The Nameless Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

that seemed to take a huge amount of energy. ‘What…what is it?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Abaddon said, smiling widely. ‘Are you unwell?’
    ‘Am I…’ Rhoda Rabinovich broke off and let out a shrill laugh. ‘Oh, no, I’m just fine. I’m…’ The wordsstopped and were replaced by a long, low cry that seemed to contain all the pain in the world.
    ‘Can I help?’ Abaddon asked, feeling unusually uncomfortable.
    ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I…’
    The killer watched as the target leaned forward again onto her arms, her weeping partially smothered. But the head, with its wreath of lustrous black curls, came back up before any advantage could be taken.
    ‘You see…’ the woman said, wiping her forearm across her eyes and smearing makeup onto the fabric. ‘You see, the senator…the senator has decided that I am too old for him. That little…little bitch who only left Vassar last year is much more to his taste.’ She laughed bitterly, then choked and started crying again.
    Abaddon knew from the briefing that Rhoda Rabinovich was thirty-six, which was hardly old. She also had a forty-inch bust and lips that must have done a lot to keep her employer’s chin up over the years. None of which was relevant right now.
    Ms. Rabinovich watched unperturbed as the killer stepped closer.
    ‘I like…I like your mustache, young man,’ she said, with an attempt at levity. ‘Are you a fan of Groucho Marx?’
    Abaddon stopped at the desk, right hand on the Glock’s grip inside the suit jacket. ‘No, I’m not, lady. I’m a fan of Joseph Stalin.’
    The woman’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, that…that will never do. Democrats abhor dictators.’ She grabbed a paper cup and swallowed a mouthful of thecontents. ‘I’m sorry, would you like some? It’s vodka and…and orange.’
    ‘No, thanks,’ Abaddon said, leaning forward.
    ‘But it…it doesn’t do anything,’ Rhoda Rabinovich said. ‘It’s useless. It’s…it’s over.’ Then she stood up, her hands scrabbling in the desk drawer.
    The killer watched in astonishment as the woman pulled out what looked like a novelty paper knife and thrust it deep into her chest.
    ‘That fucker…’ she gasped. ‘He brought…me this piece of…shit back from…Spain.’ Her eyes widened and she fell forward on the desk with a crash.
    Abaddon was surprised, but not enough to forget what was to be done. The window frame looked secure, and the desk would be a good counterweight. Going back to the briefcase, the killer took out a black spray can, then pulled the painting of autumn in New England from the wall opposite the windows and set to work. It wasn’t long before the shape of a black cross with the equal sides narrowing toward the center appeared on the wall, the white paint providing good contrast. Using a second can, this one red, Abaddon added the words Mein and Kampf on either side of the Iron Cross. Then the killer stripped Rhoda Rabinovich of all her clothes, leaving the knife embedded between her remarkable breasts, and wrote the required words with a red indelible marker pen, the first on her belly and the second on her back.
    After putting the spray cans and pen back in the briefcase, Abaddon tied one end of the rope from the briefcase tightly around her neck and the other to the desk leg. The precalculated length seemed to be right.The locks on the windows were easy to disengage. Cold air blew in from the Atlantic. The killer took a shorter piece of rope and attached it to the handle of the sliding window, then lifted Rhoda Rabinovich up to the ledge and stood her against the vertical part of the frame. Her high heels remained on the floor. Then Abaddon took out the combat knife and ran the blade across the rope—a cut had been made previously, but it felt like the victim was even lighter than the briefing had said. Perhaps she had lost weight because of how the faithless senator had treated her. Such is troubled love.
    Leaving the office lights on, Abaddon