"Stephen Goldin - Herds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

"Acker made the initial report. He's staying at the scene,
gathering what information he can. Mostly, he's making sure
that nothing gets disturbed until you get a look at it."

Maschen nodded. "He's a good man. Do you have a copy of his
report?"

"In a minute, sir. He radioed it in, and I've had to type it up
myself. I've just got a couple more sentences to do."
 "Fine. I'm going to get myself a cup of coffee. I want that
report on my desk when I get back."

There was always a pot of coffee brewing in the office, but it
was invariably terrible and Maschen never drank it. Instead, he
walked across the street to the all-night diner and went inside.
Joe, the counterman, looked up at him from behind legs propped
up against one of the tables. He put down the newspaper he was
reading. "Rather early for you, isn't it, Sheriff?"

Maschen ignored the friendliness that masked polite inquiry.
"Coffee, Joe, and I want it black." He pulled fifteen cents from his
pocket and banged it down on the counter top. The counterman
took his cue from the sheriff's attitude and proceeded to pour a
cup of coffee in silence.

Maschen drank his coffee in large gulps. In between gulps, he
would spend long periods staring intently at the wall opposite
him. He seemed to recall having met Mrs. Stoneham—he
couldn't remember her first name— once or twice at some
parties or dinners. He remembered thinking of her at the time as
one of the few women who had turned their approaching middle
age into an asset rather than a liability by cultivating a certain
mature grace about her. She had seemed like a nice person, and
he was sorry that she was dead.

But he was even sorrier that she happened to be the wife of
Wesley Stoneham. That would cause complications beyond
number. Stoneham was a man who had discovered his own
importance and was waiting for the world to catch up with him.
Not only was he rich, he made his money count in terms of
influence. He knew all the right people, and most of them owed
him favors of one sort or another. The rumor was spreading that
he was even being considered for the seat on the Board that
Chottman would be resigning in a few days. If Stoneham liked
you, doors opened as if by magic; if he should frown, they would
slam shut in your face.

Maschen had been in police work for thirty-seven years, and
sheriff for the last eleven. He would be running for reelection
next year. Perhaps it would be wise to stay on the good side of