Аннотация
Barbara Cleverly
Killing By The Clock
The watcher crouched behind rubbish bins overflowing with a fortnight’s stinking detritus. The warm weather had come early to Cambridge this year and was causing him some discomfort. He stealthily changed his position, eased his limbs and averted his nose, trying to catch a fresh breeze down the alleyway. At least he had something pleasant to distract and occupy his other senses.
He allowed his gaze to be drawn back to the two girls standing, arms around each other’s waists, teetering on the edge of the pavement. Well, why not? Everyone within a hundred yards of them was staring at the couple. Skimpy skirts with low-slung belts glinting with silver discs, boob-tubes, and stiletto heels-the summer uniform of the Cambridge Working Girl. You couldn’t get away any longer with calling them “prostitutes.” The public felt more comfortable with the delusion created by the use of the innocent-sounding “girls,” and “working” suggested re...
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