"Rusch-SpiritGuides" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

"I'd better call this in," the rent-a-cop said, and Kincaid shook his head,
knowing that if he were alone with the body, he would end up spending the next
few days in a Las Vegas lock-up.

"No, let me." He went back to his room, packed his meager possessions and set
them by the door. Then he called 911 and reported the murder, slipping on a
shirt before going back outside.

The rent-a-cop was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The air smelled
of vomit. Kincaid said nothing. Together they waited for the Nevada authorities
to show: a skinny plainclothes detective whose eyes were red-rimmed from lack of
sleep and his female partner, busty and official in regulation blue.

While the partner radioed in, the rent-a-cop told his version: that he had been
making his rounds and heard a couple arguing poolside. He was watching from the
window when the man backhanded the woman, and then took off through the casino.
The woman didn't get up, and the cop decided to check on her instead of chasing
the guy. Kincaid had shown up a minute or two later from his room in the hotel.

The plainclothes man turned his flat gaze on Kincaid. Kincaid flashed his LAPD
badge, then told the plainclothes man that the killer's name was Luther Hardy,
that he'd killed her because her anger was the last straw in a day that had seen
him lose most of their $10,000 savings on the Mirage's roulette table. Even as
the men spoke, Hardy was sitting at the only open craps table in Circus Circus,
betting $25 chips on the come line.

Then Kincaid waited for the disbelief, but the plainclothesman nodded, thanked
him, rounded up the female partner and headed toward Circus Circus, leaving
Kincaid, not the rent-a-cop, to guard the scene. Kincaid rubbed his nose with
his thumb and forefinger, trying to stop a building headache, feeling the
rent-a-cop's scrutiny. Kincaid could always pick them, the ones who had seen
everything the ones who had learned through hard experience and crazy knocks to
check any lead that came their way. Like Davis. Only Kincaid was new to this
plainclothesman, so there would be a hundred questions when they returned.

Questions Kincaid was too tired to answer.

He told the rent-a-cop his room number, then staggered back, picked up his
things and checked out, figuring he would be halfway to Phoenix before they
discovered he was gone for good. They would call LAPD, and Davis would realize
that Kincaid had finally left, and would probably light a candle for him later
that evening because he would know that Kincaid's singular talent was still
controlling his life.

Like a hick tourist, Kincaid stopped on the Hoover Dam. At eight A.M., he stood
on the miraculous concrete structure, stating at the raging blue of the Colorado
below. An angel fluttered past him, then wrapped its wings around its torso and
dove like a gull after prey. It disappeared in the glare of the sunlight against
the water, and he strained, hoping and fearing he'd catch a glimpse as the angel