"Дон Пендлтон. The Violent Streets ("Палач" #41) " - читать интересную книгу автора

haven't heard a word from St. Paul's finest since then."
"I can't put my finger on anything specific," Toni added, "but I
believe the police are hiding something."
Pol was shaking his head in dazed wonder, like a punchy fighter.
"I can't fathom any of this," he said, bewildered. "Why? What reason
could they possibly have for protecting an animal like that?"
Bolan raised a cautious eyebrow.
"We don't know that anyone is protecting him, Pol. Not yet. I trust
Toni's instincts, but we need a lot more to accuse the police of
whitewashing rape and attempted murder. If we can prove a cover-up, we'll
have the motive. If we can't..."
He left the statement hanging, unfinished.
It was Toni's turn.
"Then you'll have one paranoid woman, right?" she said, growing angry
now. "Well, I'm not paranoid, dammit. I'm not!"
Bolan raised both hands in a soothing, pacifying gesture.
"Okay," he agreed," so we start digging. And along the way, maybe we'll
find out why those guys were waiting for us at the airport."
"Where do we start?" Pol asked.
"You stay here with Toni," Bolan told him. "She's been through enough
already, and if someone is calling out the guns, we don't want her alone."
Blancanales nodded quickly. "Right, right. What about you?"
"I'd like to see how Officer Traynor feels about being frozen out of
the case. Do you know how I can contact her? Preferably off the job."
"Yes, just a minute," Toni told him.
She produced a small white business card. It bore Fran Traynor's name
and precinct telephone number, with a home number penciled in below.
"She told me to call her anytime," Toni said softly, "but since
everything's changed... I didn't want to make things any worse."
Bolan rose to leave, pocketing the card and glancing at his wristwatch.
"It looks like I'll have to wake her up," he said, then turned to Pol.
"You have a way to keep in touch?"
Blancanales grinned, nodding. "I've got just the thing," he said,
striding quickly off into the second bedroom.
With her brother gone, Toni seemed to shrink another few inches into
herself. Mack Bolan moved closer to her.
"Try to get some rest," he said. "And leave everything else to me."
He reached out to rest one hand on her frail shoulder, but she jerked
away, her mouth was suddenly tight, eyes wary, darting from side to side as
if in search of an escape exit.
As Bolan regarded her closely for a moment, the trapped expression
softened, and there was the glint of tears behind long eyelashes.
"I'm sorry, Mack," she said bitterly, "I... I just can't."
Pol Blancanales chose that moment to return. Sensing the tension in the
room, he tried to defuse it, holding out one of a pair of compact radios he
carried.
"A little something I cooked up in my spare time," he said, grinning at
Bolan. "Boosted the range and what not. Inside of thirty miles you should
read five-by-five."
Bolan pocketed the tiny transceiver and shook hands with his friend,