"Brian Lumley - Necroscope 15 - The Touch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

part of the Desk Sergeant himself—was a transit hotel serving Gatwick Air-
port from a site only a few minutes away.
Since an ambulance had already been called by someone at the ho-
tel, which seemed to suggest that the unknown problem had resolved it-
self in all but the business of an actual investigation, Samuels returned to
his vehicle, clapped a strobing blue light on its roof, and set off into the
night. Should the case turn out to be "awkward"—more problematic than
he would wish—he could always call in a Scenes of Crime squad to deal
with the messy or intricate details. And finally, however it worked out
and if there was anything of profit in it, he would ensure that he received
all the kudos worth garnering . . .

At the Tangmore Transit Hotel Samuels found the night security man, a
sixteen-stone, thirty-something bruiser in a uniform two sizes too small
for him, shivering and wringing his hands where he waited under flicker-
ing white neons in the hotel's entrance. That alone—the size and physical
 14 BRIANLUMLEY

presence of the man compared to his state of funk—must surely have
alerted most policemen to the likelihood that something was well out of
order here . . . but not Samuels, who was checking his white gloves, set-
ting his hat straight, and dusting down his uniform,- while wide-eyed and
pale as a ghost, the security man introduced himself as Gregory Phipps,
and without offering his hand, in something of a hurry, made to usher the
Inspector inside.
At which point the blaring klaxon of an ambulance sounded, its
lights ceasing to flash and its siren growling into a lower register, then
abruptly shutting off as it slewed to a halt at the curb. Two uniformed
paramedics got out and threw open doors at the rear of their vehicle. Ex-
perienced and proficient, their senior member—a short, mature man with
broad shoulders, sharp eyes and features, and a very abrupt manner—
wasted no time in addressing the Inspector:
"We must be on the same job, sir. So what's happening?"
"I've only just got here," Samuels replied. "It seems that Mr. Phipps
here has called us in to . . . well, to assist in whatever the problem is."
And turning again to Phipps: "So then . . . what is the problem?"
Phipps licked his lips, ushered the three into the almost empty foyer
and toward the elevators, and finally said, "I got some information from
reception late yesterday evenin'. Nothin' ter cause concern . . . so I
thought. It was just that a nervous, 'arassed-lookin' bloke 'ad checked in
wiv an infant—but wiv no wife or other woman—gone up ter his room,
'adn't come darn again. This 'ad been a little arter 4:00 P.M.,-1 didn't get ter
know abart it until ten o'clock just as the girl was goin' orf shift."
The elevator arrived; the four got in,- Phipps's finger was shaking as
he pressed the button for the second floor.
"Well then, go on," said Samuels, examining his immaculate finger-
nails and adding, before Phipps could continue, "Oh, and by the way, I'm
of the same opinion as you: that there doesn't seem to be too much out of
the ordinary in what you were told. Surely it isn't unusual for a man to
check in with a child—even an infant—when he could simply be waiting