Cry for Help by Steve Mosby

Author:Steve Mosby [Mosby, Steve]
Language: rus
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: 03 Thriller/Mistery
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

The offices for Anonymous Skeptic consisted of one small room on the first floor of a rather plush block in the city centre. Everything in the building was uniform and new, from the wooden fittings in the offices, via the neat carpets and paint jobs in the hallways, all the way to the potted plants and bland, abstract watercolours on the walls. There was secure parking out back, meeting rooms available upstairs, and magazines and water-coolers in the corridors. In the reception downstairs our nameplate rested, a little uneasily, between those of web designers, translation agencies and accountants. Most of them earned more money in a day than we saw in a month. We couldn't really afford it, but it was good to have a base.

It was almost one o'clock when I finally arrived. Rob was on the phone, but he acknowledged my presence with a wave of his pen and a disapproving look at his watch. I was busy sipping coffee from a small plastic cup when he finished the call.

'Good afternoon,' he said loudly. 'Did you enjoy the gig last night? I spoke to Nathan this morning, and he said that it all went according to plan with Andrew and the necklace. Dead on, you might say.'

'Yeah. We got him.'

'Nathan also said you weren't around at the end. You were supposed to meet up, weren't you? Get a few quotes. I thought we agreed?'

'Yeah, we did.' I'd forgotten about that. 'I'm sorry. Something happened.'

'Something? What kind of something?'

I glanced over. He had that look on his face: the expression that said he would go on and on until he got the truth out of me, and that he suspected he wouldn't like it much when he did.

'Here,' I said.

The digital recorder was on the desk in front of me. I'd already listened to it again that morning, and I selected the right file now and played it. The sound of Thom Stanley's final performance before the interval filled the office. The recording was pretty good - you could hear every word - and as it played out I kept an eye on Rob to check for his reaction. He held a pen between his hands, using his heels to slowly rotate the chair back and forth. Giving away nothing. Except when Sarah asked if I was okay, at which point he grimaced.

'That's rubbish,' he said at the end. 'I hope you know that.'

'Yeah. But it got to me at the time.'

'I warned you about this.'

'There's something else. I got a strange text from her.'

'From Tori? Like the strange phone calls you get from her?'

'No, not like them.'

I walked across and showed him the message.

'She's never up at that time,' I said. 'Plus, she always signs her texts off in the same way. 'Tor xx'; with a double kiss. In all the time I've known her, every single text, she's finished it like that.'

That was what was wrong with it.

In the early days of the magazine, Rob and I had attended a Ouija-board session that was more convincing than most.

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