In for the Kill

53

Nobody knew for sure how it should be handled, but they all knew where it was going.

They were in Renz's office, sitting in front of Renz's desk. Quinn and Pearl were in the chairs that were usually there. Two folding chairs had been brought in for Fedderman and the police profiler. Fedderman slouched in one of the tiny metal chairs as if numbed by exhaustion. The profiler, Helen Iman, ignored her chair and stood near the window so she was silhouetted in front of the open blind slats and was painful to look at.

She was a tall, lanky redheaded woman Quinn had worked with before, who looked more suited to beach volleyball than to police work. While still not a hearty advocate of profiling, Quinn had to admit that Helen was one of the best.

"They're both staying at their respective hotels," Quinn said of Jeb and Myrna. "Now they're making noises like family members who have a right to all our information."

"Where's the media on this?" Renz asked.

Quinn thought he caught a whiff of burned tobacco and wondered if Renz had been secretly smoking cigars in his office again. "They know Jeb was released, and they're still in the dark about Myrna." Quinn glanced at Helen, squinting. "That's why I requested this meeting."

"You requested it because you want to use Mom as bait," Renz said.

"Sharks aren't often used for bait," Helen said

"Move over a few feet so I can see you better," Quinn asked her.

She did so, smiling. Her features were strong, bony, almost masculine. But Quinn knew of a dead cop who had loved her.

"You want to know if it will work," she said in her throaty voice.

Renz laughed. "She's got you profiled."

"So what are the odds?" Quinn asked.

"I don't usually quote odds," Helen said, "but the Butcher is a killer who's classic in that his victims are all, in his mind, his mother. She's iconic to him." She couldn't suppress an eager grin. Lots of teeth. They all looked sharp. "It's pure textbook. This is so rare. They usually don't get a chance to kill the real thing, the archetype, the woman they know is behind their compulsion. She's the fuel for his fire. Will he be tempted to kill her when he learns she's in New York?" The grin widened. "The way a junkie who needs a fix is tempted by heroin. I'd say the odds are about even he'll go for her."

"Only even?" Quinn was disappointed.

"The variable in this is the exceptional intelligence of the killer. He'll have read the literature and know that we know the real object of his deadly desires is his mother. He'll almost surely suspect she'll be used as bait."

"If he does suspect that, will he still try for her?" Pearl asked.

"Maybe, but he'll be very, very careful, as he is in all things."

"If he knows it's a trap," Fedderman said, "why will he enter it?"

"If a rat's starving, it will go for the bait in a trap," Helen said.

Quinn said, "I think we should take a chance on this one."

"Your call," Renz said. "Your ass."

"I'll approach Myrna with the idea. She isn't as educated as either of her sons, but my impression is she's every bit as smart. If she goes for it-"

"She will," Pearl said. "Smart's got nothing to do with it."

Helen nodded. "There's a certain connection between killer and potential victim, almost a magnetism. Some even say that sometimes the victim is, in subconscious ways, complicit in her own murder. That might prove true in this case."

Quinn wasn't sure if he bought into that one. Profilers.

"If she agrees," he said to Renz, "you could set up a press conference, make sure a photo of Myrna gets to the papers and TV news. Use Mary Mulanphy for local cable. Give her a scoop."

"Cindy Sellers for print media," Renz said. "City Beat."

"How could we forget?" Quinn was amused by the notion that Renz thought he was using Sellers, when actually it was the other way around.

"Also use that old shot of the Swamp Boy," Helen said. "The one taken in Florida right after he was found."

"Great idea!" said Pearl.

"When he sees it side by side with Myrna's photo," Helen said, "it'll take him back in time and tug at more than his heartstrings. Family photos do that."

Quinn gave both women a look. The ladies were into it.

"Family's the most powerful component in these murders," Helen said. "Family's what serial killers are almost always about."

"What all of us are about in the end," Fedderman said. Wisdom from a disjointed anti-fashion model.

Renz's desk phone buzzed. He glanced at it in irritation, then snatched up the receiver and punched the glowing line button on the base unit. Said, "I thought-"

Then he shut up and the expression on his face became grimmer and grimmer.

He scribbled something on a piece of scratch paper, then replaced the receiver.

"We've got another Butcher victim. Lower East Side. Name's Maria Cirillo. Neighbors noticed an unpleasant odor coming from her apartment and called the super. The ME's already there, puts the time of death somewhere between five and midnight evening before last."

"Evening before last?" Quinn said.

"You heard me right."

"That's when we had Jeb Kraft in custody," Quinn said. "If he wasn't cleared before, he is now." He stood up to get the address Renz had scribbled on the slip of paper. He could hear Pearl and Fedderman standing up behind him. There was a clatter as one of them, probably Fedderman, knocked over one of the metal folding chairs.

Renz looked up at Quinn. "This is gonna make for a lively press conference." There was a note of real trepidation beneath his mock enthusiasm.

"When we're done at the crime scene," Quinn said, "I'll call and bring you up to speed, and then go talk to Myrna Kraft."

Renz started drumming his fingertips, maybe having second thoughts.

"She'll go for it," Helen said. "Blood calling to blood."