Red Dragon - Thomas Harris [124]
“Could they give a description?”
"The younger one did. Quiet, husky, dark mustache and hair - a wig, I think. The guard at the door said the same thing. The older woman - he could've been in a rabbit suit for all she saw.
“But he didn't kill anybody.”
“Odd,” Crawford said. “He'd have been better off to wax 'em both - he could have been sure of his lead time leaving and saved himself a description or two. Behavioral Science called Bloom in the hospital about it. You know what he said? Bloom said maybe he's trying to stop.”
? HYPERLINK “” \l “CONTENTS” ??
Red Dragon
CHAPTER 44
Dolarhyde heard the flaps moan down. The Tights of St. Louis wheeled slowly beneath the black wing. Under his feet the landing gear rumbled into a rush of air and locked down with a thud.
He rolled his head on his shoulders to ease the stiffness in his powerful neck.
Coming home.
He had taken a great risk, and the prize he brought back was the power to choose. He could choose to have Reba McCIane alive. He could have her to talk to, and he could have her startling and harmless mobility in his bed.
He did not have to dread his house. He had the Dragon in his belly now. He could go into his house, walk up to a copy Dragon on the wall and wad him up if be wanted to.
He did not have to worry about feeling Love for Reba. If he felt Love for her, he could toss the Shermans to the Dragon and ease it that way, go back to Reba calm and easy, and treat her well.
From the terminal Dolarhyde telephoned her apartment. Not home yet. He tried Baeder Chemical. The night line was busy. He thought of Reba walking toward the bus stop after work, tapping along with her cane, her raincoat over her shoulders.
He drove to the film laboratory through the light evening traffic in less than fifteen minutes.
She wasn't at the bus stop. He parked on the street behind Baeder Chemical, near the entrance closest to the darkrooms. He'd tell her he was here, wait until she had finished working, and drive her home. He was proud of his new power to choose. He wanted to use it.
There were things he could catch up on in his office while he waited.
Only a few lights were on in Baeder Chemical.
Reba's darkroom was locked. The light above the door was neither red nor green. It was off. He pressed the buzzer. No response.
Maybe she had left a message in his office.
He heard footsteps in the corridor.
The Baeder supervisor, Dandridge, passed the darkroom area and never looked up. He was walking fast and carrying a thick bundle of buff personnel files under his arm.
A small crease appeared in Dolarhyde's forehead.
Dandridge was halfway across the parking lot, heading for the Gateway building, when Dolarhyde came out of Baeder behind him.
Two delivery vans and half a dozen cars were on the lot. That Buick belonged to Fisk, Gateway's personnel director. What were they doing?
There was no night shift at Gateway. Much of the building was dark. Dolarhyde could see by the red exit signs in the corridor as he went toward his office. The lights were on behind the frosted glass door of the personnel department. Dolarhyde heard voices in there, Dandridge's for one, and Fisk's.
A woman's footsteps coming. Fisk's secretary turned the corner into the corridor ahead of Dolarhyde. She had a scarf tied over her curlers and she carried ledgers from Accounting. She was in a hurry. The ledgers were heavy, a big armload. She pecked on Fisk's office door with her toe.
Will Graham opened it for her.
Dolarhyde froze in the dark hall. His gun was in his van.
The office door closed again.
Dolarhyde moved fast, his running shoes quiet on the smooth floor. He put his face close to the glass of the exit door and scanned the parking lot. Movement now under the floodlights. A man moving. He was beside one of the delivery vans and he had a flashlight. Flicking something. He was dusting the outside mirror for fingerprints.
Behind Dolarhyde, somewhere in the corridors,