special Agent Baxter is in the field at this time,” says a robotic female voice. “Would you like to leave voice mail?”

      I decide to wake her up. “My name is Harper Cole,” I say too loudly. “I met with Baxter and Dr. Lenz about the Karin Wheat murder, and they told me to call immediately if I remembered anything vital to the case. Well, I have.”

      “Where are you, Mr. Cole?” says a slightly less controlled voice.

      “Home. And I don’t have much time.”

      The voice finally becomes human. “Could you give me your number, please? Mr. Cole?”

      “Baxter has it,” I snap, and hang up the phone. That ought to light a fire under somebody.

      I sit down at the EROS computer, log in as SYSOP, and begin scanning the Level Two messages as they are posted. EROS traffic is basically unmoderated, which means we sysops do not screen or censor the communications of clients. This freedom is what allows Miles and me to run the busy service without much help. Certain types of communication are prohibited on EROS, and they are filtered by a simple but efficient program designed by Miles: he calls it “Ward Cleaver.” As messages are posted to the various areas of our servers, “Ward” automatically searches out all binary graphic files and references to children and deposits them in a special file called the Dumpster. (Actually, “Ward” lost his graphic filter three weeks ago.) At his leisure, Miles then attempts—usually with success—to track down the originators of these forbidden files. He doesn’t turn them over to the cops or anything. He just likes letting them know he can find them.

      Theoretically, I’m supposed to be monitoring the various areas of EROS on a round-robin basis, doing what I can to assist new clients and helping to foster a sense of online community. But in the past few weeks I have become rather casual about that duty. More than a few of this morning’s messages are about Karin Wheat’s death. The themes are consistent: shock, denial, anger. Of course, none of the authors of these messages has any idea that Karin was an EROS client. They knew her only through her novels, which would interest most EROS clients, as they dealt with the darker side of the human psyche.

      When my phone rings, I pick it up prepared to give Daniel Baxter a piece of my mind, but instead I find myself listening to the flat vowels of Dr. Arthur Lenz.

      “You’ve remembered something of value, Mr. Cole?” he says.

      “Where’s Baxter?”

      “He’s not available just now.”

      “Where are you, Doctor?”

      “Is that relevant?”

      “Did you go to Minnesota to see Strobekker’s body exhumed?”

      “Do you doubt that I did?”

      “I think you went straight to New York to try to crack Jan Krislov. Didn’t you?”

      “As a matter of fact, I personally observed the postmortem on David Strobekker.”

      “Was he missing his pineal gland?”

      “Oddly enough, no. Now, what was the purpose of your call?”

      “Am I a prime suspect in these murders, Doctor?”

      Lenz pauses. “You’re a suspect, yes.”

      “Why?”

      “You have access to EROS’s master client list. That makes you a member of a very exclusive group.”

      “Have you got access to the list yet?”

      “No.”

      “Maybe I can help you.”

      “How?”

      “Maybe I have a copy of the list.”

      “Do you or don’t you?”

      It’s my turn to play coy.

      “What do you want?” Lenz asks.

      “I want the FBI to stop hassling my wife.”

      “Ah. Daniel’s agents can be clumsy on occasion. They are causing you problems?”

      “They’re СКАЧАТЬ