Night kills

34

It was easy enough to find the brick-and-mortar address of E-Bliss.org, though it wasn't on the matchmaking business's website. Links led to links, and within half an hour on her computer, Pearl had the location of the company's headquarters. She was fast becoming the computer whiz of the detective team.

The business name E-Bliss.org was properly registered with the state's Division of Corporations. The principals were Palmer F. Stone and Victor and Gloria Lamping. Besides the business address, Stone and the Lampings had listed three different New York addresses of residence. When Pearl checked, she found that they had all moved and left no forwarding addresses. The office of E-Bliss.org, on West Forty-fourth Street, had remained constant.

While Pearl did more computer homework on E-Bliss.org, Quinn and Fedderman went to check out the West Forty-fourth Street address. The day had stayed warm and grown more humid as it had turned gray. Now a mist hung in the air, too fine to require a raincoat or umbrella, but thick enough so that the Lincoln's wipers thwacked intermittently to smear the wide windshield. Quinn realized Pearl was right: in the dense, damp air, the car's interior did smell too strongly of cigar smoke. The odor did cling. Maybe he should get one of those little deodorizers that looked like miniature pine trees to hang from the rearview mirror. He put it low on his list of to-dos.

The E-Bliss.org offices turned out to be in an office building not far from the theater district. Letters engraved in stone above the entrance said it was the Western Commerce Building. Quinn guessed that was because it was on the West Side. He and Fedderman left the car parked by a fire hydrant on the opposite side of the street, then crossed over. Quinn's bum leg, from when he'd been shot in a holdup, was bothering him slightly, maybe because of the rain. He was careful not to slip on the wet pavement. They entered the lobby.

It smelled musty and had a lot of cracked marble and a yellowed tile floor. The walls had been recently painted a tinted cream color that leaned toward brown. There were pillars ending in a lot of scrollwork at a high ceiling bordered by fancy crown molding that was painted a shade darker than the walls. Light tumbling through a clear leaded-glass window kept the lobby from being depressingly dim. The Western Commerce Building was still respectable and had hung on long enough that it was becoming prime real estate, thanks to the vast improvement that had been made in the nearby theater district.

Quinn and Fedderman were the only ones in the lobby. They went to a glassed-over directory near the elevators and saw that there were in fact two theatrical agents in the building, along with law offices, a real estate agency, an insurance firm, a dental clinic, and more of the kinds of offices you'd expect to find in such a building. There were also several ambiguously named businesses, among which was E-Bliss.org. It shared the sixth floor with Cagely Imports and E. Rupert Hall, Investments.

"Think we should go up and have a talk with Palmer F. Stone?" Fedderman asked. "If there is a Palmer F. Stone. Sounds like a name made up by somebody running a con."

"With a name like that, you either go into politics or run a con," Quinn said.

"There's a difference?"

"I don't think we should show ourselves yet," Quinn said. "We spook these people and they might be out of here before we can turn around twice. You wait here while I go up to the sixth floor and scope things out. If somebody notices me I'll duck into E. Rupert Hall and invest some money."

"Commodities," Fedderman said. "I saw on the financial channel that commodities are hot."

"They won't be if I invest in them," Quinn said and headed for the elevators. Their doors were framed with fancy plaster scrollwork that probably matched the clutter around the tops of the pillars, but he didn't feel like looking up and checking.

The sixth floor was quiet. Quinn had stepped from the elevator into a small alcove and taken half a dozen steps to where the thinly carpeted hall ran in both directions. A small sign mounted on the wall featured an arrow pointing to the left, where E. Rupert Hall and Cagely Imports had offices. There was no arrow indicating anything was to the right.

Quinn decided that if anyone asked he was trying to find the dental office on the fifth floor. He turned right and walked down the narrow but well-lighted hall.

A single new-looking wood door near the end of the hall was lettered E-Bliss.org in fancy painted gold script edged in pink. Very artistic. There was no way to see what was inside. Apparently the dating service's office was conveniently isolated from the other two businesses on the sixth floor. Quinn smiled. Romance flourished best in privacy.

He stopped about five feet from the door and briefly thought about opening it.

Not yet, he told himself.

But someday soon.

He turned around and walked back the way he'd come, then passed the elevators and entered the office of E. Rupert Hall. He asked a gray-haired receptionist who'd been reading a book about fingernail art where the dental offices were. Just to cover himself in case someone in E-Bliss.org had somehow been observing him.

The woman directed him to the fifth floor and went back to her book. Quinn thanked her and left, thinking the book was about five hundred pages and it didn't seem there'd be that much to write about fingernail art. He guessed it must have a lot of illustrations.

When he got back to the lobby, he and Fedderman returned to the car and drove toward Jill Clark's apartment.

It was time to explain to her that she had a new friend in the building.

When Pearl and Jill first saw each other, Quinn introduced Pearl as Jewel. They wanted to get Jill thinking of her as Jewel right away.

"She'll be right above you, on the eighth floor," Quinn said. It was one of three vacant apartments in the building-the nearest to Jill's. Quinn had told the disinterested landlord the NYPD wanted to rent it for a few weeks to observe someone in the building across the street. They gave him a voucher and he gave them the key.

Jill nodded, still obviously trying to get used to the idea, and still obviously glad someone would be nearby to protect her. She couldn't believe what might be the truth about Tony. On the other hand, it was impossible for her to dismiss the possibility from her mind. And even now that she'd gone to Quinn and found help, she hadn't escaped her fear. It was like a malicious live thing in her stomach gnawing on her whenever she dared to forget about it.

This couldn't be happening. Not to her.

But the creature in Jill's stomach reminded her that it was indeed happening. And to her.

Jill knew Madeline must have thought the same thing once.

This couldn't be happening. Not to me.

Not-so-mad Madeline in the morgue.

"Do you have a date coming up with Tony?" Quinn asked.

"Not for a while. He's out of town for the next few days and will call me when he gets back. He'll probably want to go out right away. That's the way it usually is." She looked as if she wanted to say something else, then stuttered, "I can't believe-I mean, Tony-"

"I know," Quinn said. "That's the reason deceptions having to do with the heart usually work so well. They're based on undeserved trust. People are susceptible."

Pearl knew he was right. The heart was a fool.

"Invite him over when he calls," Quinn said. "Make sure Jewel is there. Or meet him someplace for lunch and bring Jewel along and introduce her. We want it to seem like you and she are fast becoming thick with each other. A close friend of the intended victim will present a real obstacle to E-Bliss."

"The intended victim…," Jill said. "That's me. That's what I'm having such a hard time believing."

"Madeline didn't believe it at first either. And you didn't believe Madeline."

Jill started chewing her lower lip and looked as if she might begin to cry. Maybe she was reliving her visit to the morgue.

"My suitcase is upstairs," Pearl said, to get Jill's mind on something else, "but I think I'd better stay here with you for an hour or so." She smiled. "There's no reason we shouldn't actually become friends, so we don't have to pretend."

"Just remember to do what Jewel tells you," Quinn said to Jill. "Jewel is very good at what she does, and she has your best interest at heart. She's here to preserve your life."

"I know that. She's here to save me from Tony."

"From anyone, dear. Jewel doesn't discriminate."

Pearl wished he'd get the hell out of there. "Where's Feds?" she asked. Maybe hurry him along.

"He's watching the new Madeline's apartment. We don't want to approach her yet. We don't want to approach anyone prematurely and see a lot of people and evidence scatter and disappear."

Quinn glanced at his watch and stood up from the sofa. "Speaking of disappeared people, I'd better go see if Renz has found any." He smiled. "So to speak." He supposed that would be progress. But learning the identities of people who'd supposedly gone to ground wouldn't reveal whose identities they'd assumed, or that they'd assumed any other identities at all.

But then, sometimes progress was made when it didn't seem so. Sometimes progress fell into your lap. If your lap was in the right place.

"You'll be fine," he assured Jill, as he moved toward the door.

To Pearl: "Leave your cell on, Jewel."

"Always, these days," Pearl said.