Цитата #578 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

I remembered an army guy, a deserter. Young guy, not a bad recruit, went AWOL because he got some nut religion. Got into trouble in Washington, demonstrating. Ended up thrown in jail, among bad guys like on this floor. Died on his first night. Anally raped. An estimated fifty times. And at the autopsy they found a pint of semen in his stomach. A new boy with no status. Right at the bottom of the pecking order. Available to all those above him.

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“Was he upset?” I said. “When you called him about Morrison?”

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I didn’t answer. I was watching the big clock, waiting for the minute hand to move.

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“It’s huge,” he said. “Biggest thing you ever heard of.”

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“I’ve only had the second corpse for an hour,” he said. “But, yes, I would say it’s the same incident. It’s almost certainly the same weapon. Looks like small-caliber soft-nose bullets in both cases. The bullets were slow, looks like the gun had a silencer.”

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