Читать онлайн «Last Winter We Parted»
Автор Fuminori Nakamura
Annotation
A young writer arrives at a prison to interview a man arrested for homicide. He has been commissioned to write a full account of the case, from its bizarre and grisly details to the nature of the man behind the crime. The suspect, while world-renowned as a photographer, has a deeply unsettling portfolio — lurking beneath the surface of each photograph is an acutely obsessive fascination with his subject.
He stands accused of murdering two women — both burned alive — and will likely face the death penalty. But something isn't quite right, and as the young writer probes further, his doubts about this man as a killer intensify. He soon discovers the desperate, twisted nature of all who are connected to the case, struggling to maintain his sense of reason and justice. What could possibly have motivated this man to use fire as a torturous murder weapon? Is he truly guilty, or will he die to protect someone else?
The suspect has a secret — it may involve his sister, who willfully leads men to their destruction, or the "puppeteer," an enigmatic figure who draws in those who have suffered the loss of someone close to them. As the madness at the heart of the case spins out of control, the confusion surrounding it only deepens. What terrifying secrets will this impromptu investigator unearth as he seeks the truth behind these murders?
Fuminori Nakamura
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Fuminori Nakamura
Last Winter We Parted
to M. M. and J. I.
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“IT’S SAFE TO say you killed them … Isn’t that right?”
The man’s expression does not change when I say this to him. He is wearing a black sweat suit, his body leaning lazily in his chair. If the transparent acrylic glass weren’t between us, would I be afraid? His cheeks are hollow, his eyes slightly sunken.
“I’ve had my doubts all along but … why did you … after the murder, Akiko’s …”
He remains expressionless. He seems neither sad nor angry. He just seems tired. The man had been born tired.
I can hear his voice quite clearly even through the acrylic glass.
“Huh?”
The air suddenly grows chilly.
The man is looking straight at me. He hasn’t shifted his gaze once, not for some time now.
He moves only his mouth — otherwise not a single muscle in his face shifts.
