"Michael Scott Rohan - Chase the Morning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rohan Michael Scott)

me. I'd found my motive.
Across the newly gleaming desks Dave, deep in checking his recovered
records, looked up startled. 'Whazzat?' 'Nothing.' I wanted to be up and
running. But I forced myself to be calm, act natural; and yet there might not
be much time. If I really hadn't dreamed up the whole thing ... 'Just getting
worked up about this raid again. So bloody senseless. Or so it seems. But
sometimes there's a hidden motive to these things.'
'Gotcha.' Dave leaned back and tapped his cigarette packet. To my relief
he'd run out. 'Damn! Like that tonne of hash they had to sneak out of a wool
shipment before it came out of bond, and explain the hole it left - so they
staged a break-in -'
'That's it. Couldn't be the same here, of course. Not a lot of pot you
could slip in with bills of lading.'
'Maybe we should try it!' grinned Dave, rummaging in his blazer pocket.
'Give ol' Gemma a blast! Ah -' He popped the cellophane off another black and
gold packet.
I stood up. 'If you're going to light up more of those coffin-nails, I'm
off! It's late, and you've probably done me in already today. Never heard of
secondary inhalation? If I get cancer, I'll sue.'
'Go ahead, man! I'll claim I was driven to it by a brutal boss who slunk
off early and left me up to here in it. Literally!'
'That's no way to talk about Barry!' I said reprovingly. The banter
covered up my departure nicely, and my injured arm gave me a good enough
reason for leaving before the others, even on this embattled evening. The
wince as Clare helped me on with my anorak was quite genuine.
'Oh, sorry - Steve, look, be sensible for once.' Those clear eyes were
weighing me up with an expression I couldn't fathom, almost as if she could
see right through the frantic unease I was hiding. And dammit, she was
nibbling at that finger again. 'Let me drive you home. Go on -'
That was the last thing I wanted. 'Don't fuss! Just a bit tired, that's
all - same as you. You get out of this, too. Tomorrow's soon enough.'
Judy's good night was even more sympathetic than before. But once through
the door I had to stop myself running for the car. I headed home, chafing at
the tail end of the rush-hour traffic; I took some absurd risks lane-hopping,
because home wasn't where I was going, and I might already be too late. I had
to tell Jyp, and fast; but I'd already let one night slip by. By the time I
turned into Danube Street the sun had already sunk behind the high buildings,
and I was racing into a gulf of shadow. It had never looked more mundane; and
behind the rooftops there were no masts to be seen. I writhed with doubt; but
I drove on.
 My tyres rumbled like urgent drums across the cobbles, echoing off the
grime-crusted walls. I turned into Tampere Street, where what looked like the
same filthy paper was still blowing about, but this time I didn't park. I
thought I'd worked out which way the docks ought to be, but it turned out not
to be so simple; a one-way street sent me careering off like a pinball through
a maze of featureless back streets, and I was as lost as I had been on foot.
Every so often as I passed a narrow turning I'd glimpse something at the far
end; then I'd turn down the next one and find it dog-legged around and away in
the wrong direction. Or I'd slow down, reverse back and into the actual
turning, only to find the glimmer of light that suggested open water was a