"Dying light" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacBride Stuart)

9

Nearly one in the morning and the morgue was, appropriately, deathly quiet. The only sounds were Logan's shoes squeaking on the tiles and the hum of the overhead lights.

The cutting tables sparkled in the middle of the floor, the huge extractor fan set into the ceiling, waiting to whisk away the smell of death. Good job it worked better than the one in Logan's kitchen: that wouldn't whisk away the smell of frying onions, let alone decaying Labrador. 'Hello?' The morgue was supposed to be manned twenty-four hours a day, but as he wandered past the loading bay, the fridges, the cutting room and the viewing suite there wasn't a living soul to be seen. 'Hello?' He finally found someone in the pathologist's office, sitting with her back to the door, feet up on the desk, headphones on, reading a huge Stephen King novel and drinking Lucozade. Logan reached out and tapped the woman on the shoulder. There was a loud shriek; Stephen King and Lucozade went flying as she scrambled to her feet and whirled round. 'FOR FUCK'S SAKE! YOU NEARLY GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK!' Logan winced and she peeled off her headphones. 'Christ!' she said, the metallic tssshk-tssshk tssshk of something loud hissing out of the earpieces. 'I thought you were…' then she stopped, clearly not wanting