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cause you can； and I'm interested in what you have to say。〃
〃Ummm。 That's good；〃 Dolarhyde said softly。 Clearly this little speech was very important to her。 Was she inviting him into the two…category club with her and the Chinese paraplegic？ He wondered what his second category was。
Her next statement was incredible to him。
〃May I touch your face？ I want to know if you're smiling or frowning。〃 Wryly； now。 〃I want to know whether to just shut up or not。〃
She raised her hand and waited。
How well would she get around with her fingers bitten off？ Dolarhyde mused。 Even in street teeth he could do it as easily as biting off breadsticks。 If he braced his heels on the floor； his weight back on the couch； and locked both hands on her wrist； she could never pull away from him in time。 Crunch； crunch； crunch； crunch； maybe leave the thumb。 For measuring pies。
He took her wrist between his thumb and forefinger and turned her shapely； hard…used hand in the light。 There were many small scars on it； and several new nicks and abrasions。 A smooth scar on the back might have been a burn。
Too close to home。 Too early in his Being。 She wouldn't be there to look at anymore。
To ask this incredible thing； she could know nothing personal about him。 She had not gossiped。
〃Take my word that I'm smiling；〃 he said。 Okay on the S。 It was true that he had a sort of smile which exposed his handsome public teeth。
He held her wrist above her lap and released it。 Her hand settled to her thigh and half…closed； fingers trailing on the cloth like an averted glance。
〃I think the coffee's ready；〃 she said。
〃I'm going。〃 Had to go。 Home for relief。
She nodded。 〃If I offended you； I didn't mean to。〃
〃No。〃
She stayed on the ottoman； listened to be sure the lock clicked as he left。
Reba MeClane made herself another gin and tonic。 She put on some Segovia records and curled up on the couch。 Dolarhyde had left a warm dent in the cushion。 Traces of him remained in the air … shoe polish； a new leather belt； good shaving lotion。
What an intensely private man。 She had heard only a few references to him at the office … Dandridge saying 〃that son of a bitch Dolarhyde〃 to one of his toadies。
Privacy was important to Reba。 As a child； learning to cope after she lost her sight； she had had no privacy at all。
Now； in public； she could never be sure that she was not watched。 So Francis Dolarhyde's sense of privacy appealed to her。 She had not felt one ion of sympathy from him； and that was good。
So was this gin。
Suddenly the Segovia sounded busy。 She put on her whale songs。
Three tough months in a new town。 The winter to face； finding curbs in the snow。 Reba MeClane； leggy and brave； damned self…pity。 She would not have it。 She was aware of a deep vein of cripple's anger in her and； while she could not get rid of it； she made it work for her； fueling her drive for independence； strengthening her determination to wring all she could from every day。
In her way； she was a hard one。 Faith in any sort of natural justice was nothing but a night…light； she knew that。 Whatever she did； she would end the same way everyone does： flat on her back with a tube in her nose； wondering 〃Is this all？〃
She knew that she would never have the light； but there were things she could have。 There were things to enjoy。 She had gotten pleasure from helping her students； and the pleasure was oddly intensified by the knowledge that she would be neither rewarded nor punished for helping them。
In making friends she was ever wary of people who foster dependency and feed on it。 She had been involved with a few … the blind attract them； and they are the enemy。
Involved。 Reba knew that she was physically attractive to men … God knows enough of them copped a feel with their knuckles when they grabbed her upper arm。
She liked sex very much； but years ago she had learned something basic about men； most of them are terrified of entailing a burden。 Their fear was augmented in her case。
She did not like for a man to creep in and out of her bed as though he were stealing chickens。
Ralph Mandy was ing to take her to dinner。 He had a particularly cowardly mew about being so scarred by life that he was incapable of love。 Careful Ralph told her that too often； and it scalded her。 Ralph was amusing； but she didn't want to own him。
She didn't want to see Ralph。 She didn't feel like making conversation and hearing the hitches in conversations around them as people watched her eat。
It would be so nice to be wanted by someone with the courage to get his hat or stay as he damn pleased； and who gave her credit for the same。 Someone who didn't worry about her。
Francis Dolarhyde … shy； with a linebacker's body and no bullshit。 She had never seen or touched a cleft lip and had no visual associations with the sound。 She wondered if Dolarhyde thought she understood him easily because 〃blind people hear so much better than we do。〃 That was a mon myth。 Maybe she should have explained to him that it was not true； that blind people simply pay more attention to what they hear。
There were so many misconceptions about the blind。 She wondered if Dolarhyde shared the popular belief that the blind are 〃purer in spirit〃 than most people； that they are somehow sanctified by their affliction。 She smiled to herself。 That one wasn't true either。
CHAPTER 32
The Chicago police worked under a media blitz； a nightly news 〃countdown〃 to the next full moon。 Eleven days were left。
Chicago families were frightened。
At the same time； attendance rose at horror movies that should have died at the drive…ins in a week。 Fascination and horror。 The entrepreneur who hit the punk…rock market with 〃Tooth Fairy〃 T…shirts came out with an alternate line that said 〃The Red Dragon Is a One…Night Stand。〃 Sales were divided about equally between the two。
Jack Crawford himself had to appear at a news conference with police officials after the funeral。 He had received orders from Above to make the federal presence more visible； he did not make it more audible； as he said nothing。
When heavily manned investigations have little to feed on； they tend to turn upon themselves； covering the same ground over and over； beating it flat。 They take on the circular shape of a hurricane or a zero。
Everywhere Graham went he found detectives； cameras； a rush of uniformed men； and the incessant crackle of radios。 He needed to be still。
Crawford； ruffled from his news conference； found Graham at nightfall in the quiet of an unused jury room on the floor above the U。S。 prosecutor's office。
Good lights hung low over the green felt jury table where Graham spread out his papers and photographs。 He had taken off his coat and tie and he was slumped in a chair staring at two photographs。
The Leedses' framed picture stood before him and beside it； on a clipboard propped against a carafe； was a picture of the Jacobis。
Graham's pictures reminded Crawford of a bullfighter's folding shrine； ready to be set up in any hotel room。 There was no photograph of Lounds。 He suspected that Graham had not been thinking about the Lounds case at all。 He didn't need trouble with G