In the Woods полностью

"Yeah, could be. But I was wondering if maybe the dig wasn't a random choice. Maybe he had to dump her there-either because it's part of whatever grand plan he's following, or because he doesn't have a car and the dig was the only place handy. That would fit in with what Mark said about not seeing a car go past-and it would mean the kill site's somewhere very nearby, probably in one of the houses at that end of the estate. Maybe he tried to dump her on Monday night, but Mark was there in the woods, with his fire. The killer could have seen him and been scared off; he had to hide Katy and try again the next night."

"Or the killer could have been him," I said.

"Alibi for Tuesday night."

"From a girl who's mad about him."

"Mel's not the ditzy stand-by-your-man type. She's got a mind of her own, and she's plenty smart enough to realize how important this is. If Mark had jumped out of bed halfway through the action to take a nice long walk, she'd have told us."

"He could have an accomplice. Either Mel or someone else."

"And what, they hid the body on the grassy knoll?"

"What's your boy's motive?" Sam inquired. He had been eating cherries and watching us with interest.

"His motive is he's several hundred yards out of his tree," I told him. "You didn't hear him. He's perfectly normal on most things-normal enough to reassure a kid, Cass-but get him talking about the site and he starts going on about sacrilege and worship… The site's under threat from this motor-way: maybe he thought a nice human sacrifice to the gods, just like old times, would get them to step in and save it. When it comes to this site, he's batty."

"If this turns out to be a pagan sacrifice," Sam said, "dibs I not be the one to tell O'Kelly."

"I vote we get him to tell O'Kelly himself. And we sell tickets."

"Mark is not batty," Cassie said firmly.

"Oh, he is, too."

"He is not. His work is the center of his life. That's not batty."

"You should have seen them," I told Sam. "Honestly, it was more like a date than an interrogation. Maddox nodding away, fluttering her eyelashes, telling him she knew exactly how he feels-"

"Which I do, actually," Cassie said. She abandoned Cooper's notes and pulled herself backward onto the futon. "And I did not either flutter my eyelashes. When I do, you won't miss it."

"You know how he feels? What, you pray to the Heritage God?"

"No, you big eejit. Shut up and listen. I have a theory about Mark." She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet up under her.

"Oh, God," I said. "Sam, I hope you're not in a hurry."

"I always have time for a good theory," Sam said. "Can I have a drink to go with it, if we've finished working?"

"Wise move," I told him.

Cassie shoved me with her foot. "Find whiskey or something." I slapped her foot away and got up. "OK," she said, "we all need to believe in something, right?"

"Why?" I demanded. I found this both intriguing and mildly disconcerting; I am not religious, and as far as I knew Cassie wasn't either.

"Oh, because we do. Every single society in the world, ever, has had some form of belief system. But now…How many people do you know who're Christian-not just going to church, but actually Christian, like trying to do things the way Jesus would've? And it's not like people can have faith in political ideologies. Our government doesn't even have an ideology, as far as anyone can tell-"

"'A Little Something for the Boys,'" I said, over my shoulder. "That's an ideology, of sorts."

"Hey," said Sam mildly.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean anyone specific." He nodded.

"Neither did I, Sam," said Cassie. "I just meant there isn't one overall philosophy. So people have to make their own faith."

I had found whiskey, Coke, ice and three glasses; I juggled them all back to the coffee table in one go. "What, you mean Religion Lite? All those New Age yuppies having tantric sex and feng shui-ing their SUVs?"

"Them, too, but I was thinking of the people who make a religion out of something completely different. Like money-actually, that's the nearest thing the government has to an ideology, and I'm not talking about bribes, Sam. Nowadays it's not just unfortunate if you have a low-paid job, have you noticed? It's actually irresponsible: you're not a good member of society, you're being very very naughty not to have a big house and a fancy car."

"But if anyone asks for a raise," I said, whapping the ice tray, "they're being very very naughty to threaten their employer's profit margin, after everything he's done for the economy."

"Exactly. If you're not rich, you're a lesser being who shouldn't have the gall to expect a living wage from the decent people who are."

"Ah, now," Sam said. "I don't think things are that bad."

There was a small, polite silence. I collected stray ice cubes from the coffee table. Sam by nature has a Pollyanna streak, but he also has the kind of family that owns houses in Ballsbridge. His views on socioeconomic matters, though sweet, could hardly be considered objective.