Читаем Middle Of Nowhere полностью

offered only a blurred image, but he could still see his face. He could still pass for late thirties. Mid-thirties in low light. In truth, forty had come and gone a few years ago.

   These days he was making an effort. No more neckties bearing catsup stains, no more permanent wrinkles in his khakis. A single comment from Liz about how "the run-down-professor look adds ten years" had cleaned up his act. Since then, he'd looked like a new man.

   The burn came out of the bottom of the pan, but his elbow ached.

   "You know I'll be supportive," Liz said, now tossing the wet wash rag into the sink. "But, Lou, please, try to see that it stays outside the family. I'm afraid for you, for us—" She didn't need to complete the sentence. Those threatening phone calls of the past few nights were on both their minds.

   As if on cue, the phone rang. Liz looked over at her husband. They had talked about just letting it ring, to allow the machine to pick up, but Liz instinctively lifted the receiver from its cradle and held it out to him.

   Boldt dried his hands and accepted the phone. Liz pushed through the swinging door and into the family room.

   "Hello?" Boldt said into the phone.

   For a moment he believed whoever had called might have hung up. But life these days just wasn't ever that simple. "Hello?" he repeated.

   He heard music, not a voice. His stomach turned: another threat? Pop music—a woman's plaintive voice. "Hello?" he repeated a third time. At first, he took it as wallpaper—background music—and waited for a voice. But then he listened more clearly. It was Shawn Colvin, a recording artist he admired, whose lyrics now gripped his chest. "Get on out of this house," the anguished voice cried out in song.

   Boldt understood, though too late: it wasn't a threat, but a warning.

   The best explanation for why he ripped the phone from the kitchen wall was that he'd forgotten to let go of the receiver as he ran into the family room to alert Liz, failed to let go until he heard the explosion of breaking glass from the other side of the swinging door. At that instant, both the cop and the husband and the father in him warred over his having locked up his handgun in a closet safe in the bedroom—family policy whenever he crossed the threshold into their home.

   He burst through the swinging door, his wife's screams ringing in his ears. He heard a car racing away at high speed. Liz lay on the floor in a sea of broken glass. She wasn't moving.

   "No!" he hollered, lunging across the room toward his fallen wife. He heard one of the kids wake up crying. Liz had a strange mixture of fear and confusion in her eyes. He would not soon forget that look . . . it seemed to contain an element of blame.

   He reached out to her and rolled her onto her back. Her forearms bled. Her face was scratched, though not cut badly. She mumbled incoherently at first.

   "Shhh," he whispered back at her.

   "I thought it was a bomb," she mumbled.

   Underneath her lay a brick. It had been painted policeman's blue.

C H A P T E R

4

"Feeling a touch of the Flu coming on, I hope?" Mac Krishevski asked. Boldt shoved the man back into the living room, kicked the Krishevski front door closed and removed his gun from his own holster, setting the piece down by a bowling trophy alongside a faux-marble lamp made out of formed plastic. The gesture made it clear to Krishevski that no weapons were to be involved. Beyond that, there were no promises made.

   "Lieutenant?" a cocky but concerned Krishevski queried.

   Harold "Mac" Krishevski reminded Boldt more of the man's Irish mother than his Polish father, though he'd never met either. The capillaries in his cheeks had exploded into a frenzied maze of red spider webs. His nose, with its sticky, moonlike surface, fixed to his face like a dried autumnal gourd. His rusty hair, awkwardly combed forward to hide the acreage of baldness, failed miserably in this purpose, so that in strong overhead light, the shadows that were cast down onto his scalp looked like cat scratches. His teeth belonged to a heavy smoker, his plentiful chins to an overeater or beer drinker. A man in his early fifties, he wore his Perma nent Press shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a threadbare undershirt attempting to contain escaping chest hair.

   "You want an appointment," Krishevski suggested, attempting to sound in control but clearly under the effect of Boldt's fixed stare, "you gotta call ahead."

   "My wife dove onto this, thinking it was a bomb." Boldt tossed the blue brick into the center of the room. "She cut her arms on the broken glass. We just got back from having her sewn up."

   Boldt believed that, as president of the Police Officers Guild, Krishevski bore the responsibility not only for the walkout but also for the blue brick.

   "Teenage vandalism," Krishevski said. "It's amazing how the kids go wild when there are fewer officers on the beat."

Перейти на страницу:

Все книги серии Lou Boldt and Daphne Mathews

Похожие книги

Утес чайки
Утес чайки

В МИРЕ ПРОДАНО БОЛЕЕ 30 МИЛЛИОНОВ ЭКЗЕМПЛЯРОВ КНИГ ШАРЛОТТЫ ЛИНК.НАЦИОНАЛЬНЫЙ БЕСТСЕЛЛЕР ГЕРМАНИИ № 1.Шарлотта Линк – самый успешный современный автор Германии. Все ее книги, переведенные почти на 30 языков, стали национальными и международными бестселлерами. В 1999–2023 гг. снято более двух десятков фильмов и сериалов по мотивам ее романов.Несколько пропавших девушек, мертвое тело у горных болот – и ни единого следа… Этот роман – беспощадный, коварный, загадочный – продолжение мирового бестселлера Шарлотты Линк «Обманутая».Тело 14-летней Саскии Моррис, бесследно исчезнувшей год назад на севере Англии, обнаружено на пустоши у горных болот. Вскоре после этого пропадает еще одна девушка, по имени Амели. Полиция Скарборо поднята по тревоге. Что это – дело рук одного и того же серийного преступника? Становится известно еще об одном исчезновении девушки, еще раньше, – ее так и не нашли. СМИ тут же заговорили об Убийце с пустошей, что усилило давление на полицейских.Сержант Кейт Линвилл из Скотланд-Ярда также находится в этом районе, но не по службе – пытается продать дом своих родителей. Случайно она знакомится с отчаявшейся семьей Амели – и, не в силах остаться в стороне, начинает независимое расследование. Но Кейт еще не представляет, с какой жутью ей предстоит столкнуться. Под угрозой ее рассудок – и сама жизнь…«Линк вновь позволяет нам заглянуть глубоко в человеческие бездны». – Kronen Zeitung«И снова настоящий восторг из-под пера королевы криминального жанра Шарлотты Линк». – Hannoversche Allgemeine Zeitung«Шарлотта Линк – одна из немногих мировых литературных звезд из Германии». – Berliner Zeitung«Отличный, коварный, глубокий, сложный роман». – Brigitte«Шарлотте Линк снова удалось выстроить очень сложную, но связную историю, которая едва ли может быть превзойдена по уровню напряжения». – Hamburger Morgenpost«Королева саспенса». – BUNTE«Потрясающий тембр авторского голоса Линк одновременно чарует и заставляет стыть кровь». – The New York Times«Пробирает до дрожи». – People«Одна из лучших писательниц нашего времени». – Journal für die Frau«Мощные психологические хитросплетения». – Focus

Шарлотта Линк

Детективы / Триллер
Агент на месте
Агент на месте

Вернувшись на свою первую миссию в ЦРУ, придворный Джентри получает то, что кажется простым контрактом: группа эмигрантов в Париже нанимает его похитить любовницу сирийского диктатора Ахмеда Аззама, чтобы получить информацию, которая могла бы дестабилизировать режим Аззама. Суд передает Бьянку Медину повстанцам, но на этом его работа не заканчивается. Вскоре она обнаруживает, что родила сына, единственного наследника правления Аззама — и серьезную угрозу для могущественной жены сирийского президента. Теперь, чтобы заручиться сотрудничеством Бьянки, Суд должен вывезти ее сына из Сирии живым. Пока часы в жизни Бьянки тикают, он скрывается в зоне свободной торговли на Ближнем Востоке — и оказывается в нужном месте в нужное время, чтобы сделать попытку положить конец одной из самых жестоких диктатур на земле…

Марк Грени

Триллер