Mister X

70

Quinn stopped at the Lotus Diner the next morning and had a breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee. He read the Times over a second cup of coffee and then read a City Beat he'd gotten out of a machine down the street.

He wasn't surprised when he saw the headline: SHADOW WOMAN OUT OF HOSPITAL. The piece went on to say how Lisa Bolt, strongly suspected of being the so-called "shadow woman" in the Carver murder investigation, had checked herself out of the hospital and again dropped from sight. A certain little NYPD bird had informed the reporter (Cindy Sellers, according to the byline) that the police had no way to guard Lisa Bolt around the clock, nor could they legally hold her if she decided to check out. Sellers went on to say that it was still a free country, for the most part, and even someone of interest to the police could come and go as they pleased.

All of this deliberately downplayed the momentary negligence of the NYPD uniforms assigned to keep watch on Lisa Bolt. That was to lessen the embarrassment of the department and of Renz in particular. Renz was, Quinn had no doubt, the talkative little NYPD bird.

How did it happen, Quinn asked himself, as he laid the folded paper aside in a puddle made by his water glass, that both he and Renz were indebted to Cindy Sellers? She could obtain information from either source and then cross-check it with the other. The opportunistic muckraker must have been born making a deal.

Quinn glanced around and decided the diner was too crowded for him to make a call on his cell phone and not be overheard. He slid from the booth and handed enough money for breakfast and a tip to Thel the waitress.

"In a rush, Captain Quinn?" she asked, slipping the bills into her apron pocket.

"Always," Quinn said.

"Somebody being murdered?"

"Always."

"Want a coffee to go?"

"Al-"

"Never mind," Thel said.

He walked back to the counter with her and waited while she filled a white foam cup full of coffee and fitted it with a tight plastic lid. He accepted it and thanked her. "Thel," he reminded her, "I'm no longer a police captain."

"In my mind," she said, "always."

Outside the diner, he strode through the warm morning and the sweet spoiled smells of trash waiting to be collected, to where the Lincoln was illegally parked with his NYPD placard on the visor. Inside the car, he placed his steaming cup in a holder and watched the windows immediately begin to fog up. It was time to play dumb. Or at least uninformed. He pecked out Cindy Sellers's direct number.

"It's your other little bird," he mumbled impatiently, waiting for her to pick up. She must know from caller ID who was on the other end of the connection.

When she did pick up, she said, "What've you got, Quinn?"

"Lisa Bolt checked herself out of the hospital yesterday. She's in the wind again."

Cindy let a few moments pass before replying. "You read City Beat this morning?"

"Haven't had time," Quinn lied.

"Pick up a copy and read it. Learn all about Lisa Bolt checking out of the hospital and dropping from sight again. The shadow woman's back in the shadows. If she really is the shadow woman. You gotta do better, Quinn. You got scooped on this one."

"You're serious?"

"Sure am."

"Damn!" Quinn said.

When he got to the office, Pearl was already at her desk. Her coffee mug was steaming away alongside her computer, and he realized he'd left his to-go cup in the car.

"Renz dropped a word in Cindy Sellers's ear already," he said, sitting down behind his desk and swiveling the chair this way and that as if to fasten it firmer to the floor. "Doing damage control."

"No surprise," Pearl said, eyes still on her computer monitor as she maneuvered and clicked her mouse.

"Anything?" he asked.

"World of knowledge, but none of it any help."

Quinn got up, walked over to the brewer, and poured some coffee into his initialed mug. He was returning to his desk when Fedderman walked in. He looked overheated and rumpled already, and it was still three hours till noon.

"The windows on your car are all steamed up," he said to Quinn. "Looks like just the place to lose the crease in your trousers."

Quinn nodded. "Been having trouble with that," he said, not wanting to explain, thinking nobody but Fedderman still said trousers.

He settled back down in his desk chair with his coffee. Sipped. Yuk!

"Erin's got form," Pearl said.

Quinn and Fedderman looked at her.

"Not the kinda form you guys are dreaming about," Pearl said. "She got into trouble in a little town in Florida twelve years ago when she was on vacation with her girls. Assault charge. A small-town cop pulled her over for speeding, and they got into a spat. Erin broke his nose."

"She doesn't seem the type," Fedderman said.

Pearl smiled at him. "She said it was self-defense, that she was trying to push him away and hit him accidentally."

"While she was swinging at him," Quinn said.

"Twelve years ago," Fedderman said. "And it could have happened to anybody. Doesn't mean much now."

"You're cutting her a lot of slack," Pearl said.

"Jesus, Pearl! She lost a daughter to a monster. You don't understand how that feels."

"I think I might," Pearl said.

Fedderman sighed. "I'm sorry, Pearl. I mean, about Yancy."

Pearl's eyes teared up, and Quinn thought she might leave her desk to go into the half bath, or at least use a tissue. She simply continued working her computer, maybe reading more about the old assault charge. Tough Pearl. Quinn felt a swelling admiration for her.

His desk phone rang. As he leaned forward to reach for the receiver he glanced at caller ID and recognized Edward Archer's cell phone number.

"Mr. Keller," he said, when he picked up.

"Archer," Keller corrected. "Until I get to New York. That's part of the deal."

"There's a deal, Mr. Keller?"

"I'll rearrange my schedule and fly in to LaGuardia tomorrow morning."

"That would be fine."

"How long will I be staying?"

"That's impossible to say. Bring plenty of clothes."

"You don't make it easy."

"It isn't going to be easy. It's what you should do."

"Have to do," Keller said. "Where do you want me to stay?"

"The Belington Midtown. It's on Twenty-fourth Street."

"That isn't Midtown."

"Few things are what they seem," Quinn said. "Remember to check in as Edward Keller. I'll be in touch."

"I don't want Chrissie harmed," Keller said. "That's why I'm doing this."

"Of course."

Quinn hung up on Keller before Keller's cell phone could be shut off. It felt good.

"We've got him," he said, thinking, Thank you, Erin Keller.

Pearl was grinning. Fedderman looked glad but thoughtful.

Quinn had a connection at the Belington. He remembered when it had been a flophouse. Then it had become gentrified. Now it was on the way again toward becoming a flophouse, but hadn't gone so far that it wasn't still respectable. Years ago Quinn had saved the manager's son's life in a shoot-out in a Chinese restaurant. The manager at the Belington would provide a room for Keller, and whatever else Quinn might want.

Vitali and Mishkin had to be brought in on this, and soon. Before that happened, Quinn knew he had to make a phone call to Cindy Sellers.

She'd been using Quinn and his team to sell papers. Now it was time to use her.