Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 4-6: Blood Brother, In the Blood, Little Girls Lost. J. Kerley A.
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Название: Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 4-6: Blood Brother, In the Blood, Little Girls Lost
Автор: J. Kerley A.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007535170
isbn:
“You never had an inkling who did it?”
“The Ridgecliff kid was never a suspect. A skinny, smart-brained and good-looking young fella who never spoke much. When the truth came out you could have dropped me with a feather.”
“When we spoke yesterday, you gave the impression of not caring much for Day.”
Reamy looked down, kicked a pine cone. “Seemed like a super choice when he got hired, the best scores ever seen from a recruit. But he never quite fit in, a loner when it came down to things, I guess.”
“I know a lot of guys who go their own way. Good cops.”
Reamy followed the cone a few feet, punted it into the trees. “Once I asked him to clean the gear in the ordnance cabinet. I was working third shift, about three a.m., and come in from a patrol. Day was cleaning the pieces when I passed by, didn’t know anyone was there. He had maybe twenty weapons disassembled, rifles, handguns, shotguns, specialty weapons, all laying on newspaper on the floor around him …” Reamy pulled off his cap, scratched his forehead.
“And?” Nautilus prompted.
“I’m pretty sure he had an erection.”
“What’d you do?”
“I never asked him to clean the ordnance again. But like I said, he did what he was asked and got it done. No one disliked him, no one liked him. He was here three years and when he left, the whole place seemed happier somehow.”
They climbed back in the car. “Could you drive by the house where the Ridgecliffs lived?” Nautilus asked. “If it’s not out of the way.”
“Ain’t far. I got nothing else to do but play with my bees.”
They drove three miles down the road, the air rippling with heat as though the land were a thin crust atop a raging furnace. Reamy turned a corner, pointed.
“That’s the one. Looks pretty much the same, abandoned out here all by itself.”
They drove by the white two-story farmhouse, windows boarded over, one side of the porch swing still dangling on its chain. Nautilus’s head replayed stories of occurrences within the house and he held his breath as they went by, like a kid passing a graveyard and afraid of inhaling ghosts.
“You were right,” Waltz said. He’d called and we’d met in a subway station near the precinct house. A train swept to the platform, wheels squealing.
“About what?” I yelled.
Waltz waited until the train pulled away. “Ridgecliff. The uproar at the Portuguese Embassy was threatening to ramp into a major brouhaha, so the NYPD put out the word that we were looking for a Portuguese businessman, but no relationship to the Embassy. All a mistake.”
“I saw the clarification.”
“Anyway, a rental agent, Jessica Stambliss, was visiting family upstate, When she heard, she ran to her nearest precinct, all whipped up. Turns out she had leased a place to a Mr Caldiera, a Portuguese businessman.”
A train swept to the opposite side of the station. “What happened?”
“We got to the leased condo, a sublet. Empty. It’s staked out now, but he’s gone.”
Relief washed over my body.
Waltz said, “There was fresh food in the fridge, take-out entrées from a four-star restaurant. A chocolate cake, too. Covered with cherries and nuts, like a sundae. There was torn duct tape beside a bed. And an empty roll. How’s he moving her?”
I’d given it a lot of thought. He was using his special ability.
“All he needs is a schizophrenic driver, Shelly. He can convince the guy of anything. Maybe he enlisted a psychotic with a taxi.”
“Jesus. He’s got a thousand potential accomplices.”
Waltz’s phone rang. He took the call, shaking his head. He closed the phone and muttered a curse.
“Gotta go.”
“Something with Folger?”
“The Pelham problem. Another damned doll just showed up.”
“How many does that make?”
“Four.”
“How many in a set?”
“It’s all over the board. Some have a dozen. Five or six is typical.”
I thought a moment. “Can you take someone along who knows the things? Got any Russian cops in the precinct?”
Waltz frowned. “Not at the station. Wait, there’s a guy fills the pop and candy machines, Alex something or other. I can probably get hold of him.”
I accompanied Waltz to Pelham’s headquarters, knowing her nibs would be happy to hear a friendly accent. Especially given the phalanx of screaming anti-Pelhammers across the street from her HQ. Waltz figured the two of us could handle the doll gig, get back to our little problem with my brother.
Sarah Wensley was in her usual position in front of the table with the brown box, the doll nestled inside, face up. I’d seen the first doll, but not the two recent additions. They had gotten smaller and the doll I was looking at was four inches tall.
Waltz peered into the box. “It’s from the same series or whatever as the other. Mouth’s gone.”
Pelham wandered into the room, waving at a departing news crew.
“I’m thinking when we get to the last doll, it’ll have one of those party snakes in it, y’know. The ones on a spring?”
Wensley shivered. “I’m not opening it.”
Waltz had his gloves on. Shook the doll. “Sounds empty, like the others.”
One of Pelham’s Secret Service handlers pushed through the door, looked at Waltz.
“There’s a guy out front says he’s a consultant to the NYPD. He’s a bit odd.”
“Fat? Got a thick Slav accent?” Shelly asked.
The agent nodded. “And pockets full of candy bars.”
“Send him back.”
Alex Borskov entered the room like a liberator, handing out chocolate bars. I figured he was real popular with kids. Pelham smiled, took a Snickers. When his pockets were empty, Borskov grinned.
“Am understanding I am come here to consultate?”
Waltz said, “These people have been receiving СКАЧАТЬ