Why didn't you scream? she asked herself. Why didn't you yell for
help while you could hold the door shut? It's unlikely anyone would
hear you in soundly built apartments like these, but at least it was
worth a try when you had a chance.
But she knew why she didn't cry out. She was Sarah Piper. She had
never called for help in her life. She had always solved her own
problems, had always fought her own battles. She was tough and proud of
it. She did not scream.
She was terrified, trembling, sick with fear, but she knew that she had
to die the same way she had lived. If she broke now, whimpered and
mewled when there wasn't any chance of salvation, she would be making a
lie of her life. If her life was to have meant anything, anything at
all, she would have to die as she had lived: resolute, proud, tough.
She spat in his face.
'Homicide.'
'I want to speak to a detective.'
'What's his name?'
'Any detective. I don't care.'
'Is this an emergency?'
'Yes.'
'Where are you calling from?'
'Never mind. I want a detective.'
'I'm required to take your address, telephone number, name-'
'Stuff it! Let me talk to a detective or I'll hang up.'
'Detective Martin speaking.'
'I just killed a woman.'
'Where are you calling from?'
'Her apartment.'
'What's the address?'
'She was very beautiful.'
'What's the address?'
'A lovely girl.'
'What was her name?'
'Sarah.'
'Do you know her last name?'
' Piper.
'Will you spell that?'
'P-i-p-e-r.'
'Sarah Piper.'
'That's right.'
'What's your name?'
'The Butcher.'
'What's your real name?'
'I'm not going to tell you.'
'Yes, you are. That's why you called.'
'No. I called to tell you I'm going to kill some more people before the
night's out.'
'Who?'
'One of them is the woman I love.'
