Poisonous Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page B

weak, but the man bends double at last with a frightening whine.
    Â Â Â Â Â "Police," says Arany. His voice sounds amazingly calm—even to himself. The bouncer falls down like a rag doll and lies there, a big, moaning heap on the pavement. Arany walks around him, pushes aside the thick curtains and enters the club. Dim, multicolored lights provide the only illumination in the oblong room. There are three rows of tables separating Arany from the bar, which is at the far end of the room and has a huge mirror behind it. The barmaid looks surprisingly young, fresh and pretty from where Arany stands. He walks along the narrow corridor behind the middle row of tables so he can see everyone. He walks with a gun in his right hand and with his badge lifted high up in his left. Maybe these things will give him some kind of protection, even in this place.
    Â Â Â Â Â Gladys Ferrow was in bed with Frost when Carl broke the door in. Arany can clearly remember every wrinkle on her body, which was on the way to becoming fat. He can picture her face, which isn't pretty anymore, or maybe never had been. He's staring at her in his mind. Then he's staring at her in the bar. She wears an exotic and daring red suit, half of it mesh, to reveal her skin. It's the kind of attire that a much younger, much slimmer woman might be able to get away with. And there's the bag in front of her on the table, doubtless it contains the folding knife and the can of mace.
    Â Â Â Â Â She's alone. Maybe waiting for somebody, maybe expecting Frost, or some other Prince Charming. But it's Arany who arrives instead. Poor Gladys Ferrow: It's always the wrong man.
    Â Â Â Â Â She recognizes the cop, her face shows fear, confusion then resignation. She stands up, her glance lingering on the three empty glasses on the table.
    Â Â Â Â Â Arany pockets his badge and produces some money. He throws the bills uncounted onto the table and reaches his hand hesitantly toward her.
    Â Â Â Â Â He doesn't have to touch her. She walks obediently in front of him, through the door and past the bouncer, who has struggled to his feet and is bent over by the entrance. A small crowd has gathered around the big man, but they just give Arany some dark looks as he passes.
    Â Â Â Â Â Arany opens the car door, and lets her in. He wonders where he's going. He isn't sure, but he knows it's too late to turn back.

CHAPTER 7

    Looking at the judge—his long black robe, bushy gray eyebrows and big nose— Celia can't help thinking of a second-rate circus clown. It's ridiculous that their fate is in the hands of this rheumatic, doddering man. But as crazy as that seems, it's even more frightening to think about the jury. She has to clear her mind, stay calm.
    Â Â Â Â Â The prosecutor is gently questioning a psychologist, one of his witnesses. The doctor shows no esprit de corps toward Celia, his colleague. On the contrary, he looks the image of professional indignation, with his severe face, golden-framed glasses and simple dark suit.
    Â Â Â Â Â "If I understand correctly," the prosecutor is saying, "your expert opinion is that Dr. Allesandro had no sound professional reason to continue her sessions with Detective Arany?"
    Â Â Â Â Â A little cough. The glasses come off. He fiddles with them and puts them on again.
    Â Â Â Â Â "On the basis of the materials at my disposal I should say yes. She had no reason at all."
    Â Â Â Â Â "Thank you."
    Â Â Â Â Â The two men look at each other and appear pleased with themselves.
    Â Â Â Â Â She feels tension radiating from Arany and answers it with a glance from the corner of her eyes. Be cool, love. We can't talk about the shots.
    Â Â Â Â Â They won't have to talk about the shots. His lawyer will find another expert with a contrary opinion, someone to say their sessions had been necessary. There is no way the