"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 07 - Burnt Offerings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

of coffee.
"Pesky," he said and smiled.
He sat his glass on the desk and slipped off his suit jacket. He was nearly
as wide through the shoulders as I was tall. He was a few inches short of
Dolph's six foot eight, but he didn't miss it by much. He was only in his
forties, but his hair was completely grey with a little white starting at the
temples. It didn't make him look distinguished. It made him look tired.
He had me beat on scars. Burn scars crawled up his arms from his hands to
disappear under the short sleeves of his white dress shirt. The skin was
mottled pinkish, white, and a strange shade of tan like the skin of some
animal that should shed regularly.
"That must have hurt," I said.
"It did." He sat there meeting my eyes with a long steady look. "You saw
the inside of a hospital on some of that."
"Yeah." I pushed the sleeve up on my left arm and showed the shiny place
where a bullet had grazed me. His eyes widened just a bit. "Now that we've
proven we're big tough he-men, can you just cut to the chase? Why are you
here, Captain McKinnon?"
He smiled and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He took the tea
off my desk and sipped it. "Dolph said you wouldn't like being sized up."
 "I don't like passing inspections."
"How do you know you passed?"
It was my turn to smile. "Women's intuition. Now, what do you want?"
"Do you know what the term firebug means?"
"An arsonist," I said.
He looked expectantly at me.
"A pyrokinetic, someone who can call fire psychically."
He nodded. "You ever seen a real pyro?"
"I saw films of Ophelia Ryan," I said.
"The old black-and-white ones?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"She's dead now, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Burned to death in her bed, spontaneous combustion. A lot of the firebugs
go up that way, as if when they're old they lose control of it. You ever see
one of them in person?"
"Nope."
"Where'd you see the films?"
"Two semesters of Psychic Studies. We had a lot of psychics come in and
talk to us, demonstrate their abilities, but pyrokinetics is such a rare
ability, I don't think the prof could find one."
He nodded and drained the rest of his tea in one long swallow. "I met
Ophelia Ryan once before she died. Nice lady." He started to turn the
ice-filled glass round and round in his large hands. He stared at the glass
and not at me while he talked. "I met one other firebug. He was young, in his
twenties. He'd started by setting empty houses on fire, like a lot of
pyromaniacs. Then he did buildings with people in them, but everybody got out.
Then he did a tenement, a real firetrap. He set every exit on fire. Killed
over sixty people, mostly women and children."
McKinnon stared up at me. The look in his eyes was haunted. "It's still the