Цитата #953 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

He stopped and shrugged. Blew a sigh. Not a bad guy. He hadn’t set out to be some big criminal. It had crept up on the blind side. Sucked him in so gently he hadn’t noticed. Until he wanted out. If he was very lucky they wouldn’t break all his bones until after he was dead.

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“Damn,” she said. “I’ve got to call in. Sorry. I’ll use the phone in the car.”

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“Go on,” he said eventually. Gravely, like it was a big deal.

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“Front door was standing open,” he said. “Maybe a half inch. It had a bad feel. I went in, found them upstairs in the master bedroom. It was like a butcher’s shop. Blood everywhere. He was nailed to the wall, sort of hanging off. Both of them sliced up, him and his wife. It was terrible. About twenty-four hours of decomposition. Warm weather. Very unpleasant. So I called in the whole crew and we went over every inch and pieced it all together. Literally, I’m afraid.”

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Finlay’s patience was running thin. He looked at his watch.

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