Dead Men's s Boots — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

They got out first, opened the back of the hearse and slid out the runners, ready to move on Todd’s command. At the same time a man who had been standing on the front steps of the crematorium came down to greet us. From his appearance, I guessed that he wasn’t the clergyman Todd had mentioned: he was in his late twenties or early thirties, with white-blond hair and a craggy, stolidly handsome face. He was built like a rugby forward, but his face wore a solemn, measured expression that made me wonder whether my first impressions had been wrong: maybe he had taken holy orders, out in Beverly Hills somewhere.

His slate-grey linen suit was as good as Todd’s; maybe better. The one I was wearing came from Burton’s. I generally pick them up in the sales when they’ll throw you in an extra pair of trousers for free, so you’ll appreciate that there are gaps in my sartorial education: once you get past the thousand-quid mark, my eye’s not good enough to make the fine distinctions.

We got out of the hearse. Todd and the newcomer locked stares in a way that was definitely hostile: viscerally, bitterly hostile, and bleeding out of their pores despite the constraints of the situation.

‘Maynard.’ The blond man held out his hand, and Todd stared at it for a moment, nonplussed. Then, looking cornered and unhappy, he took it, shook it in a single staccato up-down movement, and let it go again.

‘Mister Covington,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.

It’s very good of you to come.’ There was a slight thickening in his voice: it cost him an effort to get those words out.

The blond man shrugged easily. ‘I was in the neighbourhood,’ he said. ‘It seemed silly to pass the keys on to Fenwick or Digby when I could just come and open up myself.̵ cp m17;7;

There was a perceptible pause. ‘Yes,’ said Todd. ‘I see. This is Mrs Gittings, and this is Felix Castor. And – umm –’ turning to us ‘– this is Peter Covington.’

Covington gave me the briefest of nods and turned his attention to Carla.

I could see she was impressed: there was a sudden warmth that I could feel from where I was standing – a wave of easy benevolence that made the air around us ripple with a virtual heat haze. ‘I was sorry to hear about your loss,’ he said, and I think she believed him. Certainly she let him take her hand and squeeze it. He looked soulfully into her eyes, and for a long moment she looked back.