6lib.ru - Электронная Библиотека
Название книги: Death Drop
Автор(ы): B Gill
Жанр: Детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Death-Drop-184111.html
One
THE MORTUARY WAS in the hospital grounds. Fleming had imagined a cement building lurking down one of Marristone's side streets. This place stood high on the Kent cliffs and had been weathered by salt winds. The smell – out here, at least – was the almond of gorse and the tang of seaweed. Gulls swooped in the breeze and the cold sun lay in splashes on his hands. He was perpetually cold as if he walked in heavy breakers through an icy sea. The coldness had started permeating him during the headmaster's longdistance phone call to the Bombay office. In the heat of an Indian afternoon it had crept through his pores with each word spoken."David has had an accident. A fall down the hold of a ship at the Maritime Museum.""Dear sweet Christ! How badly hurt is he?"A silence for a couple of minutes and then Brannigan's appalled voice had faltered on, "In all my time at Marnstone Grange I've never before had to tell a parent that his son…" He hadn't been able to get it out. The death of a twelve-year-old was an obscenity.Fleming had caught the first flight to England. Brannigan had met him at Heathrow and he had spent last night at the school house. Through a miasma of anger rather than grief – as yet the wound was too anaesthetised by shock for him to feel – he had listened to Brannigan's explanation. The boys had been in the care of Hammond, one of the housemasters. They were working on a project on maritime history and were given separate assignments on board ship. David's assignment had been on the poop deck. For some reason best known to himself he had gone to the lowe
Название книги: Death Drop
Автор(ы): B Gill
Жанр: Детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Death-Drop-184111.html
One
THE MORTUARY WAS in the hospital grounds. Fleming had imagined a cement building lurking down one of Marristone's side streets. This place stood high on the Kent cliffs and had been weathered by salt winds. The smell – out here, at least – was the almond of gorse and the tang of seaweed. Gulls swooped in the breeze and the cold sun lay in splashes on his hands. He was perpetually cold as if he walked in heavy breakers through an icy sea. The coldness had started permeating him during the headmaster's longdistance phone call to the Bombay office. In the heat of an Indian afternoon it had crept through his pores with each word spoken."David has had an accident. A fall down the hold of a ship at the Maritime Museum.""Dear sweet Christ! How badly hurt is he?"A silence for a couple of minutes and then Brannigan's appalled voice had faltered on, "In all my time at Marnstone Grange I've never before had to tell a parent that his son…" He hadn't been able to get it out. The death of a twelve-year-old was an obscenity.Fleming had caught the first flight to England. Brannigan had met him at Heathrow and he had spent last night at the school house. Through a miasma of anger rather than grief – as yet the wound was too anaesthetised by shock for him to feel – he had listened to Brannigan's explanation. The boys had been in the care of Hammond, one of the housemasters. They were working on a project on maritime history and were given separate assignments on board ship. David's assignment had been on the poop deck. For some reason best known to himself he had gone to the lowe
Навигация с клавиатуры: следующая страница - или ,
предыдущая -
