"Mitchell Smith - Daydreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Mitchell)

She'd been alive the first few hours-in the most extraordinary agony for
two. Then, scalded, her neat pale skin turned sagging, pouched,
blistered, finally peeling slowly away in slender strips- her eyes
rolled back, the pupils out of sight, Sally had gone mad. Insane, she
became more complicated, had wonderful dreams in which she flew with
flying flowers-was herself a tangerine rose, no longer moaning past the
muffling ball. After a while of this, she died dreaming.

For the last of that day, she sat in her shower, and through the night
as well. Then, Monday morning, company. Sue Elva Jacks used her key,
and came on in.

"There's the Chiefs blow job." Keneally, in the bathroom, was speaking
in mingled pique at Ellie Klein's make-work position on the
Commissioner's Squad-where she served at the pleasure of the Chief of
the department and out of a distinct pleasure of his own, the words
allowing him to imagine her crouched on stockinged knees before Chief
Delgado in his corner office downtown, ministering to that squat, aging
man with snorting, gobbling noises.

Up yours breathed a heavy breath in Keneally's ear, and he looked over
his shoulder to see Nardone's thick, unpleasant face, his sticky black
eyes. In the living room, Ellie Klein was talking to the patrolman
first-on-scene. They could hear her clear, breathless voice.

Keneally presented a finger, then stepped enough aside for Nardone to
wedge himself in. The bathroom was packed with bulky, armed men--one
with the Crime Scene Investigative Unit, one from Nineteenth Precinct,
and Keneally and his commander from District Homicide all watching as an
assistant medical examiner named Greenstein gently extracted a
thoroughly cooked banana (shriveled and smaller than it had been, its
skin still on) from Sally Gaither's vagina. The small pink rubber ball
had been wrenched from her mouth with some difficulty earlier, after the
pictures, leaving the lolling corpse with a mighty, gaping grin.

"What are you doing here?" Maxfield to Nardone.

Maxfield was black, gray-haired and slender, and the senior detective in
Division Homicide-a juicy post, leading straight as the Seventh Avenue
subway to an inspector's shield. Maxfield was generally regarded in the
Department as stupid, but a cutie-riding the black bandwagon for all it
was worth.

"What's it to you?" Nardone to Maxfield. Nardone a devout Catholic, a
righteous brute---ex-shoofly and present attendant spirit and guard dog
to Ellie Klein. He and Klein had come to the Commissioner's Squad by
different routes-Nardone by shooting a connected-up dealer down-and,
after that, in Internal Affairs, by turning too many sinful comrades in.
So, shoot-out to shoofly, to gilded exile from the real Force onto the