Maid of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page A

held confidently to her shoulder.
    'I thought I told you to come back tomorrow,' Annie said, looking suspiciously at Tarriha.
    'You told me to come back tonight if I was really interested in helping the refuge. And I am.'
    'Uhuh.'
    'C'mon, Annie. It's better to find out what's wrong now. Maybe she has a kid somewhere, did you think of that? Alone, afraid.'
    'I can blow his fucking head off from here,' the shotgun woman growled.
    Annie shook her head. She even managed a smile. 'OK, Corrigan, maybe you have a point. We'll wake her, your friend. . .'
    'Tarriha,' said Corrigan, 'of the Tuscorora Iroquois . . .'
    '. . . can have five minutes, at least to establish if she wants to talk, OK?'
    She stepped back from the door. As they crossed the hall the shotgun remained trained on them. Tarriha growled, 'Five minutes,' under his breath. They'd agreed $60 an hour for his translations, irrespective of how long they took. They had an even bigger fund for this kind of thing.
    For the second time that night Corrigan was led up the stairs to the locked and barred room. This time Annie knocked softly on the door after unlocking it, then slowly opened it. She lay in the same position as before; her back was exposed; the nightie was draped over a chair.
    Annie stepped into the room, followed by Corrigan and Tarriha, and for a few seconds all three of them gazed at the tranquil form lying half-naked on the bed.
    Then Tarriha rammed his foot down on the wooden floor, barked like a dog and yelled something in what Corrigan presumed was Tuscorora.

7
    Corrigan hurried up the steps into the station. He checked with the desk to see what was happening. There'd been a minor fracas at the casino – there was a convention of flower arrangers or something equally pointless in town that week and it was always the innocuous ones that were the most trouble, like they'd something to prove – and a couple of drunk drivers, but nothing of note, nothing to justify Stirling getting all mysterious.
    'Where's Stirling?' Corrigan asked.
    'Downstairs with a prisoner.'
    'Anyone special?'
    'Depends on your musical taste.'
    'What's that supposed to mean?'
    'I don't know, sir. Officer Stirling instructed me to say that if you asked. I have no idea who it is. Came in with a blanket over his head.'
    'OK. All right.'
    Corrigan got himself a coffee and went down to the cells. There was a chalkboard at the end of the corridor which showed that two of them were occupied. One by someone called Bernard Rawlins. The other by ?
    ?
    A question mark in cell two.
    A question mark, at the very least, over Mark Stirling's next promotion.
    Corrigan shook his head and checked cell one. Black guy in a chauffeur's uniform sitting on the edge of the bed.
    He opened the door. The guy stood up quickly. He looked scared.
    'That's OK,' Corrigan said, 'sit down. You want a coffee?'
    Rawlins shook his head.
    'What've you done?' Corrigan asked.
    Rawlins looked to the far wall, but meaning the other side. 'I done nothing.'
    'Next door, huh?'
    Rawlins nodded. He sat down, slowly. 'I done nothing,' he said again.
    Corrigan pulled the door closed behind him. He peered through the next window. Or tried to. There was tape over the glass. Fuck. Corrigan banged on the door. After a few moments it opened a fraction and Stirling peered out. He was grinning.
    'Mark. What the fuck are you playing at?'
    Stirling peered behind him, then opened the door a fraction more and slipped out. He was that skinny. He pulled the door closed behind him and said: 'You'd never guess.'
    'Mark, I don't intend to fucking guess. Just tell me.'
    'No, guess.'
    'Mark . . .'
    'Go on, go on, go on . . . who do we have in there?'
    Corrigan rolled his eyes. 'President Keneally. Harrison Ford. The Lindberg baby. How the fuck do I know?'
    'Not even close. OK. Three-second clue.' Stirling pulled the door open. Corrigan looked in. Good-looking boy, tear-stained, white jumpsuit, long hair, shivering, nose bleeding, eyes bulging . . .