Dead Man Walking. Paul Finch

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was almost at the end of it, at which point he stopped in the water, bobbing there, regarding the open entrance in bewilderment. It was too dark to be absolutely sure, but it looked as if the police launch had been returned, and yet now was sitting extremely low in the water – so low, in fact, that it had to have sunk.

      Heck poked his toe at the lake-bed, but it was out of reach. He covered the final twenty yards at a front-crawl, before seeking the floor again and this time finding it. Chest-deep, he waded forward into the shed, edging his way around the launch’s starboard gunwale. When he peeked over the top, the craft was indeed full of murky water. Various items – bits of wood and weed, but also materials from the first-aid kit – were floating in there.

      The loss wasn’t a complete disaster. The boat was old, and most of the time they barely had cause to use it. But more of a worry was how this had happened. It was possible Mary-Ellen had accidentally holed it earlier on, when she went back to mark out the crime scene, but if that was the case, how had she brought it back?

      He reached up, fitting both palms on top of the starboard pier, and with a grunt, levered himself out of the water, swinging around and planting himself on his backside. He slouched there for almost a minute, regaining his breath, which came in ragged gasps – not that there was any time now for taking five.

      Concern for his fellow officer was nagging at him badly.

      By the looks of it, the boat had been taken possession of elsewhere – the far side of the tarn maybe. Whatever had happened, it must have been some time ago, because the killer had then gone straight up the Cradle Track in pursuit of Hazel. But what had he done with Mary-Ellen before then? Had the bastard simply stolen the boat while she was busy securing the crime scene, effectively marooning her over there? Or had he attacked her too? It seemed highly improbable the ruthless killer they were dealing with tonight would miss the opportunity to add to his tally. Heck felt queasy at the mere thought of Mary-Ellen – who, for all her confident athleticism, was still only a young lass – having to face this guy on her own.

      With such fears in mind, it was probably not the ideal time for him to spot the writing on the far wall of the boathouse interior. This only happened slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the deep gloom, but once the piece of crude graffiti had swum properly into view, he jumped to his feet.

      Now that he was fully out of the water, it was bitterly cold. Ice felt as if it was forming inside his clothes, but fleetingly Heck was too distracted to notice that. He limped around the interior to the far pier, so that he could examine it up close.

       REMEMBER ME?

      There was no question about who’d written it or what it meant. In the dimness he was colour-blind, so though he didn’t immediately realise that the sentence had been inscribed in blood, the idea struck him hard when he dabbed at it with a fingertip, and it felt both slimy and congealed.

      He backed away a couple of steps, heart thumping.

      This didn’t necessarily mean Mary-Ellen had been attacked. The blood might have come from one of the two hikers. Even from Annie Beckwith. Of course, standing here ruminating wasn’t going to help. And nor was it going to warm him up. Heck’s joints were now stiffening; the dampness in his hair turning again to flaky ice. Realising he was in dire need of dry clothing and a hot drink, he plodded quickly out of the boatshed and across the sloping lawn to the rear of Bessie Longhorn’s house. He banged on the rear door for several minutes. But there was no response. It was pitch-dark inside.

      Frustrated, but hoping Bessie had gone down to the Keld to seek the company of others, he circled the house, crossed the garden and climbed through the rockery and over the barbed wire fence onto Ramsdale’s property. The lights in this building were still on, and when Heck made his way around its exterior, the front door stood wide open. He halted, uncertain, at any moment expecting the householder to emerge. But as the seconds ticked by and no one emerged, new alarm bells began sounding. It was a foggy, frozen night at the start of the winter … and this guy was prepared to leave his front door wide open?

      No chance. No chance at all.

       Chapter 21

      When Heck ventured inside Bill Ramsdale’s cottage, the first thing he saw was the blood-caked figure seated upright in the office swivel chair. Unsurprisingly, it was dead, its throat hacked wide open. Equally unsurprisingly, its eyes had been stabbed to jellied ruin. Despite these ghastly mutilations, and the cataract of congealing gore that had resulted, Heck was still able to identify the scruffy jeans and t-shirt that Bill Ramsdale had been wearing the previous day.

      But now his attention was drawn somewhere else – to a large item of furniture on the far side of the room, just to the left of the foot of the staircase. In any normal household it would be a dining table, though in this one it was cluttered with old papers, bits of food-crusted crockery, a few items of discarded stationery – and something else.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4QAYRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP/sABFEdWNreQABAAQAAABQAAD/4QNxaHR0cDov L25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wLwA8P3hwYWNrZXQgYmVnaW49Iu+7vyIgaWQ9Ilc1TTBNcENl aGlIenJlU3pOVGN6a2M5ZCI/PiA8eDp4bXBtZXRhIHhtbG5zOng9ImFkb2JlOm5zOm1ldGEvIiB4 OnhtcHRrPSJBZG9iZSBYTVAgQ29yZSA1LjAtYzA2MSA2NC4xNDA5NDksIDIwMTAvMTIvMDctMTA6 NTc6MDEgICAgICAgICI+IDxyZGY6UkRGIHhtbG5zOnJkZj0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMTk5 OS8wMi8yMi1yZGYtc3ludGF4LW5zIyI+IDxyZGY6RGVzY3JpcHRpb24gcmRmOmFib3V0PSIiIHht bG5zOnhtcE1NPSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvbW0vIiB4bWxuczpzdFJlZj0i aHR0cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3NUeXBlL1Jlc291cmNlUmVmIyIgeG1sbnM6eG1w PSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvIiB4bXBNTTpPcmlnaW5hbERvY3VtZW50SUQ9 InhtcC5kaWQ6MUVBRUUxNkMxMDIwNjgxMTgwODNDN0MzM0E1N0M1N0IiIHhtcE1NOkRvY3VtZW50 SUQ9InhtcC5kaWQ6M0IzNDBBRDU0QUU1MTFFNEIzMkFBRTA0Qzg0REM4ODAiIHhtcE1NOkluc3Rh bmNlSUQ9InhtcC5paWQ6M0IzNDBBRDQ0QUU1MTFFNEIzMkFBRTA0Qzg0REM4ODAiIHhtcDpDcmVh dG9yVG9vbD0iQWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENTNS4xIE1hY2ludG9zaCI+IDx4bXBNTTpEZXJpdmVk RnJvbSBzdFJlZjppbnN0YW5jZUlEPSJ4bXAuaWlkOkQ0RjNCNUQ4MDgyMDY4MTE4NzFGQUFDODk3 Qjg3MjM4IiBzdFJlZjpkb2N1bWVudElEPSJ4bXAuZGlkOkQzRjNCNUQ4MDgyMDY4MTE4NzFGQUFD ODk3Qjg3MjM4Ii8+IDwvcmRmOkRlc2NyaXB0aW9uPiA8L3JkZjpSREY+IDwveDp4bXBtZXRhPiA8 P3hwYWNrZXQgZW5kPSJyIj8+/+IMWElDQ19QUk9GSUxFAAEBAAAMSExpbm8CEAAAbW50clJHQiBY WVogB84AAgAJAAYAMQAAYWNzcE1TRlQAAAAASUVDIHNSR0IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPbWAAEAAAAA 0y1IUCAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARY3By dAAAAVAAAAAzZGVzYwAAAYQAAABsd3RwdAAAAfAAAAAUYmtwdAAAAgQAAAAUclhZWgAAAhgAAAAU Z1hZWgAAAiwAAAAUYlhZWgAAAkAAAAAUZG1uZAAAAlQAAABwZG1kZAAAAsQAAACIdnVlZAAAA0wA AACGdmlldwAAA9QAAAAkbHVtaQAAA/gAAAAUbWVhcwAABAwAAAAkdGVjaAAABDAAAAAMclRSQwAA BDwAAAgMZ1RSQwAABDwAAAgMYlRSQwAABDwAAAgMdGV4dAAAAABDb3B5cmlnaHQgKGMpIDE5OTgg SGV3bGV0dC1QYWNrYXJkIENvbXBhbnkAAGRlc2MAAAAAAAAAEnNSR0IgSUVDNjE5NjYtMi4xAAAA AAAAAAAAAAASc1JHQiBJRUM2MTk2Ni0yLjEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFhZWiAAAAAA СКАЧАТЬ