"Charles de Lint - Mulengro" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

was almost lost behind the clutter on his own. Cooper was a waspish, balding man who moved his hands
in broad gestures as he talked. He pointed a finger towards MacDonald, but Alec spoke first.

“No tracks, no traces of fur, claws or saliva in or around the wounds.” He ticked off the items on his
fingers as he listed them. “And most importantly, we’ve got nothing in this city capable of inflicting that
kind of damage. If we’re talking animals, we’re talking panthers, maybe. Or tigers. With,” he added,
grinning at Briggs, “some artistic ability.”

“Then what kind of weapon could it have been?” Will asked.

“There was no trace of metal in the wounds,” Cooper said firmly. “Nor were there the usual sort of
lacerations one could expect if a weapon had been used.”

“Do you think we could come to some kind of a consensus?” Briggs asked. “Was there a weapon

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involved or not?”

“The wounds weren’t caused by a knife or any other sharp implement that I can think of,” Cooper
replied. “Something tore into the victim, that’s all I can say. I’m still waiting for a few final tissue
samples to come back from the lab. Meanwhile, what you’ve got there,” he indicated the report that
Briggs was holding, “is all I can give you.”

“You want a weapon that could have done it?” MacDonald asked. He was rummaging around in the
bottom drawer of his desk and finally came up with an object that he deposited on his blotter. It looked
like a metal bracelet, with a narrow oval opening rather than a round one and four wicked-looking metal
spikes protruding from one side like the lumps on a set of brass knuckles. “Here you go,” he said.

Briggs laid the report down and picked up the object, turning it over in his hands.

“What the hell is it?” Will asked as Briggs passed it over to him. He fit his hand inside and brandished it,
the spikes jutting up from his knuckles.

“You’ve got it on backwards,” MacDonald told him. “The spikes should protrude from the palm of your
hand. It’s called a shuko—a Japanese climbing spike. We picked it up from some guy who thought he
was going to be the next Bruce Lee and I’ve been hanging on to it ever since. Mean-looking little sucker,
isn’t it? Can you imagine getting swiped by that?”

“It’s still metal,” Cooper said, “and there was no trace of metal in the wounds.”

“So maybe he used a plastic one.”

Cooper nodded grudgingly. “It would be less likely to leave any traces,” he admitted.

“So there you go,” MacDonald said. “Or maybe he had one of those clubs the leopard cults in Africa
use.” He glanced at Will.

“Hey, don’t look at me. The closest I’ve been to Africa was a National Geographic Special that I