She was as greedy as she was beautiful.
She was also very dead.
So she belonged to me.
Why? Because I’m Detective Peter Selby of the New York City Police Department.
The young ones, the pretty ones, the ugly ones are mine. Just so long as they’re dead.
Sometimes it’s Park Avenue, sometimes it’s Greenwich Village, sometimes it’s a dingy West Side walk-up-but it’s always murder.
I stepped closer to take another look at the dead girl hanging from the overhead pipe. She twisted a slow inch to the right, hung motionless for a moment, and then, just as slowly, moved back again. Her feet cleared the floor about six inches, which put her face on a level with my own.
As best as I could judge, she had been somewhere between twenty and twenty-three, a fairly tall girl with shimmering black hair, a full-blown, narrow-waisted body and very long, very beautiful legs. She wore sheer dark nylons, rolled high on her thighs, and small black pumps with unusually high heels.
That was all. Above the taut round garters at the tops of her stockings, she was completely naked.
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