"Mike Resnick - Velvet Comet 2 - Eros At Zenith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

hours before we brought him here. We'll have a more accurate idea after the autopsy."
"And his name is Edward Infante?"
"That's right."
"Have you run a computer check on him?"
"Of course. All the information is back at my office, though I can call it up on one of the
hospital's computers if you'd like to see it."
"Later," answered Crane. "Unless there's something in it that might tell us who would
want to kill him."
"Not at first reading."
Crane had been walking around the bed, looking at the body. Finally he stopped and
placed his hands on his hips.
"Where the hell is the wound?"
"Just behind the ear," she replied.
He rolled the body onto its side. "Not big enough for a knife," he commented, staring at
the single puncture mark. "It looks like something about the size of an old-fashioned
knitting needle. How deep is it?"
"About eleven centimeters, according to the doctor."
"That'd do it," he muttered. "Nice and neat. And dangerous."
"Dangerous?" repeated the Dragon Lady sardonically. "It was deadly."
"Dangerous to the killer," replied Crane, examining the wound. "Do it right and you kill
instantly; do it wrong and you've got a flesh wound or else you break off the point of
your weapon against the skull, and your victim starts screaming bloody murder." He
looked up. "Well, that narrows down our list of suspects."
"To someone who would be skilled enough to hit the right spot on the first try?"
suggested the Dragon Lady.
He shook his head. "You'll never pull that kind of information out of your personnel
files."
"Then I don't follow you."
"There are surer ways to kill a man," he said. "Why do you suppose our killer chose this
method?"
"Guns and laser weapons can be traced."
"Of course," he said impatiently. "But why not slit his throat or stab him in the heart?
Even if you botch it, he's still going to die in a couple of minutes."
"He'd have time to scream for help," said the Dragon Lady.
Crane looked irritated. "You're not thinking. I already told you: he'd have time to scream
for help no matter how you screwed it up."
"If you know something I don't know, Mr. Crane," she said, "why don't you just tell me
what it is? I've been up for almost 24 hours, and I'm in no mood for guessing games."
Crane stared at her coldly for a moment, then shrugged. "This wasn't a lucky blow," he
said at last. "The killer knew exactly what he was doing. To the untrained eye,
everything back there looks like bone; if you don't know anatomy, you're a hundred
times more likely to stab someone from the front, where everything looks soft—or if you
have to stab from behind, you go for the middle of the back and hope to hit a vital organ.
And since our killer knew what he was doing, he also knew he was taking a chance. A
quarter of an inch up or down and he's blown it. So why would he go for the most
difficult kill?"
"You're asking questions again."
"Because there's no blood," he explained. "You stab a man from in front and you're more
likely to
kill him, but you're going to get spattered with his blood in the process. This way is