'Yes.'
'Do you live alone here?'
'Yes.'
'No husband?'
'No.'
'Boyfriend?'
'He doesn't live here.'
'You expecting him tonight?'
'No.'
'Are you lying to me?'
'It's the truth. I swear.'
She was pale under her dusky complexion.
'If you're lying to me,' he said, 'I'll cut your pretty face to ribbons.'
He raised the blade, put the point against her cheek. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
'Are you expecting anyone at all?'
'No.'
'What's your name?'
'Sally.'
'Okay, Sally, I want to ask you a few questions, but not here, not like this.'
She opened her eyes. Tears on the lashes. One trickling down her face. She swallowed hard. 'What do you want?'
'I have some questions about Katherine.'
She frowned. 'I don't know any Katherine.'
'You know her as Hilary Thomas.'
Her frown deepened. 'The woman in Westwood?'
'You cleaned her house today.'
'But ... I don't know her. I've never met her.'
'We'll see about that.'
'It's the truth. I don't know anything about her.'
'Perhaps you know more than you think you do.'
'No. Really.'
'Come on,' he said, working hard to keep a smile on his face and a friendly note in his voice. 'Let's go into the bedroom where we can do this more comfortably.'
Her shaking became worse, almost epileptic. 'You're going to rape me, aren't you?'
'No, no.'
'Yes, you are.'
Frye was barely able to control his anger. He was angry that she was arguing with him. He was angry that she was so damned reluctant to move. He wished that he could ram the knife into her belly and cut the information out of her, but, of course, he couldn't do that. He wanted to know where Hilary Thomas was hiding. It seemed to him that the best way to get that information was to break this woman the way he might break a length of heavy wire: bend her repeatedly back and forth until she snapped, bend her one way with threats and another way with cajolery, alternate minor violence with friendliness and sympathy. He did not even consider the possibility that she might be willing to tell him everything she knew. To his way of thinking, she was employed by Hilary Thomas, therefore by Katherine, and was consequently part of Katherine's plot to kill him. This woman was not merely an innocent bystander. She was Katherine's handmaiden, a conspirator, perhaps even another of the living dead. He expected her to hide information from him and to give it up only grudgingly.
'I promise that I'm not going to rape you,' he said softly, gently. 'But while I question you, I want you to be flat on your back, so that it'll be harder for you to try to get up and run. I'll feel safer if you're on your back. So if you're going to have to lay down for a while, you might as well do it on a nice soft mattress rather than on a hard floor. I'm only thinking of your comfort, Sally.'
'I'm comfortable here,' she said nervously.
'Don't be silly,' he said, 'Besides, if someone comes up on the front porch to ring the bell ... he might hear us and figure that something's wrong. The bedroom will be more private. Come on now. Come on. Upsy-daisy.'
She got to her feet.
He held the knife on her.
They went into the bedroom.
***
Hilary was not much of a drinker, but she was glad that she had a glass of good whiskey as she sat on the couch in Joshua Rhinehart's
