"Robb, J D - In Death 10 - Loyalty in Death (1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

responsibility to ask, Chris. And to get him whatever justice I can."
"I don't like how you go about it." He turned away again. "J. C. was a good man,
an honest man. I knew him, his habits, his moods. He wouldn't have entered into
some illicit affair, and certainly couldn't have done so without my knowledge."
"Okay, so tell me about Lisbeth Cooke. What would she have to gain by killing
him?"
"I don't know. He treated her like a princess, gave her everything she could
possibly want. She killed the golden goose."
"The what?"
"Like in the story." He nearly smiled now. "The goose that laid the golden eggs.
He was happy to give her whatever she wanted, and more. Now he's dead. No more
golden eggs."
Unless, Eve thought as she left the office, she'd wanted all the eggs at one
time.
She knew as she already consulted the animated map in the lobby that B. Donald
Branson's office was at the opposite end of this level from his brother's.
Hoping to find him in, she headed down. Many of the stations were unmanned, most
of the glass doors locked with the offices behind them dark and empty.
The building itself seemed to be grieving.
At regular intervals, holograph screens were set up to show off Branson Tools
and Toys' new or favored products. She stopped at one, watching with equal parts
amusement and dismay as a uniformed beat cop action-droid returned a lost child
to his tearfully grateful mother.
The cop faced the screen, its face sober and trustworthy, his uniform as
severely pressed as Peabody's. "It's our job to serve and protect."
Then the image pulled back, spun slowly to give the viewer a three-sixty view of
the product and accessories while the computer's voice stated product and
pricing details. A street thief action-droid with airskates was offered as a
companion piece.
Shaking her head, Eve turned away. She wondered if the company produced LC droid
figures, or illegals dealers. Maybe a couple of psychopaths just to keep the
game interesting. Then, of course, you'd need victim-droids.
Jesus.
The clear glass doors opened as Eve approached. A pale and weary-eyed woman
manned a sleek U-shaped console and fielded calls on a privacy headset.
"Thank you very much. Your call is being recorded and your condolences will be
passed on to the family. Mr. Branson's memorial service is scheduled for
tomorrow, at two o'clock at Quiet Passages, Central Park South. Yes, it's a
great shock. A great loss. Thank you for calling."
She swiveled the mouthpiece aside and offered Eve a sober smile. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Branson isn't available. These offices will be closed until Tuesday of next
week."
Eve took out her badge. "I'm primary on his brother's homicide. Is he in?"
"Oh, Lieutenant." The woman touched her fingers briefly to her eyes, then rose.
"One moment, please."
She slipped gracefully from behind the console, then after a quick knock on a
tall white door, disappeared inside. Eve heard the soft beep of incoming calls
from the multiline 'link, then the door opened again.
"Please come in, Lieutenant. Mr. Branson will see you. Is there anything I can
get you?"