Онлайн книга Dead Men's s Boots

I caught the fist two-handed as it came up and back, using Hunter’s own momentum to pull him off balance so that he lurched and had to shift his weight to keep from falling. He tried to yank his hand away from me but only succeeded in pulling me to my feet: I kept my two-handed grip as long as I could, until finally the guards got hold of Hunter by his shoulders and forearms and hauled him backwards out of my reach: even then I followed for a couple of steps, letting go at the last moment as the guards half-marched, half-carried him back through the doors and out of the room.

‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted at me. ‘Don’t come near me! I’m not doing this any more! I’ve had enough! Just let me go! Just let me-!’

The doors slammed to with a terminal click, drowning out the rest of his words.

I sat down again, very abruptly, feeling a little like a puppet with its strings cut. Juliet stared down at me with measured curiosity.

‘You felt it,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, but when she opened her mouth to speak again I raised my hand in a stop gesture.

‘Outside,’ I parried. ‘Not here.’ The truth was that I didn’t want to put it into words. I didn’t want to look at it yet, although I realised as I sat there and finished my cold coffee that it was impossible to look away from. Juliet waited in silence, making no attempt to hide her impatience.

A guard – one of the two who’d entered with Hunter – came in at last through the prisoners’ door and let us out through the visitors’ one.

‘Is he all right?’ I asked.

‘Not really, sir, no,’ the guard grunted. ‘He’s quieter, though. And Doctor Maxwell will come along in a little while and give him another shot.’

Yeah, I thought. I just bet he will.

We threaded our way through the door and gates and screens, reclaimed our effects at the front desk and escaped back out into the big wide world, where the chains are mostly metaphorical and easier to cope with.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Juliet asked as we walked towards the Tube station in a chill, soul-sapping drizzle.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, hedging. ‘If Hunter is losing his mind, a lot of this becomes academic. Even if he ducks a murder rap, he’s going into a secure mental unit and he’s not coming out for a long time.’

‘Is he losing his mind?’ Juliet countered.

‘I’m just talking about how he’ll come across to a jury,’ I said. ‘Nobody hearing him talk is going to believe his picnic is fully catered.’

Jul sidtiet stopped, so I had to stop too.