The Face of Fear by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online Page B

before,” she said.
    Preduski was beside her on the couch. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. Truly sorry. It’s terribly late, too late for this. But there is something to be gained by asking the same questions two and even three times. You think you’ve told me all the pertinent facts. But it’s possible you overlooked something. God knows, I’m forever overlooking things. This questioning may seem redundant to you, but it’s the way I work. I have to go over things again and again to make sure I’ve done them right. I’m not proud of it. That’s just the way I am. Some other detective might get everything he needs the first time he speaks to you. Not me, I’m afraid. It was your misfortune that the call came in while I was on duty. Bear with me. I’ll be able to let you go home before much longer. I promise.”
    The woman glanced at Graham and cocked her head as if to say, Is this guy for real?
    Graham smiled.
    “How long had you known—the deceased?” Preduski asked.
    She said, “About a year.”
    “How well did you know her?”
    “She was my best friend.”
    “Do you think that in her eyes you were her best friend?”
    “Sure. I was her only friend.”
    Preduski raised his eyebrows. “People didn’t like her? ”
    “Of course they liked her,” Sarah Piper said. “What wasn’t to like? She just didn’t make friends easily. She was a quiet girl. She kept mostly to herself.”
    “Where did you meet her?”
    “At work.”
    “Where is work?”
    “You know that. The Rhinestone Palace.”
    “And what did she do there?”
    “You know that too.”
    Nodding, patting her knee in a strictly fatherly manner, the detective said, “That’s correct. I know it. But, you see, Mr. Harris doesn’t know it. I neglected to fill him in. My fault. I’m sorry. Would you tell him?”
    She turned to Graham. “Edna was a stripper. Just like me.”
    “I know the Rhinestone Palace,” Graham said.
    “You’ve been there?” Preduski asked.
    “No. But I know it’s fairly high class, not like most striptease clubs.”
    For a moment Preduski’s watery brown eyes seemed less out of focus than usual. He stared intently at Graham. “Edna Mowry was a stripper. How about that?”
    He knew precisely what the detective was thinking. On the Prine show he had said that the victim’s name might be Edna Dancer. He had not been right—but he had not been altogether wrong either ; for although her name was Mowry, she earned her living as a dancer.
    According to Sarah Piper, Edna had reported for work at five o’clock the previous evening. She performed a ten-minute act twice every hour for the next seven hours, peeling out of a variety of costumes until she was entirely nude. Between acts, dressed in a black cocktail dress, sans bra, she mixed with the customers—mostly men, alone and in groups—hustling drinks in a cautious, demure and stylish way that skipped successfully along the edge of the state’s B-girl laws. She had finished her last performance at twenty minutes of twelve and left the Rhinestone Palace no more than five minutes after that.
    “You think she came straight home?” Preduski asked.
    “She always did,” Sarah said. “She never wanted to go out and have fun. The Rhinestone Palace was all the night life she could stomach. Who could blame her?”
    Her voice wavered, as if she might begin to cry again.
    Preduski took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
    She let him hold it, and that appeared to give him an innocent pleasure. “Did you dance last evening?”
    “Yeah. Till midnight.”
    “When did you come here?”
    “A quarter of three.”
    “Why would you be visiting at that hour?”
    “Edna liked to sit and read all night. She never went to bed until eight or nine in the morning. I told her I’d stop around for breakfast and gossip. I often did.”
    “You’ve probably already told me ...” Preduski made a face: embarrassment, apology, frustration. “I’m sorry. This mind of