Night kills

20

By early evening the rain had stopped and a cooling breeze wafted in from the east. The city looked and smelled fresh, disconnected from any sordid past or questionable future.

Quinn and Linda Chavesky met again for coffee and then went for a walk. They were on Broadway, near Columbus Circle. Traffic was heavy, mostly with cabs taking people shopping or to early dinners before the theater. Quinn was on Linda's right, between her and the street. They were strolling casually, taking their time, stringing out the experience of being together. When the lights temporarily stopped traffic on their side of the street, they could hear their footfalls on the damp sidewalk.

"Wanna talk shop?" Quinn asked.

Linda shrugged, bumping her hip against him, maybe accidentally. "You're always a cop, I'm always an M.E."

Quinn told her about Pearl's theory.

"Doesn't sound likely," Linda said after listening closely.

"Pearl's an original thinker."

"So I've heard."

Quinn hoped he'd detected a note of jealousy.

They both veered left automatically to let a couple of chattering kids in gangsta pants bounce past.

"Not being critical," Linda said, "just asking, how the hell do they keep those pants up?"

"I dunno. I guess they enjoy the suspense."

She laughed.

They'd walked another fifty feet before she said, "You run Pearl's theory past Renz?"

"No. I think we should wait till we have something more."

"There might not be any more."

"Might not."

Another five measured steps. Ten. Quinn could sense that Linda hadn't let go of what he'd told her. She was toying with it in her mind, like a cat with a ball of yarn. Here was something about her that intrigued him, and for some reason immensely pleased him.

And something else, he realized; they were comfortable in their silence.

"Maybe you should try it on the profiler, Helen Iman," Linda said.

"According to Pearl, Helen's the one being conned."

"Well, she might at least want to be aware of the possibility."

"Also," Quinn said, "it might be a mistake to plant the idea in Helen's head. Might throw her off her game."

"Uh-huh." They walked a bit farther. "That's one for you to decide."

"I know," Quinn said. "You just examine what's left of the victims."

"Not anymore," Linda said.

They stopped walking and Quinn looked at her.

"Dr. Nift has taken over all duties connected with the Torso Murders."

"He give a reason?"

"To maintain continuity, he said."

"He's a continual asshole," Quinn said.

"He's my boss."

"Which is why I can say it and you can't," Quinn said.

Linda didn't disagree.

Jill and Tony met at Has Beans again. He'd suggested a genuine night out, dinner at an expensive restaurant, maybe a show. Who could tell what might come after? She wasn't ready for that. She'd let him know and he'd smoothly backed off.

They were in the same booth where they'd first met. He was sipping a Honduras again. She'd taken a chance and ordered a Nicaragua.

When she sipped the foamy coffee drink, she decided she liked it.

"Yum," she said, "but do they even grow coffee in Nicaragua?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "They grow revolutions." He sipped and smiled. "On the phone you mentioned there was something you wanted to tell me. Something personal?"

"It's something that's got me kind of rattled," she said. "A little scared."

"About me?"

She rested her hand on his. "God, no!" She didn't know quite where to begin, not wanting to sound paranoid. "There's this woman who seems to be…well, following me."

He sat forward, interested. She was gratified by his obvious concern for her. "You know who she is?" he asked.

"I've never seen her before. I don't think. She does look familiar, but maybe she has one of those faces. She's a street woman, Tony. A homeless person. Dirty clothes, stringy blond hair. And she looks as if she could use a bath and a good meal."

"So maybe she's just panhandling."

"No, she's never asked for anything. It's just that now and then I turn around or glance to the side, and there she is."

"Coincidence?"

"I wish. She's usually staring at me. Once she even started toward me."

"What do you mean, started toward you? In a way that was threatening?"

"I…well, I'm not sure."

"So what did you do?"

"I ran. I mean, that sounds worse than it is. I had on my sweat suit and jogging shoes anyway, and I was sort of running in place, so I just…jogged away from her."

"Good." With his free hand, he scrunched up his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, looking worried.

"What are you thinking, Tony?"

"I don't know what to think. If you see her again, just avoid her. Do whatever's necessary to stay away. She might be dangerous."

"Whether she is or not, I admit she makes me afraid."

"Maybe you know something about her you don't think you know," Tony said. "If you know what I mean."

Jill didn't. "There's something else." She hesitated. "I don't want you to think I'm some kind of nut."

Tony gave her hand a squeeze. "I don't and I won't."

"I get the feeling sometimes that someone's been in my apartment while I was gone. No, more than a feeling, actually. I'm sure things aren't exactly as I've left them. There've been small changes, barely noticeable, but they're there. Maybe a lamp shade's crooked, or a sofa cushion's propped up at a corner when it wasn't before, or my clothes aren't hung in the same order in my closet. Things like that." She looked at him. He must think she was crazy. "I'm sure about these things, Tony. They're real and not my imagination."

"Not necessarily your imagination," he said. "But maybe your memory. Maybe you're just spooked and seeing things you hadn't noticed before."

She tried a smile. "Sort of the opposite of deja vu?"

"I guess you could put it that way. If you had a sense of humor. You might simply not recall things exactly as they were. We all do that from time to time."

"You could be right." But she wasn't so sure. These differences in her apartment, however minute, did seem real.

He sat back and seemed suddenly alarmed. "Jill, you don't think these two things are connected, do you? I mean the homeless woman and the idea that somebody might have been in your apartment?"

The possibility had been on the edge of her consciousness. But she said, "I don't know. I don't see how they could be, but who knows?"

Tony abruptly leaned toward her, giving her hand another squeeze. "You have my cell phone number, Jill. Do me a favor. If you see this woman again, give me a call. Wherever I am, I'll get right there and confront her."

"All right. But I could call the police."

"If you want."

She didn't and he knew it. She wanted him and not the police to come to her rescue. Besides, what could she tell the police, arrest the woman for staring at her?

"The trouble is," Jill said, "you're out of town so often. Your job."

"If I'm in town, I'll come running."

She placed her hand on top of the one holding hers and aimed a smile across the table. "I know you will, Tony. But all of it, I mean, it's all probably nothing. Maybe it is my imagination. I mean, the woman's real, all right, but she probably does simply want a handout. She might see me as a soft touch."

He grinned at her. "Now, that's possible."

They leaned toward each other across the table and kissed lightly.

"But call me anyway," he said.

Jill assured him that she would, but she'd decided not to. These problems she should handle on her own. She didn't want Tony to think she was some kind of head case.

One he wouldn't want to see again.