James Patterson Cat & Mouse

Archiwum

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

morning when I arrived there.
Because of the possibility of crowds of onlookers
and the press, the CRS, a special force of the
Paris police, had been called in to secure the
scene.
I spotted an inspector from Interpol whom I
knew and waved
in her direction. Sondra Greenberg was nearly
as obsessed about catching Mr. Smith as I was.
She was stubborn, excellent at her job. She had
as good a chance as anyone of catching Mr. Smith.
Sondra looked particularly tense and uneasy
as she walked toward to me. "I don't think we
need all these people, all this help," I said, smiling
thinly "It shouldn't be too damn hard to find the
body, Sandy. He told us where to look." "I
agree with you," she said, "but you know the French. This was
the way they decided it should be done. Le grand search
party for le grand alien space criminal." A
cynical smile twisted along the side of her
mouth. "Good to see you, Thomas. Shall we begin our
little hunt? How is your French, by the way?"
11 ny a rien a voir, Madame, rentrez
chez vous! Sandy laughed out of the side of
her mouth. Some of the French policemen were looking at
us as if we were both crazy. "I will like hell go
home. Fine, though. You can tell the flics what
we'd like them to do. And then they'll do the exact
opposite, I'm quite sure. 11
"Of course they will. They're French."
Sondra was a tall brunette, willowy on
top but with heavy legs, almost as if two body
types had been fused. She was British, witty
and bright, yet tolerant, even of Americans. She
was devoutly Jewish and militantly gay I
enjoyed working with her, even at times like this.
I walked into the Parc de Montsouris with Sandy
Greenberg, arm in arm. Once more into the fray.
"Why do you think he sends us both messages? Why
does he want us both here?" she mused as we
tramped across damp lawns that glistened under
streetlights. "We're the stars in his weird
galaxy. That's my theory anyway We're also
authority figures. Perhaps he likes to taunt
authority He might even have a modicum of
respect for us." "I sincerely doubt that," Sandy
said.
"Then perhaps he likes showing us up, making himself
feel superior. How about that theory?" "I
rather like it, actually. He could watching us right now.
I know he's an egomaniac of the highest order.
Hello there, Mr Smith from planet Mars. Are
you watching? Enjoying the hell out of this? God, I
hate that creepy bastard!"
I peered around at the dark elm trees. There was
plenty of cover here if someone wanted to observe us.
"Perhaps he's here. He might be able to change
shapes, you know. He could be that balayeur des
Page 144
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
rues, or that gendarme, or even thatfille de
trottoir in disguise," I said.
We began the search at quarter past one. At
two in the morning, we still hadn't located the body
of Dr. Abel Sante. It was
strange and worrisome to everyone in the search party.
It was obvious to me that Smith wanted to make it
hard for us to locate the body. He had never done that
before. He usually discarded bodies the way people throw
away gum wrappers. Vvlhat was
Smith up to?
The Paris newspapers had evidently gotten a
tip that we were searching the small park. They wanted
a hearty serv-
ing of blood and guts for their breakfast editions.
TV helicopters hovered like vultures
overhead. Police barricades had been set up
out on the street. We had everything except a
victim.
The crowd of onlookers already numbered in the
hundreds -- and it was two o'clock in the morning. Sandy
peered out at them. "Mr. Smith's sodding fan
club," she sneered. "What a time! What a
civilization! Cicero said that, you know."
My beeper went off at half past two. The
noise startled Sandy and me. Then hers went off.
Dueling beepers. What a world, indeed.
I was certain it was Smith. I looked at
Sandy. "What the hell is he pulling this time?" she
said. She looked frightened. "Or maybe it's a she
-- what is she pulling?"
We removed our laptops from our shoulder bags.
Sandy began to check her machine for messages. I
got to mine first.
Pierce, the e-mail read,
welcome back to the real work, to the real chase.
I lied to you. That was your punishmentfor unfaithfulness.
I wanted to embarrass you, whatever that means. I
wanted to remind you that you can't trust me, or anyone
else -- not even your friend, Ms. Greenberg.
Besides, I really don't like the French.
I've thoroughly enjoyed torturing them here tonight.
Poor Dr Abel Sante is at the
Buttes-Chaumont Park. H6 up near the
temple. I swear it. I promise you.
Trust me. Ha, ha! Isn't that the quaint
sound you humans make when you laugh? I can't quite
make the sound myself. You see, I've never actually
laughed.
Always, Mr Smith
Sandy Greenberg was shaking her head, muttering
curses in the night air. She had gotten a
message, too. "Buttes- Chaumont Park,"
she repeated the location. Then she added, "He says
that I shouldn't trust you. Ha, ha! Isn't that the
quaint sound we humans make when we laugh?"
Chapter 9 6
THE HUGE, unwieldy search team swept
across Paris to the northeast, heading toward the
Buttes-Chaumont Park. The syncopated wail
Page 145
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
of police sirens was a disturbing, fearsome noise.
Mr. Smith still had Paris in an uproar in the
early-morning hours. "He's in control now," I
said to Sandy Greenberg as we sped along dark
Parisian streets in the blue Citroi at n
I had rented. The car tires made a
ripping sound on the smooth road surface. The
noise fit with everything else that was happening.
"Smith is in his glory, however ephemeral it may
turn out to be. This is his time, his moment," I
rattled on.
The English investigator frowned. "Thomas, you
continue to
ascribe human emotions to Smith. When are you
going to get it through your skull that we're looking for a
little green man." "I'm an empirical
investigator. I'll believe it only when I
see
a little green man with blood dripping from his little
green mouth."
Neither of us had ever given a millisecond's
credence to the "alien" theories, but space-visitor
jokes were definitely a part of the dark humor of this
manhunt. It helped to keep us going,
knowing that we would soon be at a particularly
monstrous and disturbing murder scene.
It was nearly three in the morning when we arrived
at the Buttes- Chaumont. What difference did
the late hour make to me. I never slept
anymore.
The park was deserted, but brightly lit with
streetlamps and police and army searchlights. A
low, bluish gray fog had settled in, but there was
still enough visibility for our search. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

himalia.xlx.pl