Dirty Harry 12 - The Dealer Of Death - Plot & Excerpts
He hadn’t been able to decide what his fascination was with her. But there was something that drew him to her. He still had to get himself a place to stay that night—he supposed some cheap hotel or boarding house would do, might as well stretch his two hundred dollars as far as he could—but he wasn’t really sleepy, exhausted yes, but sleepy no. He pulled up across the street from her apartment and looked up to her windows. The lights were still on. He could vaguely make out a woman. She seemed to be reading a book or else watching television. He wished he’d remembered to ask Turner for a pair of binoculars. It would have helped at this point. But the more he scrutinized the figure in the window the more he was convinced this wasn’t Sheila. Wrong build, wrong way of moving, wrong something. No more than ten minutes had elapsed since he’d begun his surveillance when another car came around the corner, then slowed, and came to a stop just in front of the building.
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