[United States, Baltimore, Reservoir Hill]
Another high stoop, a brick facade of a house with maisonettes, a carved door and a bell that makes a typical, pompous and booming sound of a gong. Did they all conspire? This is the seventh, fortunately the last address on the list, with the same audible signal – it turns out, the local wealthy people are completely lacking in imagination and imitate each other.
Allex sighed, glanced at the squares of the windows, shifted from one foot to the other, tapping his thigh with the clipboard with the sheets of paper attached to it. He secretly hoped there would be no one in the apartment – and then he would finally take a break for lunch … He was tired and terribly hungry.
He should at least see who lives in the dollhouse … Allex usually needed a couple of seconds to get the necessary information, he could read diagonally, he looked at the clipboard only before the visit – as a rule, already on the approach. He improvised – because he knew, what was planned in advance would have to be re-acted anyway.
Footsteps were heard behind the door, light and rhythmic. His future interlocutor was some female artiste … Allex knew nothing about films, movie stars, singers or musicians, he was not interested in media life – and today, as luck would have it, he came across one arrogant bon ton, each more bizarre than the last.
One of them even looked askance at Allex’s dusty boots with chipped toes as he walked across the antique handmade carpet … If the person-number-seven on the list is just as arrogant – and the likelihood is high – he’ll just— What will he do? He’ll have to interview her – that is his job.
This was not how he had imagined his first week on the job in a new department, on a new team, on a new investigation. He was once again being sent to do what others would consider boring work – but he could be of real use!
The door opened, and a tall young woman with golden hair and a pale, thin, textured face appeared before him. Allex instantly emerged from the whirlpool of thoughts, for some reason perked up, and it seemed to him that an autumn sunbeam ran across the glass and the facade, the colors became brighter.
Most likely, this is the effect of the combination of hues – the hairstyle and the gray-blue blouse, perfectly ironed, matching the color of the eyes.
Allex was observant, sometimes too much. He habitually absorbed the entire image in front of him, memorized every detail, noted the neutral makeup in the ‘no makeup’ look and the barely perceptible light foundation – which made the lady of the house look very young – the asthenic physique with thin wrists, narrow shoulders, and high set breasts, expressive eyebrows and long eyelashes.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and Allex didn’t even have time to open his mouth to announce the purpose of his visit when the golden-haired artiste said, “Unfortunately, Mr. de Lavender is not at home, but I can tell him that you came.”
Allex blinked and shook his head.
“Wilhelmina Gustavsson?” he said to her. “Agent Allex Serret, FBI. I need to ask you a few questions, it won’t take long.”
Allex reached into his pocket, pulled out the documents and showed them, pressing the clipboard to his ribs under his arm, his jacket bulging at the side, covering the holster. For a moment, a shadow seemed to flicker across Miss Gustavsson’s face, but it immediately took on the friendly, neutral expression, the same that had been a moment ago.
“No need to worry, the questions won’t be about you, but about Dr. Lukas Gasztold. He’s your therapist.”
Obviously, Miss Gustavsson knew that Gasztold was her therapist … A psychotherapist. She went to him twice a week. Allex had gotten used to the fact that Dr. Gasztold’s patients were scared by the badge, by the very mention of the FBI, and couldn’t decide how to talk to him – looking down, as they would usually look at a shabby guy in shabby shoes, too young to be an agent, or looking up, obsequiously, so that Allex wouldn’t get wind of their dealings …
Allex Serret had no interest in the affairs and petty dirty tricks of wealthy clients of successful psychiatrists. His focus was on killers, especially serial killers, especially those who calmly wandered the streets of Baltimore and committed another cruel and terrible crime.
While he’s been going door-to-door interviewing possible – but unlikely – witnesses, his new team has been sent to re-examine the latest crime scene since Special Agent William Gatti has had another epiphany.
“Yes, of course,” Miss Gustavsson replied. “Please come in.”
Allex crossed the threshold of the dollhouse, walked inside along a bright corridor, past a wide mirror in a golden frame, interior items that would fit in the style of a museum, and not a modern city apartment … In the reflection, out of the corner of his eye, he saw himself: a dissonant spot of a green khaki jacket, disheveled chestnut hair – an image that seemed completely out of place, as if from another universe, which ended up in an aristocratic nest not according to plan.
