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
