|Publisher:||Turner Publishing Company|
|Product dimensions:||5.40(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.90(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
I sneaked past the beds and bathroom and down to the door, and placed my right eye to the peephole. A huge, magnified eye, pathologically dilated, stared back at me.
The network news came on. There was ten minutes of a war taking place somewhere, and then a reporter from the affiliate in Philadelphia appeared on the screen. He was standing in front of a hotel. A murdered transsexual, Courtney Corbett, nee Charley Clabbert, had been found buried beneath half a ton of dirty bed linen in the basement laundry room. Courtney had been sexually violated and then strangled with her own wide-mesh panty hose. This was the third such transsexual murder during the last week. A new serial killer had arrived on the American scene. A psychological profile of the murderer indicated that he was probably a man suffering from unresolved conflicts. An FBI spokesman advised all transsexuals to take special precautions during the days and weeks to come.
I jumped up and returned to the door. The eye was gone. I went out into the hallway. The laundry chute was located in a recessed section of the wall: to the right and left were doors, one to a broom closet and the other opening into a small room containing a sink and mop buckets. The visible part of the chute was an aluminum strip about a yard wide. I opened the oven-type door and stuck my head inside the shaft. My breathing was amplified by the empty vertical space. I looked up, wary of descending laundry. Looked down. You could not see very far but the chute probably ran the entire height of the building.
Laundry dropped from the floors above might fall past with a hissing whisper. A transsexual, falling at thirty-two feet per second and accelerating, would rush by with a reverberant bang and clatter, a tinny din. I wondered, say a citizen was passing along the corridor at the same instant a body hurtled noisily down the chute—would the citizen be able to observe the Doppler effect?
I barricaded myself in the room, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was innocent, probably.
What People are Saying About This
“One of those steady writers who always turns out a superior story. . . . Faust has created a fugitive for all seasons.”
“A writer of enormous talent, a stylist to admire and a storyteller of great power.”
—Scott Turow, author of Presumed Innocent
“Faust writes beautifully . . . he reminds you of Hemingway and Peter Matthiessen. . . . Faust has it all: lyrical prose, complex characters and provocative plots.”
“Faust’s clear, unadorned prose and his deft, pure characterization ring with the force of Hemingway or Graham Greene.”