Darker Than Night. John Lutz
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Название: Darker Than Night
Автор: John Lutz
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: A Frank Quinn Novel
isbn: 9780786027125
isbn:
“Ron…”
He raised his head. “Okay.” He kissed her between the breasts, using his tongue on her bare flesh, then shifted his weight and stood up. The vibrator was fine with him, anyway. He’d tell her where and how to use it, then let her decide she was ready, then—
“Hurry, please!” she said behind him as he opened the closet door to get the vibrator down from the top shelf. He smiled and didn’t answer.
And gasped when he saw the face and eyes staring out at him, felt the cold blade slice in and up toward his heart. Everything was devoured by the searing pain…his world, his loss, his love, his hope…. All of it fell away and he dropped swiftly and breathlessly in a dark elevator plunging toward blackness.
He tried to say Marcy’s name, as if it were the magic that might somehow stop the fall and save him, but that, too, died in darkness.
Marcy, lying back with her eyes closed and massaging her nipples with her fingertips, sensed something was wrong. Then she heard the funny, gasping sound Ron made and sat up in bed as suddenly as if a puppeteer had yanked her strings.
She saw Ron standing against the black background beyond the open closet door, then watched him sink to the floor.
Marcy tried to call to him but made only a strangled, cawing sound.
And out of the closet stepped her nightmare.
Half an hour later, while walking away from the Grahams’ apartment building, their killer decided this had been much better than his last late-night encounter.
It was because of the knife.
He’d left his gun in Martin Elzner’s hand. The police could do wonders with their ballistics tests, and they could connect gun to crime, therefore he could no longer have it in his possession. It was simply too risky, and he’d learned not to take unnecessary risks within the larger risks that he must take. So, as planned, the gun made a convincing prop.
But it should have been a knife to begin with. Always a knife.
So he’d left the gun, wiped clean of fingerprints other than those of Elzner’s dead hand. The silencer, too, was of no further use, so he’d disposed of it by tossing it in a Dumpster. Surely by now it was lost in a vast landfill.
Two days later, at a flea market on the West Side, he’d bought a produce knife, the sort used by warehousemen and shippers of fruits and vegetables. It was a long folding knife, slender, with a bone handle and a high-quality steel blade that would hold an edge.
When he’d bought the knife, he was sure it would do what he needed, and now it had.
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