Imitator. Continuation of the book «Mannequins». Elena Grossman
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about to head for the door as he hailed Mr. Schulberg. I saw a couple of times, a strange man in a black sweater and draped over the head hooded. Person I of course could not see. He stood the entire fifteen minutes, and quickly retreated.
– And this is something, ' replied Vince and asked the following question: – how often he was here?
I saw him a couple of times, twenty-third, but the other day I do not remember, ' replied Mr. Schulberg.
– What was the twenty-third?
«They bring goods to me every month, and precisely on the twenty-third, not a day earlier or a day later,» he answered.
– But he didn’t go inside the studio?
«No, I just walked around the door as if I were waiting for someone,» Skulvird answered another question. – He always came before or after the rain, when the street was not crowded.
– And this is something. – Vince commented and frantically wrote down something in a notebook, which he managed to get out before starting a conversation with Skulvild.
In the store, a phone rang somewhere.
«I will leave, for a moment, I will answer,» said Mr. Skulvird. Vince nodded. Soon he was to pay a visit to Mrs. Marbo’s atelier and inquire about her guests. The man in the hood remained a mystery to him. Is this really our maniac killer?
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Skulvird approached Vince and said:
– I need to go, they should soon bring a new batch of watches from O`klokompani.
«Good, see you soon,» Vince said goodbye and left the store. Now his path was in the studio.
******
Atelier Linda of Marbo, inherited from her deceased sister’s husband. Ellie Marbo died of lung cancer at the age of fifty-six years. Linda tried to keep everything that was with Ellie, the same ceilings and floors, and the walls were decorated with her (Ellie’s) hands. She was an artist. The wall she drew in a red and blue abstract. The entrance to the Studio adorned her portrait, painted C Mon Julien, a French surrealist artist. With him she met at an exhibition in Paris. He gave her a portrait of her as a sign of their friendship. Many years later, it still hangs, although it’s already dirty and a bit faded. Vince came to the door and pulled it, it was closed. Moving away, a little further on he saw attached to the door leaf, saying that Studio is not working because of break.
– Damn it in his pocket and went back to the car, when suddenly he was hailed.
Sorry, you for me, said an elderly woman of about sixty, looked out of the open door.
Vince turned around and asked:
– You Linda Marbo?
Yes, I am. How can I help?
My name is Frederick Vince, assistant Sheriff. There was a ritual murder in the forest. Killed two girls, I according to reliable sources, both attended sewing courses, held in your Studio, – quickly said Vince.
«Oh,» the only thing I could tell Linda. – And what was killed?
– Sarah Collins and Martha Wilson.
I was familiar with them, they went every Wednesday and Friday on the embroidery, muttered Mrs. Marbo is still in a state of shock.
– Not telling, if they get you something weird, well, maybe something off was going on?
– What do you mean?
– Never said any of them that they’re being watched or someone was threatened, ' replied Vince.
– Or anything like that, I have not heard, but a couple of times, saw the guy, he was hanging out near the entrance and quite often, if someone waited for or hunted down, – said Linda and remembered this guy.
– A person you haven’t seen him or any memory foam take? asked Vince.
– No, all the time he kept his head in the slope or tilt it, recalled Linda. – As if he was afraid he might see.
Vince looked around in search of covert surveillance cameras.
Cameras we have here, – seemed to read his thoughts Linda.
– Damn – cursed Vince.
Things were a lot worse than it really is. It’s time to turn to one friend and detective, Edward of Puerro, a longtime school friend of Vince’s.
– Good, if you see something strange call the Sheriff, ' said Vince.
– Well and you, too, as she left Linda and I went into the Studio.
******
After talking with Linda, he went to the police station to report his investigation to the sheriff.
When he went into the sheriff’s office, he furiously typed something on the keyboard of a police computer.
«There is a slight clue,» he said, and laid the notebook on his desk.
– And which one? The sheriff asked.
– The seller on the contrary and the owner of the atelier saw a strange man who was constantly covering his face with a hood and waiting for someone. There are no cameras either at the store or at the studio.
«And none of them examined the faces?» The sheriff asked.
– Not
«Things are worse than ever,» the sheriff summed up. – Any ideas?
«I have a school friend, he works as a private investigator,» Vince said.
«You’re crazy, the police are attracting a private investigator,» the sheriff exclaimed loudly.
– And what do you suggest?
«We will take up this investigation ourselves,» the sheriff said. «I have no extra money to pay the detective.» – With these words, he began to write something in a folder. Vince left the sheriff’s office and went to his office. The sheriff and his assistant had separate rooms. He did not know how to search for a man without any evidence or traces. No, you still need to call Edward.
3
A private detective is taken up
There was a small red house on the outskirts of Wilstone. Its blue-gray roof had already darkened with time, and the porch had long since collapsed. It was in this house that Edward Pierreau, once a former private detective, lived. At the request of the police, he helped to investigate cases, but times passed, and his services soon lost their relevance, now he worked as a bookmaker in a private company on Walsh Street. He took bets on all horse races held in the summer and spring.
There were many spectators, which pleased Edward, because his salary depended on how many spectators came. And one evening, sitting at the table and making up the next list of participants in the race, he started from a phone call. The phone ring in the house echoed loudly.
– Damn, who else! He grumbled, headed for the mahogany table on which the telephone stood. He bought this table at a sale in Siouxstone, he got it almost for nothing. He picked up the phone and said:
– Hello!
«Hi, this is Vince,» came a voice from the other end of the phone.
– Ah, Vince hi, how are you?
«Well,