Black Notice - Cornwell Patricia (читать книги онлайн без TXT) 📗

"Black."

"When the woman was murdered in Richmond, I was told you'd be sent here if I'd talk to you."

"So you didn't request that I come?"

"I would never have asked such a thing, because I would never imagine such a request would be granted."

I thought of the private jet, the Concorde and all the rest of it.

"Could you spare a cigarette?" I said.

"I'm so sorry I didn't ask. I didn't know you smoke."

"I don't. This is just a detour. One that's lasted about a year. Do you know who sent me, Dr. Stvan?"

"Someone with enough influence to get you here almost instantly. Beyond that, I don't know."

I thought of Senator Lord.

"I'm worn down by what Loup-Garou brings to me. Eight women now," she said, staring off, a glazed, pained look in her eyes.

"What can I do, Dr. Stvan?"

"There's no evidence they were raped vaginally," she said. "Or sodomized. I took swabs of the bite marks, very strange bite marks with missing molars, occlusion and tiny teeth widely spaced. I collected hairs and all the rest of it. But let's go back to the first case, when everything got strange.

"As you might expect, the magistrate instructed me to submit all evidence to the lab. Weeks went by, months went by, no results ever came back. From then on, I learned. With subsequent cases believed to be LoupGarou, I didn't ask to submit anything."

She was silent for a moment, her thoughts elsewhere.

Then she said, "He's a strange one, this Loup-Garou. Biting the palms, the soles of the feet. It must mean something to him. I've never seen anything like it. And now you must contend with him as I have."

She paused, as if what she had to say next was very hard.

"Please be very careful, Dr. Scarpetta. He will came after you as he did me. You see, I'm the one who survived."

I was too stunned to speak.

"My husband is a chef at Le Dome. He is almost never home at tight, but as God would have it, he was sick in bed when this creature came to my door several weeks ago. It was raining. He said his car had just been in an accident and needed to call the police. Of course, my first thought was to help. I wanted to make certain he wasn't injured. I was very concerned.

"That was my vulnerability," she went on. "I think physicians have a savior complex, you know? We can take care of problems, no matter what they are, and that's the impulse he counted on, in retrospect, where I was concerned. There was nothing suspicious about him in the least, and he knew I would let him in, and I would have. But Paul lard voices and wanted to know who was there. The man ran off. I never got a good look at him. My house light was out, you see, because he'd unscrewed it, I found out later."

"Did you call the police?"

"Only a detective I trust." “Why?”

"One has to be careful."

"How did you know it was the killer?"

She sipped her coffee. By now, it was cold, and she added a little to both of ours to warm them up:

"I could feel it. I remember smelling a wet animal smell, but I think now I must have imagined it. I could feel the evil, the lust in his eyes. And he wouldn't show himself. I never saw his face, just the glint of his eyes as light spilled out the open door."

"Wet animal smell?" I asked.

"Different from a body odor. A dirty odor, like a dog that needs to be bathed. That's what I remember. But all of it happened so fast, and I can't be sure. Then the next day I received a note from him. Here. Let me show you."

She got up and unlocked a drawer of a metal filing cabinet, where files were squeezed so tightly together she had difficulty pulling one out. It was not labeled, and inside was a torn piece of blood-speckled brown paper protected by a transparent plastic evidence bag.

"Pas la police. iVa va, ga va. Pas de problйme, tout va bien. Le Loup-Garou," she read. "It means No police. It's all right. It's okay. Everything's fine. The werewolf."

I stared at the familiar block letters. They were mechanical and almost childish.

"The paper looks like a piece of a torn bag from the market," she said. "I can't prove it's from him, but who elsewould it be from? I don't know whose blood it is, becauseagain, I can do no tests, and only my husband knows I got this.” "Why you?" I asked. "Why would he come after you?"

"I can only suppose it's because he saw me at the crime scenes. So I know he watches. When he kills, he's out there in the dark somewhere, watching what people like us do. He's very intelligent, cunning. I have no doubt he knows exactly what happens when his bodies come to me."

I tilted the note in lamplight, looking for hidden strokes that might have been pressed into the paper by the force of someone writing on whatever had been on top of it. I saw none.

"When I read the note, the corruption became so plain to me, as if there had been any doubt," Dr. Stvan was saying. "Loop-Garou knew it would do no good to submit his note to the police, to the labs. He was telling me, even warning me, not to bother, and it's very odd, but I feel he was also telling me he won't try again."

"I wouldn't be so quick to assume that," I said.

"As if he needs a friend. The lonely beast needs a friend. I suppose in his fantasies he matters to me because I saw him and didn't die. But who can know a mind like that?"

She got up from her desk and unlocked another drawer in another filing cabinet. She lifted out an ordinary shoe box, peeled off tape and removed the lid. Inside were eight small, ventilated paper boxes and just as many small manila envelopes, each labeled with case numbers and dates.

"It's unfortunate no impressions were made of the bite marks," she said. "But to do that I would have to call in a dentist, and I knew that wouldn't be permitted. But I did swab them, and maybe that will help. Maybe it won't"

"He tried to eradicate the bite marks in Kim Luong's murder," I told her. "We can't cast them. Even photographs would do no good."

"I'm not surprised. He knows there's no one to protect him now. He's-how do you say-on your turf? And I'll tell you, it wouldn't be hard to identify him by his dentition. He has very strange pointed teeth, widely spaced. Like some sort of animal."

I began to get a strange sensation.

"I recovered hair from all of the bodies," she was saying. "Catlike hair. I've wondered if he breeds angora cats, something like that."

I leaned forward in my chair.

"Catlike?" I said. "Did you save it?"

She peeled tape off a flap and retrieved a pair of forceps from a.drawer in her desk. She dipped into an envelope, withdrawing several hairs. They were so fine they floated like down as she lowered them to the ink blotter.

"All the same, you see? Nine or ten centimeters long, pale blond. Very fine, baby-fine."

"Dr. Stvan, this isn't cat hair. It's human hair. It was on the clothing of the unidentified man We found in the cargo container. It was on the body of Kim Luong."

Her eyes widened.

"When you submitted evidence in the first case, did you submit some of these hairs?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And you heard nothing back?"

"To my knowledge the labs never analyzed what I sent:' "Oh, I bet they analyzed it, all right," I said. "I bet they know damn well these hairs are human and are too long for baby hair. They know what the bite marks mean and may even have recovered DNA from them."

"Then we should get DNA, too, from the swabs I'm giving you," she said, getting increasingly unsettled.

I didn't care. It no longer mattered.

"Of course, you can't do much with the hairs," she rambled. "Hirsute, no pigmentation. They would simply be consistent with each other, wouldn't they…?"

I wasn't listening. I was thinking of Kaspar Hauser. He spent the first sixteen years of his life in a dungeon because Prince Charles of Baden wanted to make sure Kaspar didn't have any claims to the crown: