Night Kills (22 page)

There he was! There was his photograph!

It was an old mug shot, one where the camera had caught him by surprise with his mouth open so you could see his bad teeth. His hair looked greasy and all messed up over one ear, too.
Like it was combed with an eggbeater,
his mother used to say. He wished they'd used another photo.

A voice from the TV said, “New York police confirmed today that wanted multiple murderer Thomas Coulter, who fled when police attempted to arrest him at his apartment, is suspected of being responsible for the Torso Murders that have terrorized the city and baffled law enforcement officials for weeks.”

Holy Jesus!

How'd they come up with that? Was it some kind of trick?

No, he knew it wasn't a trick. He knew how the police worked, and it wasn't that way.

Of course, Coulter knew about the Torso Murders. They were national news.

And now I'm national news again.

The big stage.

The cops might have it wrong—big surprise. But I'm already wanted for three murders, so what's the difference? They sure as hell aren't gonna look for me any harder.

Cable news moved on to another story, then a commercial about some kind of vitamin supplement for dogs and cats.

Coulter was safe here, but he couldn't leave for a while, what with all the new publicity. Though he wasn't too worried about the photo, since it looked so little like him.

Sometimes a bad rap could have its advantages. Soon they'd be saying he was famous. Or infamous. Whatever. He knew there really wasn't any difference. His bad luck could be like good luck here.

Firmly back in the pantheon of celebrities, Coulter smiled.

His nerves were tingling too much for him to continue just lying there in bed, thinking wild thoughts and staring at a goddamned loser fly on the window. He should think of other things, give his mind a rest so his body could rest, too.

Why should dogs and cats need vitamin supplements? Wild animals never take them, and they do just fine.

You have to watch out for everything and everybody. Every goddamned thing in life is a racket.

The celebrity got up and paced.

 

Quinn and Fedderman entered the West Side brick building where Madeline had had her apartment. They did so separately, figuring someone other than the undercover cop at a well-concealed observation post across the street might be watching.

The undercover had reported there'd been no sign of the new Madeline for four days. During that time, the lights in her apartment windows never came on at night. And there still was no sign of anyone else observing the building, which of course might only mean that the somebody else was very skilled at his or her job.

Maybe the new Madeline was away on a visit somewhere, or maybe she'd moved out. Either way, Quinn figured it was time to take a look.

It would have been easy to see the super, flash their shields, and gain entry into the apartment, but there was always the possibility the super might talk.

Quinn and Fedderman met in the hall at the apartment door. Quinn, first in the building, had already tried to call up on the intercom from the lobby and hadn't gotten a reply. Still, they knocked and waited before going in.

Since the apartment was unoccupied, the door wouldn't be locked from the inside, and Fedderman was one of the best at using a lock pick. He had the door open and them in the apartment within three minutes.

Though the place was furnished, it was almost immediately obvious to a cop's eye that no one lived there. A thin layer of dust was visible on all the wood surfaces. It was hot, since the air conditioner wasn't running. There wasn't a sound that didn't filter in from outside, not even the refrigerator motor. The apartment even smelled empty.

Most of the furniture looked cheap, and what didn't look cheap was in some way damaged. There was a big pressed-wood combination bookcase, desk, and TV hutch along one wall. The books were all hardcovers without dust jackets and looked as if they'd been passed unread from tenant to tenant for years.

Quinn started with the living room. Fedderman began in the bedroom, and they worked toward each other. They looked in empty drawers and empty closets, in cabinets that held nothing other than roach traps, wadded rags, or empty cleaning or insecticide containers.

They searched for hiding places: inside light switch plates, the toilet tank, top closet shelves, beneath sofa and chair cushions, behind drapes, the outside backs of dresser drawers (a favorite place for people to tape envelopes and small packages that allowed the drawers to close all the way). They found nothing.

The refrigerator held very little: a few frozen dinners, an almost empty orange juice carton, and a withered tomato. A kitchen wastebasket, already emptied, yielded a week-old cash receipt from a deli in the neighborhood. It had been stuck to the bottom in something that had spilled there long ago. The receipt was for $9.63 and it wasn't itemized. Unhelpful.

When Quinn and Fedderman stood in the small galley kitchen, the final room of their search, Fedderman leaned back against the sink with his arms crossed and said what they both knew.

“The new Madeline's moved out.”

“And moved clean,” Quinn said. “This place might as well have been scrubbed by a pro.”

“There'll be fingerprints,” Fedderman said.

Quinn shook his head. “They won't do us much good. She wouldn't have been an E-Bliss client if her prints were on file.”

“We should have had her tailed whenever she left here,” Fedderman said.

Quinn shook his head again. “We've got only so much manpower, Feds.”

“The same old story. We need one cop for every dishonest citizen.”

“One honest cop,” Quinn said.

“Renz is gonna be plenty pissed off.”

“Like I am,” Quinn said.

It seldom took Pearl long to become a pest, and here it was her job.

Tony Lake stood up from the corner table in Raissen's and showed his consternation for only a second when he saw Jill walk in with Pearl. Then his customary radiant smile flashed across the room to the two women.

The tuxedoed maitre d' spoke for a few seconds with Jill, then unnecessarily swept an arm to direct her and the other woman across the exclusive and isolated restaurant. Raissen's hadn't been open long. It occupied the entire top floor of a midtown office building. There were several color-coded rooms. This was the red room, open only for lunch. It had red tinted crystal chandeliers trailing oval rubies, was carpeted in deep red, and had white tablecloths edged in red. Dark red drapes framed a dazzling view of Manhattan Island and beyond. Like the other rooms in the restaurant, it featured genuine silver settings and cut crystal.

Supposedly just back in town, Tony was expecting only Jill, and he was planning on entertaining her and perhaps taking her back to his apartment while hers would be available for other purposes. The time of client substitution was fast approaching, and everything had seemed to be going smoothly, until just now.

“This is my good friend Jewel,” Jill said, with a big grin. “We were supposed to meet for lunch today. I forgot all about it when you called. I didn't think you'd mind if I brought her along.”

Good friend.
Words Tony didn't like hearing.

He saw a short, slim-waisted woman in her late thirties or early forties with raven black hair and dark eyes. She was smiling at him with large, perfect teeth. It took some effort to keep his gaze from straying toward her prominent breasts, made more noticeable by the tight tan blouse she wore. It was fashioned of some kind of knit material and tucked into faded form-fitting designer jeans. Here was a woman, he thought, who was fully assembled.

Tony extended his hand and she shook it with a light, dry touch that somehow suggested considerable strength. She played sports, he figured, or worked out.

“Wouldn't want you to be stood up,” Tony said amiably, motioning for Jewel to sit down. She sat on the opposite side of the table, leaving the chair directly across from Tony for Jill. Tony waited until they were both seated before settling down again in his chair and replacing the red napkin in his lap.

A waiter, wearing a tux with a red cummerbund, promptly came over and they ordered drinks. Tony stayed with the scotch and water he'd been sipping; Jill and Jewel both ordered sour apple martinis. Tony tried not to wince.

“So where'd you two meet?” he asked when the waiter had left.

“Would you believe the laundry room in my building?” Jill said.

“If you say it, I believe it.”

“It's a creepy place,” Jewel said. “Down in that dim basement. It wouldn't hurt if the super put some brighter bulbs down there.”

“It would make it safer,” Tony said.

Jewel gave a mock shiver and Tony couldn't help but glance at her breasts. “We were both down there at the same time doing a load of wash, so we were glad for each other's company. Jill—or maybe it was me—struck up a conversation, and we found out we have a lot in common.”

“What would that be?” Tony asked. “Other than the obvious.”

“Obvious?”

“That you're both beautiful.”

Jill laughed a few seconds before Jewel. Tony didn't think Jewel seemed to feel as complimented. With her looks, she probably heard a lot of bullshit from a lot of men. She gave the impression she could handle it.

“Beauty aside,” Jewel said, “we both came from the Midwest. And we haven't been very long in New York, so we don't know many people. Jill's promised to show me around, and maybe I'll sign up with Files and More so I can earn some money while I'm trying to land something permanent.”

“It's a tough town at first,” Tony said. “Then you learn to like it.”

“Especially if you meet someone like Tony,” Jill said.

Pearl had to admire that, especially the sincerity in Jill's voice. But she hoped Jill wouldn't do too much improvisation. This guy Tony didn't strike Pearl as dumb in the slightest.

The waiter came back carrying their drinks on a round silver tray. Talking was suspended while he placed the drinks around the table, as if talk might upset some delicate balance and liquid might slosh over a rim.

Tony knew the addition of Jewel as a new friend had considerably upset the replacement process. Jewel would have to be dealt with in some way. Apparently she'd already become a close friend and confidante, so she'd certainly realize any replacement Jill was a phony. Tony was sure Jewel was the only person in the building who'd had more than passing contact with Jill. Without Jewel, the game was on. Jewel was an obstacle.

Of course, something could happen to Jewel.

But wouldn't that put Jill's apartment building under police scrutiny? Either way, if the police suspected foul play they'd question Jill. Who might mention Tony.

It was a problem, all right.

Tony raised his scotch and water and suggested a toast.

“To the three of us,” he said.

Their glasses clinked. They smiled at each other and drank.

Tony thinking something would have to be done to take Jewel out of the game.

 

Pearl settled into her new identity smoothly. It was made easier because she actually liked Jill Clark. Tony Lake, so far, hadn't proved difficult. He seemed obviously resentful of the women's close friendship, but no more so than any man whose lover had suddenly acquired a new best bud. One who was a rival for his time and turned up as an obstacle whenever he planned on getting intimate with the object of his love. Or with his target.

Jill, mostly running on instincts, also sometimes seemed actually resentful of Pearl's presence. Tony was good at his job; Pearl had to give him that. Jill knew who he was and what he was, but it was impossible sometimes to
feel
what he was. The Tony she saw on the surface could be disarming and deadly charming.

It seemed increasingly obvious to Pearl that Tony was not only wickedly intelligent but also had no scruples whatsoever. She wondered if, for strategic reasons, he might go behind Jill's back and make a pass at Jewel. Pearl, being Jewel, saw that as a potential problem.

Since she and Jill were spending so much time together, Pearl liked to keep Jill talking, thinking maybe some new piece of information might be mentioned that would aid in the investigation. Most of the time, when Tony wasn't around, Jill wound up talking about Madeline Scott. She was obviously still haunted by Madeline's death and maybe felt guilty that she hadn't believed Madeline's story at first. If she had, she might have been able to help in some way that would have prevented Madeline's death.

Pearl didn't think that was true, and whenever Jill began blaming herself, she talked her out of her depression. Madeline died because she knew too much. Nothing would have saved her. But something could still be done to save Jill, and a lot of women who'd follow, if E-Bliss.org could be shut down—and in a way that would prevent it from opening somewhere else under another name and resuming its chain of murders and ultimate identity thefts.

Maybe it was all the talk about Madeline that gave Pearl the idea of visiting Madeline's apartment. Jill had supposedly seen the new Madeline in the elevator, but in Jill's state of mind, that might not have been true. Pearl knew how the imagination could work. It could make you see what you expected to see. That was the problem with eyewitness accounts.

Like Jill's.

Jill had just gotten a temporary work assignment as a receptionist for a dental clinic, filling in for a vacation, so for at least a week she'd be away working every day. Jill would be protected there by the undercovers Renz had managed to get assigned to the investigation.

That would leave Pearl with not much to do other than hang around her apartment as Jewel. She had instructions not to go near Jill's apartment when Jill was out. Quinn wanted to make sure it was available for E-Bliss.org. It wouldn't do for its imposter to find Pearl there doing her Jewel act, and making up an implausible reason for her presence.

Pearl was going crazy with all the inaction, so why not make use of her time?

Wednesday morning, she left the apartment to hail a cab. A light summer drizzle was falling. It wasn't much of a rain, but enough to make the cabs go into hiding. Pearl walked in the direction she wanted to ride and soon ran across a sidewalk vendor selling umbrellas for five dollars. She paid up and stayed reasonably dry while she walked another two blocks and finally managed to flag down a cab. She felt things going her way; less then ten minutes and she'd scored a double, obtaining the two most precious items when it rained in Manhattan: an umbrella and a cab.

Maybe she'd stay lucky. Though Madeline had moved out, there still might be something to be gained from looking over the vacant apartment again, and talking to the neighbors again.

She told the cabbie to drive her to an intersection that was within a block of Madeline's apartment.

 

“You think this Jewel is a cop?” Palmer Stone asked, staring out his office window at the light rain.

“It's possible, but I doubt it,” Victor said. He was leaning back in the chair in front of Stone's desk, his legs straight out in front of him with his ankles crossed. “I think she's just a meddling bitch who turned up at the wrong time. She needed a friend, there was Jill Clark, and she attached herself to Jill like a leech.”

“Sounds kind of intense. You get the idea it might be wearing off? That Jill doesn't really like her around?”

“Sometimes. Especially when we want to screw. Jewel's timing seems to be perfect when it comes to preventing Jill and me from being alone together at a time or place where we might be intimate.”

“Hmm. Some kind of lesbian thing, do you think?”

“That's the most likely explanation,” Victor said. He prided himself on understanding women and he'd thought about this situation. “I'm sure Jill doesn't suspect it. Hell, maybe even Jewel doesn't realize it. You know how it works, Palmer. Latent sexual attraction neither woman wants to admit. I don't think it'd ever get to the point where they'd get it on together. The two of them might be shocked if they figured it out.”

“You might tell Jill about it. Suggest that this Jewel has intimate plans for her.”

“Not a good idea, Palmer. She probably wouldn't believe it, and we'd be risking turning both of them against me.”

Stone sighed, dug his heels into the office carpet, and maneuvered his wheeled swivel chair away from the gloom outside the window. “Well, you're the expert on that part of the business.”

As he had often lately, Victor found himself thinking about what he could do with Jewel if he had her like Charlotte. How she'd struggle against the tape that bound and silenced her, how she'd try to scream, how her dark eyes would widen when she saw the stake, how she'd—

“We might simply have to make Jewel expendable,” Stone said, as if reading his thoughts. “If she might swing both ways, maybe we should introduce her to Gloria.”

“No, not that,” Victor said. “It'd be bad business. Anything that happens to Jewel might lead the police to Jill. Maybe even, later on, to the new Jill.”

Stone turned his swivel chair back toward the gray rain. The usually silent rotating mechanism squealed softly, maybe because of the humidity. “I see the problem, but we're running out of time.”

“Don't worry,” Victor said. “I'll think of something.

Palmer Stone smiled at his business partner's blurred reflection in the window.

“You always do, Victor. You have imagination.”