"Brown, Roswell - Grace Culver 08 - Kitchen Trap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

"That's just the catch, Redsie. Whoever! There's no lead at all--nothing to give

the boys to work on. If Brophy knew who he was after, the tip died with him."

Jerry Riker, leaning across his stack of finger prints, cut in quickly.

"How about papers? Wallet?"

"There was nothing on the body. And somebody had lifted his key to frisk his

hotel room before the cops hit it. Place was in a mess. Looked like what the

whirlwind left. And--no papers that mattered."

Grace said, "I can't believe it. I can't believe they rubbed out a smart dick like

Pete without--without--"

Bitterly, Big Tim faced her.

"The answer's full of bullets down at the morgue, Redsie. Flannigan ate dinner

with him at some joint on Eighth Street, called Andre's. Favorite hangout of

Pete's. That was seven-thirty or thereabouts. Flannigan finished ahead of Pete and

came on uptown to his night desk. Nobody's located a trace of Brophy after that,

until--until the patrol boat--"

His hard voice cracked and Big Tim's teeth clicked together. It wasn't often

that his emotions got him. That made the moment worse.

"Andre's," said Grace.

Jerry Riker shot a quick look in her direction. Nothing unusual about Brophy's

meal with Flannigan that he could see. But sometimes the Culver got hunches

that were--

"Spill it."

The girl's sherry-colored eyes had narrowed.

"Just thinking. I know that joint. It's new--and terrible! Food's all right. But it's

all over cheap modern art, and the waitresses wear pink-and-orange uniforms.