promising never, never to part.
Cristie withdrew her lips from Steven’s, burrowed her forehead in the hollow of his shoulder. “Never, Steven,” she murmured. “Never?”
Drawing her closer, Steven said, “Never, darling, never. Sara’s gone. Don’t worry about her any more. You mustn’t. It isn’t necessary. I know things about Sara that…Listen, sweet, on the night Sara died…”
Something warned Cristie. She realized afterward that it was the music. It had become imperceptibly louder. She raised her held. Steven had his back to the door. His bulk obscured her view. She twisted sideways, looked past him.
The door leading into the hall was settling noiselessly into its frame.
Someone standing outside in the corridor had opened and closed the door a moment earlier. Steven had been speaking of Sara and the night of Sara’s death.…The fear was back in Cristie, a new fear that added itself to the other and thrust her down again into swirling eddies of uncertainty and terror.
That night Christopher McKee returned to New York from Rio de Janeiro. He was back at his desk in the Homicide Squad before morning. It wasn’t until five o’clock on the following afternoon that he got the letter, a letter addressed to the Commissioner and sent up by messenger from Headquarters. The Inspector read it once and then again. He pressed the buzzer on his desk. When the door opened and Lieutenant Sheerer stuck in his head, McKee said without looking up from the sheet of paper he held in his hand:
“Get me the file on the drowning of Sara Hazard of 66 Franklin Place on August twenty-fifth.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
