"Do you remember that we were at David Rowan's school today?" Alfred Barrow is working in this company. I'm going to Sant... - Ronald Warner said.

- You know what I just found? - Jack Waiton said, and went back to the open window.

The detective showed the journalist five fingerprints on the glass of an open window and traces of soles on the windowsill.

Warner ran a scan and gave the photos Charles Berde, which hid the package in his jacket pocket.

- I went to St. Monica's, room second... - Ronald Warner said.

Burrow came into the house on his walk... - Jack Waiton said.

- I agree... - Ronald Warner replied.

This conversation was on September 5, 2010, at 11 a.m., when Waiton and Warner arrived at 123, sitting in a police car. At eleven o'clock and three minutes in the morning, Waiton and Warner got out of the car, approached the house 123, knocked on the door. Stephen Farlington let. Waiton aimed the gun at Victor Jenkins. Warner called the Darly police.

At 11:20 PM Ronald Warner, Jack Waiton, Stephen Farlington brought villains on the street, put in a police car. Stephen Ferrington with his family went to the hospital. Warner looked at Alfred burrow's gun, saw something familiar. Warner and Jack Waiton got into a police car, came to the Darlington police building, questioned.

- Magnel. Yesterday, we were told by forensics that your fingerprints were in the Walters family house in room 7... - Warner said.

- Yeah. I went into Walters' house, went into room 7, talked to Helen, Alex and Fred, pulled out a gun, fired. I took my laptop from the table, hid it in my backpack, climbed on the windowsill, climbed over, went down the fire escape, ran away... - Jenkins said.

- Did you set a time for Sant? - Waiton asked.

- My brother always sets the time... - answer Jenkins.

Sixth chapter

Later, after passing through the house, he noticed closed private rooms that open up to those who can afford to get randomly caught, stupid, naive people, for the elect, for dolls. In the first floor, in the living room, on the wall, near the stationery, next to the fireplace hung an introductory map, on which Warner remembered the location of some rooms. In the garden where grasses, bushes, trees, fruits, berries, vegetables grew, poisonous-white walls shattered the whole space, dimming the sunlight, and in the far corner stood a small fountain, on the edges of which for some reason gas and fluorescent lamps were glued . The atmosphere was reminiscent of color photographs taken by Warner's first camera. The darkness of the garden made feelings of detachment, irrevocable completeness, sadness, pity, something unshakable, pressing on the whole human being. Something could have gone a different way, it would be a vivid memory, a happy fragment of reality, if there were holidays last, now there were sickening sensations, as if you were on a normal, cold, hungry, dirty street, making raids with beggars, under the guidance of the illiterate "Chickens" to the dead sources and to the active dump of broken equipment. Someone knew how to become successful, joyful, but well-being would be shock, uncomfortable and scary for an invisible ghost, someone could make you a toy, weak-willed, asking for calm and food, able to cry and work for free. It seemed to be a neutral and unintelligent phenomenon.

He recalled his childhood song "Hey, Dad, I`m sleeping" and coordinated this with reality, as it was in fact so. Singing the verse in the subconscious, Warner took heart, walked out of the dark into the light and saw first the disheveled gray hair on the cook's head, then her fists red from the blood, and only then, a minute later, the boy's head, cut off from the neck, lying on the glass vase, behind the gallery door. Blood was spraying everywhere and everywhere, mud drips accumulated in puddles and frightened away the favorable mood of Mr. Tracker.

- Vincent broke your mug, I usually bank it for guests, since it cost a lot of money in due time, which is beyond my power, because I lost my job early because of scandals in the psychological center, where I worked before inviting this house. Then everything happened extremely quickly, and I did not have time to understand what was happening, and when I was taken here as a cook and a nanny for small children, I gladly clung to this vacancy, it was so great. And when paranoid bursts were discovered, I tried to hide somewhere, just to survive all the emotions. But, as Mr. Ralph Golden and Dr. Jerry Goodyear forced me to take over, very often I could not concentrate on the most simple things, things fell out of my hands, the children did not listen to me, I threw off my experiences on them a lot. From the mansion made crazy. the hospital was called the "Monica Sanatorium" in honor of the real holy sister of mercy, before there was a church parish, a church stood separately, but it was demolished. And now - as you can see, I am one, even though the cook, but the whole economy remains on me ... - the woman spoke in knocked-down phrases, spitting out blood clots and trying to squeeze her fists in her palm, but her stern look, like the Greek Gorgone Medusa from the legend, did unimaginable miracles.

Ronald Warner took out his smart phone, dialed 999 and got through to the Darley division of the DRC, connecting with the dispatcher, he asked to come to Payment Hall, to the “Monica Sanatorium”, home 3444. However, I did not manage to finish the conversation with the operator when the lady knocked out he had a telephone in his hands, crushed him into pieces with hard soles of shoes, and the man himself was struck unconsciously in the throat, in the region of the carotid artery.

Seventh chapter

He was in a strange neutral position - between limited life and the darkness of death, heard some echoes, words and a knock on the wooden surface somewhere in the far rooms, could not open sleepy eyes, because their weight was oppressive and dull. He tried to rise, stand up on his feet, but the water gurgled everywhere, as if in a Texas waterfall, because knowing all the signs, he could convince himself of that. His mouth was closed, but his breathing became much more difficult, and he did not know how he managed to get into such an incredible event.

Mrs. Glans drowned him by tying his hands to the handles on the railing of the fountain. Ronald Warner was in the garden, from where he had previously tried to get out, and where the trouble had come. Romulus Tompkins, Jane Farrain and Jack Waiton stood outside the front door, but they uselessly knocked on the bars on the windows and shouted at the ventilation pipe, the end of which hung on the window ledge, and the middle of it turned into a greenhouse. Apparently, their friend either hid and waited around the house, being in ambush, or had a conversation with the cook. The only thing that stopped the logical versions was that the circumstances were not connected with thoughts: for any reason, detective Warner could come out for a minute and say ideas on this matter. He did not appear before them, no matter how much they swore there.