Whispers by Dean Koontz Page B

two uniformed patrolmen, Whitlock and Farmer, were digging bullets out of the walls.
    There was not a fingerprint man in the house because, according to the complainant, the intruder had worn gloves.
    “What’s he doing now?” Hilary Thomas asked.
    “Who?”
    “Lieutenant Howard.”
    “He’s calling headquarters and asking someone to get in touch with the sheriff’s office up there in Napa County, where Frye lives.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, for one thing, maybe the sheriff can find out how Frye got to L.A.”
    “What’s it matter how he got here?” she asked. “The important thing is that he’s here and he’s got to be found and stopped.”
    “If he flew down,” Tony said, “it doesn’t matter much at all. But if Frye drove to L.A., the sheriff up in Napa County might be able to find out what car he used. With a description of the vehicle and a license number, we’ve got a better chance of nailing him before he gets too far.”
    She considered that for a moment, then said, “Why did Lieutenant Howard go to the kitchen? Why didn’t he just use the phone in here?”
    “I guess he wanted you to have a few minutes of peace and quiet,” Tony said uneasily.
    “I think he just didn’t want me to hear what he was saying.”
    “Oh, no. He was only—”
    “You know, I have the strangest feeling,” she said, interrupting him. “I feel like I’m the suspect instead of the victim.”
    “You’re just tense,” he said. “Understandably tense.”
    “It isn’t that. It’s something about the way you’re acting toward me. Well . . . not so much you as him.”
    “Frank can seem cool at times,” Tony said. “But he’s a good detective.”
    “He thinks I’m lying.”
    Tony was surprised by her perspicacity. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “I’m sure he doesn’t think any such thing.”
    “He does,” she insisted. “And I don’t understand why.” Her eyes fixed on his. “Level with me. Come on. What is it? What did I say wrong?”
    He sighed. “You’re a perceptive lady.”
    “I’m a writer. It’s part of my job to observe things a little more closely than most people do. And I’m also persistent. So you might as well answer my question and get me off your back.”
    “One of the things that bothers Lieutenant Howard is the fact that you know the man who attacked you.”
    “So?”
    “This is awkward,” he said unhappily.
    “Let me hear it anyway.”
    “Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “Conventional police wisdom says that if the complainant in a rape or an attempted rape knows the victim, there’s a pretty good chance that she contributed to the crime by enticing the accused to one degree or another.”
    “Bullshit!”
    She got up, went to the desk, and stood with her back to him for a minute. He could see that she was struggling to maintain her composure. What he had said had made her extremely angry.
    When she turned to him at last, her face was flushed. She said, “This is horrible. It’s outrageous. Every time a woman is raped by someone she knows, you actually believe she asked for it.”
    “No. Not every time.”
    “But most of the time, that’s what you think,” she said angrily.
    “No.”
    She glared at him. “Let’s stop playing semantical games. You believe it about me . You believe I enticed him.”
    “No,” Tony said. “I merely explained what conventional police wisdom is in a case like this. I didn’t say that I put much faith in conventional police wisdom. I don’t. But Lieutenant Howard does. You asked me about him. You wanted to know what he was thinking, and I told you.”
    She frowned. “Then . . . you believe me?”
    “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
    “It happened exactly the way I said.”
    “All right.”
    She stared at him. “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why do you believe me when he doesn’t?”
    “I can think of only two reasons for a woman to bring false rape charges against a man. And neither of them makes any sense