[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
inconclusive. Winkie s doctor, a helpful chap named Dr. Murphy, told him that
Winkie had been treated for narcolespy as an outpatient for nearly eight
years, with sessions twice weekly. Winkie had missed the previous day s
session, so it waspossible something was on his mind. Jack had also bumped
into Dr. Quatt, who asked him how things were going. She had referred to
Humpty as Hump, so Jack wondered whether perhaps she might not have a floral
tribute for him, too.
Jack finished his sandwich, wiped his hands and mouth on a hankie and thought
for a moment.All those women.
By the way, said Baker, Giorgio Porgia said he d see you tomorrow at nine
A.M.sharp.
Jack snapped his fingers as he suddenly thought of something. Of course.
Baker, the apartment that Porgia gave to Humpty in return for the money
laundering& ?
What about it?
Do we have an address? I know Humpty lived over at the Cheery Egg with Laura
for eighteen years, but he might have kept it on. He would have had to take
all those girlssomewhere.
Baker rummaged through paperwork and eventually came up with an address in
one of Humpty s old arrest reports. Here it is, he announced: 614, Spongg
Villas.
Humpty Dumpty s old residence was in a large block of flats that had been
built by the Spongg Building Trust in the early part of the century for
Reading s trendiest set. After a period of fashionable existence in the
thirties and forties, its popularity had begun to wane. Expensive to maintain,
the unprepossessing block had changed hands regularly for ever-decreasing
amounts as successive landlords took the rent and never bothered to bring the
place up to date or even carry out anything other than essential repairs. It
had started out as a good address but was now a shabby wreck, an upmarket
version of Grimm s Road, its paint long since faded and the stucco rounded and
softened by the corrosive action of the wind and rain.
Jack, Mary and Baker stepped into the musty hall and were greeted warmly by
the ripe odor of decay. Out of two hundred apartments, they understood from
the ancient doorman, who wore a stained bellhop s uniform, barely eight were
still occupied. The others had been boarded up and the basins, baths and
toilets smashed to discourage squatters. The owner was a wealthy financier who
was waiting for the last tenants to leave before he flattened the site and
built a deluxe car park in its place. The doorman pointed the way up the
stairs. The lift, he explained, had been out of order since 1972.
Humpty s apartment was on the sixth floor, and as Baker led the way up the
creaking circular staircase, Jack looked over the banisters and up at the
domed skylight, whose myriad leaks he could see had been crudely repaired with
waterproof tape. The banisters were rickety, and the dust of dry rot rose when
they touched them. Padlocked doors greeted them on every landing.
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Which was his apartment again? asked Jack.
Number 614, whispered Baker. This way.
He led them slowly down the hall, through fire doors that were wedged open
and past corroded wall lights glowing with bulbs of minuscule wattage. Dust
rose from the aged carpet as they approached Humpty s front door. Jack pulled
out his penlight to examine it more closely. They could see that the dirt and
fluff had drifted against it; the doorknob had a small spider living on it,
and everything was veiled with a thin coat of dust.
No one s been in here for rather a long time, observed Baker.
A low, husky woman s voice answered from behind them.
About a year, actually, dahlings.
They turned to see a woman of perhaps fifty-five standing dramatically in the
shaft of light that shone out of her apartment door and pierced the stygian
gloom of the corridor. She watched them all with a well-practiced air of
laconic indifference, a half smile on her lips. Her hair was up in rollers,
and she was smoking an expensive-looking cigarette. She had hastily covered
her mouth with crimson lipstick and wore a lacy blouse that was unbuttoned
enough to display a large volume of cleavage. Her shoulders were draped with a
light tan cashmere sweater, and she wore a knee-length skirt that hugged her
well-proportioned frame tightly. She paused for a moment, leaned on the
doorframe and regarded them in a manner that might have been described as
smoldering sexuality had she been twenty years younger.
Sorry? stammered Jack, quite taken aback by the curious vision that had
appeared in front of them.
About a year, she repeated. I called them about the shower, but they never
came. They re arseholes, you know, dahling.
She inhaled on her cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. Jack walked over to
her.
I know who you are. You re Lola Vavoom. You used to be big in movies.
I will treat that feed line with the contempt it deserves, dahling. I d
never tread on Norma s toes. Who might you be?
Detective Inspector Jack Spratt of the Nursery Crime Division. These are
Detective Sergeant Mary and Constable Baker.
She nodded in Mary s direction but didn t look at her. She put a languid hand
out towards Baker, just out of his reach so he had to step forward to shake
it.
Detective Baker, she cooed.
ConstableBaker, he corrected with a small smile.
Despite her faded grandeur and worn poise, Lola had a certain grace and
bearing that still made her extremely attractive.
That s a beautiful name. I had a lover named Baker once. He was hung like a
hamster.
Page 152
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Is that good? asked Baker, unsure of her meaning.
It is if you re another hamster.
Jack managed to turn a laugh into a cough. Baker blushed, but Jack quickly
took charge of the situation.
Miss Vavoom what are you doing here?
Here, dahling? she replied with a smile. Why, I live here! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl chiara76.opx.pl
inconclusive. Winkie s doctor, a helpful chap named Dr. Murphy, told him that
Winkie had been treated for narcolespy as an outpatient for nearly eight
years, with sessions twice weekly. Winkie had missed the previous day s
session, so it waspossible something was on his mind. Jack had also bumped
into Dr. Quatt, who asked him how things were going. She had referred to
Humpty as Hump, so Jack wondered whether perhaps she might not have a floral
tribute for him, too.
Jack finished his sandwich, wiped his hands and mouth on a hankie and thought
for a moment.All those women.
By the way, said Baker, Giorgio Porgia said he d see you tomorrow at nine
A.M.sharp.
Jack snapped his fingers as he suddenly thought of something. Of course.
Baker, the apartment that Porgia gave to Humpty in return for the money
laundering& ?
What about it?
Do we have an address? I know Humpty lived over at the Cheery Egg with Laura
for eighteen years, but he might have kept it on. He would have had to take
all those girlssomewhere.
Baker rummaged through paperwork and eventually came up with an address in
one of Humpty s old arrest reports. Here it is, he announced: 614, Spongg
Villas.
Humpty Dumpty s old residence was in a large block of flats that had been
built by the Spongg Building Trust in the early part of the century for
Reading s trendiest set. After a period of fashionable existence in the
thirties and forties, its popularity had begun to wane. Expensive to maintain,
the unprepossessing block had changed hands regularly for ever-decreasing
amounts as successive landlords took the rent and never bothered to bring the
place up to date or even carry out anything other than essential repairs. It
had started out as a good address but was now a shabby wreck, an upmarket
version of Grimm s Road, its paint long since faded and the stucco rounded and
softened by the corrosive action of the wind and rain.
Jack, Mary and Baker stepped into the musty hall and were greeted warmly by
the ripe odor of decay. Out of two hundred apartments, they understood from
the ancient doorman, who wore a stained bellhop s uniform, barely eight were
still occupied. The others had been boarded up and the basins, baths and
toilets smashed to discourage squatters. The owner was a wealthy financier who
was waiting for the last tenants to leave before he flattened the site and
built a deluxe car park in its place. The doorman pointed the way up the
stairs. The lift, he explained, had been out of order since 1972.
Humpty s apartment was on the sixth floor, and as Baker led the way up the
creaking circular staircase, Jack looked over the banisters and up at the
domed skylight, whose myriad leaks he could see had been crudely repaired with
waterproof tape. The banisters were rickety, and the dust of dry rot rose when
they touched them. Padlocked doors greeted them on every landing.
Page 151
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Which was his apartment again? asked Jack.
Number 614, whispered Baker. This way.
He led them slowly down the hall, through fire doors that were wedged open
and past corroded wall lights glowing with bulbs of minuscule wattage. Dust
rose from the aged carpet as they approached Humpty s front door. Jack pulled
out his penlight to examine it more closely. They could see that the dirt and
fluff had drifted against it; the doorknob had a small spider living on it,
and everything was veiled with a thin coat of dust.
No one s been in here for rather a long time, observed Baker.
A low, husky woman s voice answered from behind them.
About a year, actually, dahlings.
They turned to see a woman of perhaps fifty-five standing dramatically in the
shaft of light that shone out of her apartment door and pierced the stygian
gloom of the corridor. She watched them all with a well-practiced air of
laconic indifference, a half smile on her lips. Her hair was up in rollers,
and she was smoking an expensive-looking cigarette. She had hastily covered
her mouth with crimson lipstick and wore a lacy blouse that was unbuttoned
enough to display a large volume of cleavage. Her shoulders were draped with a
light tan cashmere sweater, and she wore a knee-length skirt that hugged her
well-proportioned frame tightly. She paused for a moment, leaned on the
doorframe and regarded them in a manner that might have been described as
smoldering sexuality had she been twenty years younger.
Sorry? stammered Jack, quite taken aback by the curious vision that had
appeared in front of them.
About a year, she repeated. I called them about the shower, but they never
came. They re arseholes, you know, dahling.
She inhaled on her cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. Jack walked over to
her.
I know who you are. You re Lola Vavoom. You used to be big in movies.
I will treat that feed line with the contempt it deserves, dahling. I d
never tread on Norma s toes. Who might you be?
Detective Inspector Jack Spratt of the Nursery Crime Division. These are
Detective Sergeant Mary and Constable Baker.
She nodded in Mary s direction but didn t look at her. She put a languid hand
out towards Baker, just out of his reach so he had to step forward to shake
it.
Detective Baker, she cooed.
ConstableBaker, he corrected with a small smile.
Despite her faded grandeur and worn poise, Lola had a certain grace and
bearing that still made her extremely attractive.
That s a beautiful name. I had a lover named Baker once. He was hung like a
hamster.
Page 152
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Is that good? asked Baker, unsure of her meaning.
It is if you re another hamster.
Jack managed to turn a laugh into a cough. Baker blushed, but Jack quickly
took charge of the situation.
Miss Vavoom what are you doing here?
Here, dahling? she replied with a smile. Why, I live here! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]