"Gilbert, Derek P - Piece Of Cod" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilbert Derek P)

Mansbridge walked into the Portchester police station and raised his hand in greeting to Mike Lonski, a big, cheerful, blond kid who'd returned home from college last year to begin a career in law enforcement. The chief smiled as he considered how miscast his hulking, crew-cut deputy was as Barney Fife to his Andy Taylor.

"Hey, chief," Lonski called, looking up from a file cabinet he was organizing. "Was that call for real?"

"Yep." Mansbridge went to his coffeemaker and dumped out the pot. "A human head, adult male, Caucasian, probably mid-twenties to mid-thirties, long dark hair. Inside a four-foot-long, eighty-pound cod."

He rinsed out the carafe as he talked, then refilled the reservoir, measured precisely eight teaspoons of finely ground Colombian Supremo into the cone filter, and slid the basket back into place. He took a deep breath, and the rich aroma cleared his head and helped him relax. Angela had started him on mail-order gourmet coffee a few years ago; that was one thing he could thank her for, at least. Take away his every luxury, the one he'd keep would be his sixteen-dollar-a-pound coffee beans.

"Unbe-stinkin'-lievable." The chief's daughter spent a lot of time at the station so Lonski tried to watch his language, sometimes with unintentionally comic results. The big deputy closed the file cabinet and sat down at his desk. "Any ID on the victim?"

"Not yet." Mansbridge tore open a package of peanut butter snack crackers. The smell of the ground coffee had kick-started his appetite. "Want one?"

"Sure. Thanks." The chief flicked one with his thumb like flipping a quarter. Lonski made a one-handed catch.

"Joe Mayne at Morgan's is supposed to call or come by with a list of fishermen who might have brought in the fish," Mansbridge continued. "Says it could be any of three or four boats that came in over the weekend."

"Hmm." Lonski chewed on his cracker and swallowed. "What can I do?"

"Check missing persons reports. Al Schumacher will probably need all the help he can get to make an ID."

The front door suddenly burst open, propelled by a ten-year-old perpetual motion device that bore a strong resemblance to the chief.

"Hi, Dad!" Julie closed the door with a slam and trotted over to Mansbridge. "You gotta see what we did at school today. It's so cool!" She swung her backpack off her shoulders and plunked it into the empty chair next to his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart!" Mansbridge gathered her up into a bear hug, eighty-two pounds of blonde ponytail and sneakers, smelling of sunshine. "You know," he said, setting her down, "I asked you before to close that door without slamming it."

"Sorry, Dad." Julie was remorseful for about half a second. "But look at this!" She dug into the rat's nest of books, papers, and half-used pencils in her backpack. "We're learning about sharks and whales, and I checked this out of the library!" She held out a book about killer whales.

"Killer whales, huh?" Lonski walked up and looked over Julie's shoulder. "Pretty scary."

Julie shook her head. "No, they're not. They don't attack people, only sharks and seals and stuff." She turned back to her dad. "I'm gonna do a report on them, like a news report." She thought for a second. "Do you think Mom can make me a killer whale costume?"

Mansbridge raised an eyebrow. "A news report anchored by a killer whale? I don't remember anything like that when I was in school." A whooshing noise from his coffeemaker told him the pot was ready. "Well, I don't know. You'll have to ask Mom, to see if she has time."

"Can I call her now?" Julie could fix on an idea with the determination of a pit bull. The chief smiled to himself. He knew the look in her eye. He'd seen it in the mirror.

"All right, use my phone," he said, getting up to pour his coffee. "Then you need to get on your homework." He smiled. "See what you can find out about killer codfish."

Julie gave him that look, the one parents get when they say something utterly ridiculous. "Dad," she said, "there is no such thing."

Ignoring Lonski's grin, he asked innocently, "There's not?"

"Everybody knows cod can't hurt you."

"Hmph. So I hear."

* * *

Like his daughter, Mansbridge was busy with paperwork the rest of the afternoon. Joe Mayne called in his list of prospects just before five o'clock. Mansbridge left them with Lonski, who kept the station open until seven, and asked him to try and reach them by phone to set times for interviews the following day.