'Color of hair?'
'Dirty blond.'
'Long or short?'
'Medium length.'
'Eyes?'
'Yes.'
'What?'
'Yes, he had eyes.'
'Miss Thomas--'
'Okay, okay.'
'This is serious.'
'He had blue eyes. An unusual shade of blue-gray.'
'Age?'
'Around forty.'
'Any distinguishing characteristics?'
'Like what?'
'You mentioned something about his voice.'
'That's right. He had a deep voice. It rumbled. A gravelly voice. Deep and gruff and scratchy.'
'All right,' Lieutenant Howard said, rocking slightly on his heels, evidently pleased with himself. 'We have a good description of the assailant. Now, describe Bruno Frye for me.'
'I just did.'
'No, no. We're pretending that you didn't know the man who attacked you. We're playing this little game to humor me. Remember? You just described your assailant, a man without a name. Now, I want you to describe Bruno Frye for me.'
She turned to Lieutenant Clemenza. 'Is this really necessary?' she asked exasperatedly.
Clemenza said, 'Frank, can you hurry this along?'
'Look, I've got a point I'm trying to make,' Lieutenant Howard said. 'I'm building up to it the best way I know how. Besides, she's the one slowing it down.'
He turned to her, and again she had the creepy feeling she was on trial in another century and that Howard was some religious inquisitionist. If Clemenza would permit it, Howard would simply take hold of her and shake until she gave the answers he wanted, whether or not they were the truth.
'Miss Thomas,' he said, 'if you'll just answer all of my questions, I'll be finished in a few minutes. Now, will you describe Bruno Frye?'
Disgustedly, she said, 'Six-four, two hundred and forty pounds, muscular, blond, blue-gray eyes, about forty years old, no scars, no deformities, no tattoos, a deep gravelly voice.'
Frank Howard was smiling. It was not a friendly smile. 'Your description of the assailant and Bruno Frye are exactly the same. Not a single discrepancy. Not one. And of course, you've told us that they were, in fact, one and the same man.'
His line of questioning seemed ridiculous, but there was surely a purpose to it. He wasn't stupid. She sensed that already she had stepped into the trap, even though she could not see it.
'Do you want to change your mind?' Howard asked. 'Do you want to say that perhaps there's a small chance it was someone else, someone who only resembled Frye?'
'I'm not an idiot,' Hilary said. 'It was him.'
'There wasn't even maybe some slight difference between your assailant and Frye? Some little thing?' he persisted.
'No.'
'Not even the shape of his nose or the line of his jaw?' Howard asked.
'Not even that.'
'You're certain that Frye and your assailant shared precisely the same hairline, exactly the same cheekbones, the same chin?'
'Yes.'
'Are you positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was Bruno Frye who was here tonight?'
'Yes.'
'Would you swear to that in court?'
'Yes, yes, yes!' she said, tired of his badgering.
'Well, then. Well, well. I'm afraid if you testified to that effect, you'd wind up in jail yourself. Perjury's a crime.'
