Blitz
- Автор: Бруен Кен
- Серия: Inspector Brant #4
- Год: 2002
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Do-Not Press
- ISBN: 978-1-904316-00-8
- Жанр: Полицейские детективы
Электронная книга - «Blitz». Краткое содержание книги:
‘No, sir.’
That’s when the phone rang. The Super snapped up the receiver, barked:
‘What?’
The expression on his face changed and he glanced at Roberts, said,
‘I see.’
He didn’t.
Roberts felt ice along his spine.
The Super said,
‘Take a seat, Chief Inspector.’
The use of the title warned Roberts it was going to be rough. The Super pulled open a drawer, a replica of the one belonging to Brant’s doctor. Even the bottle was a twin. And of course, the requisite two glasses. He poured near Irish measures, pushed one across, said,
‘Drink that like a good man.’
Roberts did. He didn’t want to ask, wanted to postpone whatever was coming. The whiskey kicked like a mugger. Warmth invaded his stomach. The Super said,
‘There’s been some bad news.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your wife...’
The Super couldn’t recall her name so plunged on. ‘She’s been in a car accident.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘She’s dead.’
Roberts stared at his empty glass. The Super leant over, added a fresh jolt. Roberts asked,
‘How did it happen?’
‘She was rear-ended in Dulwich. Killed instantly.’
Roberts walloped down the drink, shuddered and said,
‘Maggie Thatcher lived down the road.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yeah, she put property values through the roof. My mortgage is a killer.’
Then, realising what he’d said, he gave a bleak smile.
The Super stood, said,
‘We’ll get you home. Your son will have to be told.’
‘Son?’
‘Yes, your boy?’
‘I have a daughter.’
“Course you do, my memory is not the machine it was. Let’s get you going, eh?’
While not quite being the bum’s rush, it was in the neighbourhood. The Super came round the desk, put a hand around Roberts’ shoulders. Roberts said,
‘I could go another round of that malt.’
‘Better not, laddie. Alcohol on an empty stomach and all that.’
Roberts got to his feet, staggered, said,
‘I never liked her, you know?’
The Super wanted him out and now, said,
‘It’s shock, Chief Inspector, you don’t mean that.’
As roaring alcohol does, it turns nasty as quick as benevolent. Belligerence clouded Roberts’ face and he near shouted:
‘Listen up, you prick. Christ, you’re so used to barking orders, you never hear anybody. I loved her, I just never liked her.’
The Super, stunned at the verbal attack, tried not to react, said in the voice ‘the manual’ suggested for such circumstances:
‘I’m going to forget that last outburst. We’ll put it down to trauma.’
A knock on the door. The Super said,
‘Come in.’
PC McDonald, gorgeous as ever, entered. He took, as Woody Allen says,
‘Handsome lessons.’
He was the Super’s new hatchet boy. Though from Glasgow, he managed to convey the culture of Edinburgh. That is, he’d ironed out the creases so his accent resembled Sean Connery’s burr. Recently, his carelessness had nearly cost WPC Falls her life. He knew that Brant knew that. More than ever, in collusion with the Super, he hoped to shaft:
Brant
Roberts
Falls
The Scottish Tourist Board.
The Super said,
‘Constable, please see to it that the Chief Inspector gets home and stay with him.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Inwardly he sighed. Babysitting that git did not come into his plans. He led Roberts outside, where a Volvo was waiting. Roberts said,
‘A bloody Volvo!!
‘Car pool is tight today, sir.’
Got Roberts in the back and slid behind the wheel. Adjusted the mirror so he could get a good look. Didn’t much stomach what he saw. A dowdy officer, looking like he’d done a month’s night duty on the Railton Road. Roberts asked,
‘Got a cigarette?’
‘Don’t smoke, sir.’
‘Me neither, but what the fuck has that to do with anything?’
I don’t know what all the fuss is about Fred Astaire’s dancing. I did the same thing, in high heels and backwards.