Strangers by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page B

Parfrey’s interviews with Cody Hatcher and various other individuals, copies of the sheriff’s probable cause declaration and other paperwork, and clippings of news stories from the weekly Mineral Springs Miner about the rapes and Cody’s arrest.
    Many of the facts I had already gotten from Cheryl and Parfrey, but some of the details were new. The circumstances of the three rapes were nearly identical—late-night break-ins by masked intruder, whispered threats and in the one case a minor wound inflicted by hunting knife, “simple” sexual assault (simple meaning vaginal penetration only, no sodomy or oral copulation), and then rapid flight. In all three cases, entrance and exit had been through doors and windows that were either left unlocked or easily and quietly breached. The perp had also stolen small amounts of money and other valuables from the victims’ bedrooms; he hadn’t wasted any time ransacking the homes before making his getaways.
    The three women were of different ages, ethnic backgrounds, and according to Parfrey’s notes, physical types. The first: Haiwee Allen, age 41, Native American of Shoshone heritage; widowed, no children; occupation: crafts maker. The second: Estella Guiterrez, age 33, Latina born in Mexico, emigrated to the U.S. with her husband nine years ago; married, husband employed at the Eastwell Mine #2, one child, eleven years old, away on an overnight visit with a friend at the time of the rape; occupation: cleaning woman. The third: Margaret Simmons, 54, Caucasian; married, husband employed at the Hammersmith Mine, two grown children living out of state; occupation: auto parts store clerk.
    So it was pretty clear that the rapist, whoever he was, didn’t care who or how old his victims were or what they looked like. Power, control, and hatred were his motivators, the objects of his mania women he knew would be alone and their homes vulnerable. How he came by that information was anybody’s guess. But this was a small town where a lot of things were either common knowledge or easily discovered. It would not have taken much in the way of observation or checking for the perp to find out what he wanted to know and then to make his picks and his plans.
    All right. So now I had sufficient information to begin a cautious investigation, but no matter whom I talked to or how I went about it, I would be working half-blind against stacked odds—still, and for the duration, a stranger in a strange land. Where to start? Max Stendreyer was at or near the top of the list of people to talk to, but before I did that I needed a better handle on Cody Hatcher’s relationship with him. One of Cody’s friends ought to be willing to open up to me, once I made it clear that I was here to try to help him.
    Start with the one closest to him, then—his twenty-year-old girlfriend, Alana Farmer.
    *   *   *
    The Sunshine Hair Salon, where Alana Farmer worked part-time as a stylist, turned out to be in a strip mall a couple of blocks off Main Street. When I walked in there I got an openly curious, slightly suspicious once-over from the three hairdressers and two customers present. All of them were women; it was obvious that men didn’t often invade this place with its mixed odors of chemicals and shampoo sweetness, and the fact that I was a long-in-the-tooth stranger made my presence even more suspect.
    I put on a smile that none of them answered in kind and asked for Alana Farmer. The willowy young blonde sitting alone in the middle cubicle stood up, frowning. “I’m Alana. You want a haircut?”
    â€œNo. A few minutes of your time, if you’re not busy.”
    One of the other stylists, an older woman with frizzy orange hair, said to me, “If you’re a salesman, I’m the owner and the person to talk to.”
    â€œI’m not a salesman,” I said. “Private matter with Ms. Farmer.”
    The girl said