The Straw Men 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Straw Men, The Lonely Dead, Blood of Angels. Michael Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ the money and don’t want to be bothered by standard-issue earthlings, then this is the place for you. I got a peek at the house plans, though, and these are not your average trophy homes. They got someone pretty good on the case, someone who had something specific in mind.’

      ‘Like what?’

      I took a pen from my pocket and sketched. ‘Exploded layout. Main living spaces elevated over the terrain. Central fireplaces withdrawn to internal room edges. Stained glass on the windows opposite the fires, and in skylights over corridors. Hanging eaves, horizontal banding of windows, conspicuous terraces.’

      Bobby peered at the drawing. ‘So? I tell you, my friend, that just sounds like a regular house to me.’

      ‘Lot of this has been incorporated into standard design now,’ I agreed. ‘But the way it was put together in these drawings was textbook Frank Lloyd Wright.’

      ‘So maybe they hired him.’

      ‘Unlikely. Unless they hired a medium, too.’

      ‘So they got someone who designs like him. There must be hundreds. Big deal.’

      ‘Probably. But this kind of stuff isn’t fashionable these days, never has been for this kind of development. Usually it’s oil baron staircases, master bedroom suites, and look-at-me aren’t-I-rich.’

      ‘Sounds great.’

      ‘But artificial. In the beginning, the places where we lived were sculpted from natural environments, not constructed from scratch. That’s why so much modern architecture feels barren: it makes no organic use of the site. Wright’s houses were different. The entrance route is made complicated to symbolize a retreat to a known safe haven, and the fireplace is withdrawn into the centre of the structure to take the place of a fire in a deep cave. Spaces within the house flow to allow internal prospect as an ultimate defence, additionally suggesting the adaptation of a naturally created space. External windows are banded so the sight lines reveal the outside without compromising the inside. Stained glass evokes a wall of vegetation that the inhabitants can see through, but which presents a wall from without. Humans feel most comfortable when they’ve got both prospect and refuge – when they’ve got a good view of the terrain they inhabit, but also feel protected and hidden. That’s what his patterns provide.’

      Bobby stared at me. ‘You’re an unusual man.’

      I shrugged, embarrassed. ‘I listened in class. My point is, you find me another development in the world looks like this, I’ll kiss your ass.’

      ‘Tempting, but I’m just going to take your word for it.’

      ‘It’s probably one of the reasons they don’t let people see the houses beforehand. It’s not what they’d usually lay out their millions for. Which means they have to have some other reason for making them that way.’

      ‘So the developer’s a Wright nut. Or they hired an architect who listened in class, too. I don’t see how this leads anywhere, and I’d really like you to tell me what happened at the end.’

      ‘I lost it with the realtor.’

      ‘On site?’

      I shook my head. ‘Give me some credit. Back in town. There was no one around.’

      ‘Is he dead?’ The question was businesslike.

      ‘Christ, no.’

      ‘Why did you do this?’

      ‘I didn’t like him. Plus there used to be two firms looking after The Halls. Now there’s only one.’

      Bobby nodded, slowly. ‘Your dad’s firm being the one no longer on the case.’

      ‘You’re a bright guy.’

      ‘I also take it, from the fact we’re not discussing a homicide, that you don’t think this realtor killed your folks. Despite the financial incentive.’

      I shook my head. ‘Not personally. But he’s in bed with people who did. Why else is there footage of this place on the tape?’

      Suddenly I was on my feet, walking quickly out of the kitchen. As I passed through the hall something tugged at me, but I couldn’t work out what, so kept on going. Bobby followed me into the sitting room, where I went over to the coffee table.

      I picked up the book lying there, and waved it at him.

      ‘A book about the aforementioned great architect,’ he said. ‘So what? Your dad was a realtor. They’re into houses. And an old guy. Old dudes really dig biographies. It’s that and the Discovery Channel that keeps them going.’

      ‘Bobby …’

      ‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘It’s an interesting coincidence. Sort of.’

      I wandered back out into the hallway and then came to a halt again. I felt like I had an engine of activity inside me, turning over, ready to run – but having no idea what direction to go in. ‘You tossed this place hard?’

      ‘I took carpet up, I went under floorboards, I went in the roof and shone a flashlight in the tank. I looked inside the phones. There’s nothing else here. Of course – I can’t tell what might be missing.’

      ‘Me neither,’ I said. ‘I didn’t come here enough. The only thing I noticed was the videos.’ I frowned. ‘Wait a second. When I was here the other day I put the mail here. Now it’s gone.’ I looked up at him, suddenly sure I was onto something.

      ‘Relax, detective. A couple hours ago an old guy picked it up. Beaky, said he used to be your folks’ lawyer. I let him in, explained I was a friend of yours. He was cool about it, though he did look like he wanted to check how many spoons I’d stolen.’

      ‘Harold Davids,’ I said. ‘He said he’d keep coming by.’

      Bobby smiled. ‘Ward, you got enough weirdness going on without looking for it. Stop being so paranoid.’

      We heard a loud shattering sound from the sitting room. We started moving, but not quickly enough.

      It’s not so much a sound as a feeling of immense pressure, and as shocking as being a child smashed across the face by someone who’s never hit you before. If you’re close enough to an explosion, what you’re mainly aware of is the thud of your head and chest, an impact that turns any noise into a deep sensation, a feeling that the world itself has been knocked out of its path. The sound itself seems secondary, as if you’re hearing it days afterward.

      It seemed like I hit the wall immediately, hard, and smacked face-first into a row of pictures. As I hit the ground, my head full of white light and surrounded by falling glass, there was another, quieter explosion, and then I was hauling Bobby off the floor and toward the remains of the front door.

      We careered down the path together, slipping and falling on the wet flagstones. There was another detonation behind us, much louder than the first. This time I heard the whistle and fizz of things flying around me, the whupp-a of air compressed and released. Bobby kept scrabbling forward, using his hands to keep us moving. I screwed up his efforts by turning to look back at the house, and we tangled and ended up skidding flat on our backs on the wet СКАЧАТЬ