Read Online The Doorkeepers by Graham Masterton - Free Book Online

that?”
    â€œJosh,” said Nancy, “what happened to Julia was terrible. But you mustn’t let it push you off the edge.”
    â€œNo, well, no, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. But I’d still like to know what that rhyme means. And
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
What was that all about? Why do I have to be nimble? Why do I have to be quick?”
    â€œBecause we’ve arrived, sir,” put in PC Smart, pulling up in front of their hotel. It was beginning to rain, and a few large spots were measling the sidewalks.
    â€œHave a good evening, sir. Detective Sergeant Paul will be in touch with you tomorrow. Oh, and just a word of advice. I know you’ve probably seen all these TV programs where an American comes over to London and sorts out a crime that the poor old British woodentops can’t make head nor tail of. But the team we’ve got on your sister’s case, they’re absolutely shit-hot. So there’s no need to try any amateur detective-work of your own. Just relax while you’re here, and enjoy the sights, if you get my drift.”
    â€œWere you specially instructed to tell me that?
    PC Smart nodded. His cheeks were bright pink and he only shaved in two small patches on either side of his chin.
    â€œNo amateur detective-work?” Josh retorted. “This is the city of Sherlock Holmes!”
    â€œSherlock Holmes was a story, sir. This is real. And the point is, if you did find something, you might compromise valuable evidence without even realizing what you were doing.”
    â€œAll right,” said Josh, as he climbed awkwardly out of the car. “Drift got.”
    All the same, he and Nancy went to collect 200 posters of Julia from the Kall-Kwik copy shop, as well as two boxes of thumbtacks, and they spent over two hours fastening them to fence posts and gates and the scabby gray-green trunks of plane trees. They stopped for half an hour at Pizza Express, and for once the coffee was tolerable and the pizzawas marginally tastier than they would have been served in the States.
    Nancy said, “I want to make sure that you stay balanced, Josh. I know you have to grieve, but don’t let your grieving drive you crazy.”
    Josh was coping with a mouthful of hot pepperoni. “I wohmp.”
    â€œLike, if we find out anything, we tell the police, OK? We don’t try to follow it up on our own?”
    Josh swallowed, and wiped his mouth. “We haven’t found out anything yet, and I don’t think we’re likely to.”
    â€œBut if we do.”
    â€œEven if we do, how are we going to be able to tell if it’s serious or not? They don’t speak English here, they speak Sarcastic. ‘Wordsworth went home and wrote it’ – haw, haw, haw. No wonder they lost the Colonies.”
    By the time they had finished their pizza it had stopped raining and a sick, watery sunlight was shining down the Earl’s Court Road. They fastened their “Have You Seen This Girl?” posters of Julia on to the front of their windbreakers with safety pins and stood against the railings right outside the station entrance. Rush hour was approaching, and every time a train arrived another surge of people came hurrying out, all elbows and umbrellas and grim, tired, determined faces. At the same time there was a sluggish cross-tide of people walking up and down the sidewalk in front of the station, and people stopping to buy copies of the
Evening Standard
from the newsstand, and people just milling around as if they had nothing to do and no place to go.
    Josh and Nancy stood there for three and a half hours, until the rush hour subsided and the streetlights came on. They had almost given up when a black mongrel with a pointed nose came trotting out of the station entrance. It wore bells around its collar and a little sheepskin coat. It seemed to be on its own, and Josh immediately stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave it