Darker Than Night

66

Sometimes Quinn sat, and sometimes he stood so he wouldn’t fall asleep.

But even standing and leaning against the wall in the black vestibule, he was in danger of dozing off.

He looked away for an instant, changing position to rest his weight on his other leg, and didn’t notice the darkly dressed figure that appeared from deep shadow beneath a neighboring awning and entered Claire’s apartment building.

Pearl had seen the man, almost rubbing her eyes to convince herself she was awake and hadn’t imagined him. He’d suddenly appeared out of darkness, strolling casually but quickly, and entered the building as if for the thousandth time, as if he belonged there. Cops can move like that after a lot of years on the job, as if they belong wherever they happen to be at the moment. Pearl knew she hadn’t yet reached that point and wondered if she’d be a cop long enough to achieve such natural invisibility.

She used her two-way to contact Quinn.

He came awake all the way and alerted everyone: “Somebody in the building. Might be our guy.”

Who else, at two forty-five in the morning?

“Got him,” Fedderman said softly from his vantage point in the storage room. “He’s crossing the lobby.”

He watched as the man pressed the up button and stood seemingly relaxed, absently rolling something minute between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

It must have been on a low floor, because it didn’t take long to reach lobby level.

Fedderman was patient and waited until the elevator door had slid closed behind the man before making any more noise.

Fedderman, louder: “He just stepped into the elevator.”

Quinn made sure everyone else knew what was happening, then left the shelter of the dark vestibule and crossed the street.

Half a block down, Pearl climbed out of the unmarked and moved toward him at a fast walk. This part made her nervous. The Night Prowler would be out of the elevator soon, might even glance out one of the windows at the ends of the halls and check the streets below. Pearl definitely didn’t belong in the neighborhood, a lone woman cutting across the street diagonally to save time.

Don’t fuck up now.

Quinn was already in the building. She picked up her pace.

Campbell, likewise, knew what might be coming and was ready for it.

He left the lights out in the apartment, and in the dimness moved quietly down the hall and into Claire’s bedroom. He didn’t want to wake her, have her hysterical before anything happened. Most of all, he didn’t want her harmed. He’d make damned sure she wasn’t harmed!

But he wanted this asshole to actually enter her room and make it official, wanted him nailed in the courtroom the way Campbell was about to hammer him here in the bedroom.

He took up position in a corner, close to the wall the door was on. When the sick fuck entered—if he enters—if he even comes to this apartment—Campbell would be like God Himself meting out rough justice.

When the elevator had risen several floors, Fedderman pressed the button to bring the other elevator down to the lobby from where it was high in the building.

The elevators were the old, slow kind, and the one containing the Night Prowler suspect was still rising when Quinn and Pearl entered the building. Quinn looked tired but alert. Pearl looked so eager she reminded Fedderman of a wirehaired terrier he’d owned long ago. Better not tell her that.

Quinn looked at the glowing elevator button, then glanced up at the floor indicator light. The rising elevator was only a few floors below Claire’s.

“He had a building key,” Fedderman said. “Didn’t even hesitate opening the inner lobby door and coming in.”

“Maybe one of the tenants,” Pearl suggested, not believing it.

“We’ll have a better idea in a few seconds,” Quinn said.

The indicator light stopped at twenty-nine. Claire’s floor.

“Jesus!” Pearl said.

Quinn glanced toward the street door, which he’d left propped open. “The uniforms are on the way.”

“So’s the other elevator,” Fedderman said, staring up at the falling indicator light, “but it’s slower than a damned diving bell.”

In the bedroom’s quiet darkness Campbell heard only Claire’s even breathing.

Then he stood straighter. He’d heard what had to be the front door’s dead bolt snick, then the door open and the faint click of the latch. His mouth was dry cotton and his drumming heart was the loudest sound in the room. He worked his fingers in and out of fists and smiled thinly, not surprised to realize he still enjoyed this. It was what he was about.

Claire moaned in her sleep, then rolled onto her side.

Not now! Don’t wake up now!

She wasn’t breathing as deeply and evenly, perhaps rising toward wakefulness. Campbell was getting worried. But didn’t something always go wrong?

It was a well-built apartment and the floors didn’t squeak. He couldn’t be sure of the location of whoever had entered. He stood staring fixedly at the bedroom door, which he’d left open about six inches.

C’mon in, asshole. Come right on in.

And the intruder did come in. Quickly and quietly. He seemed almost to float across the room, then stood motionless at the foot of the bed.

Campbell held his breath and watched. Fuckin’ creepy.

The Night Prowler stared down at Claire in the dim, buzzing silence. Almost as if he were offering a prayer.

For someone about to die.

Then he turned toward Campbell.