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- Ричард Морган
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"
You
’
re
leaving
?
"
"
Well
,
unless
you
have
any
further
questions
.
Personally
,
I
think
you
still
need
some
time
.
I
’
ll
be
around
.
You
can
get
me
at
the
Hendrix
.
"
On
my
way
out
along
the
main
hall
,
I
came
face
to
face
with
Miriam
Bancroft
.
She
was
dressed
in
the
same
coveralls
she
’
d
been
wearing
in
the
garden
,
hair
caught
up
in
an
expensive
-
looking
static
clip
.
In
one
hand
she
was
carrying
a
trellised
plant
urn
,
held
up
like
a
lantern
on
a
stormy
night
.
Long
strands
of
flowering
martyrweed
trailed
from
the
trellis
-
work
.
"
Have
you
—
"
she
started
.
I
stepped
closer
to
her
,
inside
the
range
of
the
martyr
-
weed
.
"
I
’
m
through
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
’
ve
taken
this
as
far
as
I
can
stomach
.
Your
husband
has
an
answer
,
but
it
isn
’
t
the
truth
.
I
hope
that
satisfies
you
,
as
well
as
Reileen
Kawahara
.
"
At
the
name
,
her
mouth
parted
in
shock
.
It
was
the
only
reaction
that
got
through
her
control
,
but
it
was
the
confirmation
I
needed
.
I
felt
the
need
to
be
cruel
come
bubbling
insistently
up
from
the
dark
,
rarely
visited
caverns
of
anger
that
served
me
as
emotional
reserves
.
"
I
never
figured
Reileen
for
much
of
a
lay
,
but
maybe
like
attracts
like
.
I
hope
she
’
s
better
between
the
legs
than
she
is
on
a
tennis
court
"
Miriam
Bancroft
’
s
face
whitened
and
I
readied
myself
for
the
slap
.
But
instead
,
she
offered
me
a
strained
smile
.
"
You
are
mistaken
,
Mr
.
Kovacs
,
"
she
said
.
