In for the Kill

46

Quinn was obviously angry. When Pearl was finished talking, he stood up and started pacing around, not looking at her, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw muscles were flexing.

Pearl and Fedderman sat watching him. The office was warmer than usual, and humid, and the grit from the construction or destruction outside hung in the air. The jackhammer had let up, and the only sound in the office was the faint shrillness of the dental drill on the other side of the wall.

"Should we pick up this Jeb Jones character and print him?" Fedderman asked.

Quinn stopped pacing and faced them. His features were now calm and thoughtful. If he was going to be furious with Pearl, it could wait. His mind was on his prey. "I don't want to move on the basis of one print," he said. "Let's tail him, find out more about him."

"Give him some line," Fedderman said, "while we set the hook deeper." He made a sudden jerking motion with both hands wrapped around an imaginary rod. Showing some signs of all that Florida retirement fishing.

"You latch on to him first, Feds," Quinn said, spoiling the fish metaphor. "Pearl and I will work the computers to see if Jones's prints are in any of the minor databases around the country, then one of us will spell you. Check in every few hours, let us know what's he's up to." There was, other than the large, official websites that afforded the best possibilities, another layer of smaller, lesser-known sites. There were social services, corporate employee sites, backwater police or sheriff's departments, that hadn't merged their files with larger databases. Combing through them was the computer age equivalent of what used to be known as police legwork. It seldom paid off, but often enough that it had to be done. The only way to do it was relentlessly.

"I don't think searching any more databases will do much good," Fedderman said. "A name like Jones."

Fedderman had a point. They'd wasted a lot of time following up on Jones computer hits that had led nowhere productive. There were plenty of people who simply had never been fingerprinted. Jeb Jones was probably one of them. But considering the time they'd put in, a little more wouldn't hurt. Learning everything possible about Jeb Jones before he was picked up could be essential.

Renz called again and told Quinn the blood on the fingerprint had tested A-positive, same as the victim's, so there was no reason get any hopes up over DNA evidence. Still, if the killer and victim had the same blood type, and it was a common type…

But Quinn doubted if that line of inquiry would lead anywhere. In order to leave a sample of his own blood, the Butcher would have had to cut himself, and he was a killer ever so careful. The fingerprint was almost certainly made with the blood of the victim.

Quinn fixed narrowed eyes on Pearl. "Did he ever act like Jeb Jones was an alias?"

Pearl was losing her fear and getting angry now, at herself mostly, and also at Jeb. But anyone would do to take it out on.

Out of love, back in the real world, back in the shit…

Maybe she should do as her mother suggested and meet Mrs. Kahn's eminently eligible nephew. What was the geek's name…Milton?

"Pearl?"

"When we were having sex and I came and said 'Oh, Jeb!' he didn't seem to think I was talking to somebody else."

Quinn stared deadpan at her. Behind her, Fedderman was trying not to laugh.

Quinn, still with a straight face, said, "Get out, Feds."

Fedderman picked up his suit coat from where it was draped over the back of his chair and went to the door. He looked back at Pearl. "The Waverton Hotel. You remember the room number?"

"You can figure it out," Pearl said. "You're a detective."

Fedderman shook his head with mock sadness. "You actually got off in a hotel room with a guy named Jones."

"Get out, Feds," Quinn said again, before Pearl could answer or reach her gun.

Fedderman managed not to grin until he was out the door.

"Asshole!" Pearl said.

Quinn was already at his computer, scanning the fingerprint image into their system so they could search for matches in unlikely places. He started with remote and small-town police departments that hadn't merged their files with national data bases.

The NYPD tech whiz had set them up for something like this so they could work separately on their computers through different connections. Quinn said he'd take the eastern half of the country, and Pearl should take from the Mississippi west.

Sure, that covers only a couple of time zones.

She rolled her chair closer to her desk and began the Internet search. It wasn't likely to produce results, but staying busy was the best thing for her.

After three hours they'd gotten nowhere. If Pearl's stomach hadn't been so knotted, she would have been hungry.

She sat back, pinched the bridge of her nose, and bowed her head.

"Want to break for lunch?" Quinn asked. He still didn't seem angry.

Pearl didn't look up. "I'm sorry. I really am."

She was hoping he'd reassure her, tell her it was all right, that she hadn't known Jeb Jones would become a suspect, that who she slept with was personal and her own business

What he said was, "It's done. We go from here."

"That's goddamned obvious," Pearl said.

"Then let's do it. I'll buy you a pizza."

She knew that was all she was going to get from Quinn for now. She needed loving, holding, comforting, forgiveness. She'd get pizza.

When they were settled in with pepperoni pizza slices and beer at D'Joes, a tiny restaurant down the street, they made awkward small talk and then lapsed into silence.

Until Quinn took a long pull of beer, licked foam from his upper lip, and said, "Has it occurred to you that if Jeb Jones is the Butcher he might have you in mind for one of his victims?"

Of course it had occurred to Pearl, but she'd been keeping it at a distance. Now she felt her heart turn cold. Her throat tightened and she could only shake her head no, lying to Quinn. Some things were none of his damned business.

"You're a brunette he obviously finds attractive. Why not you as the subject of one of his puzzle notes? Why not you-"

"Enough, Quinn!" She took a vicious bite of pizza and chewed hard.

"Okay, but give it some thought."

Pearl knew what he was thinking. She could be used as bait. Would she be willing?

Would she?

But he never actually suggested it.

The thing was, even though she knew Jeb could be a killer, a part of her still wouldn't accept it. Maybe Quinn understood that, or at least part of it.

When they returned to the office it was still too warm, but mercifully quiet. Con Ed had broken off their work out in the street, maybe for lunch. Quinn and Pearl settled in at their computers to resume their Internet search. Pearl did give what Quinn had said some thought.

She phoned his daughter, who'd just reported for work at the Hungry U.

Keeping her voice low so Quinn wouldn't overhear, she said, "Lauri, I have a question about Jeb Jones, my friend you met at the Pepper Tree. Remember him?"

"Mr. Hot," Lauri said.

Jesus! Teenage girls!

"Have you seen him since?"

Lauri didn't answer right away.

"Lauri, I need the truth from you. It's important."

"I've seen him a few times. We even had lunch once."

Surprised, Pearl actually said, "Huh?"

"Don't get mad at me, Pearl. None of it means a thing. I only did it to make Wormy jealous."

Sure. Why wouldn't any woman prefer Wormy to Mr. Hot?

"How did you happen to get together the first time?" Pearl asked.

"We just happened to bump into each other."

"How? Where?"

Lauri gave a long sigh.

"Lauri, damn it!"

"Okay, I saw Jeb again when I was following you. He was sorta hanging around outside the Pepper Tree when you were inside having lunch with some woman. We talked and agreed us being there would be our secret. Then I saw him again, a few days later, and we talked again and went for lunch. He was sorta in disguise, in jeans and wearing a Red Sox cap. It was almost like he was following you like I was and didn't want to be spotted."

Almost?

Pearl didn't say anything for a while. Quinn might be right. She might be a prospective victim.

"Pearl, you okay?"

"Yeah, Lauri."

"I really gotta get to work."

"Go, and thank you."

Pearl hung up the phone and sat stunned and wondering, trying to come up with some plausible reason other than her impending murder why Jeb might have been secretly watching her.

If he was the Butcher, why hadn't he already killed her?

The answer was obvious-she was useful. He was using her to keep tabs on the investigation.

"Something here," Quinn said, excitement in his voice, but also puzzlement.

He was leaning almost close enough to his computer to take a bite out of it.

"I've got a match on the print."