Night kills

39

Deputy Chief Harley Renz, potbelly straining the buttons of his white shirt, sat behind his desk looking like an angry Buddha with a basset-hound face. If he kept putting on weight, he'd soon catch up with Nobbler.

Quinn had filled Renz in on the latest developments in the Torso Murders case, and while Renz was reasonably pleased by the progress they'd made, he was seriously ticked off about Wes Nobbler and the leaks from the medical examiner's office.

Renz's office was too warm this morning, reflecting his mood. Sunlight fairly roared through the window, heating up Quinn's vinyl chair, his right arm and shoulder, and one side of his face. The same sunlight was also harsh on Renz's face, emphasizing his mottled, flushed complexion.

There was a lot of dust in the sunlight, as if Renz had just finished beating a carpet. Quinn had to control his breathing to keep from sneezing.

"I expected Nobbler to be a political animal and put the knife in my back," Renz said. "Nobbler's an asshole. But he's a player. What's that little prick Nift doing messing in Homicide's business? He's a physician, for God's sake! What's he got to gain?"

"Aside from enjoying examining dead women," Quinn said, "he figures to move higher in the bureaucracy. Maybe be the city's chief medical examiner someday."

"He's probably the one dumping information on that Cindy Sellers bitch. Damned woman's a bottom-feeder."

"You're her source," Quinn reminded him.

"It started out that way; then she turned on us."

"But you're still talking to her."

Renz waved a hand dismissively. "I use her, she uses me, and we try to stay ahead of each other."

He leaned back, moving his mottled face out of the sunlight, and took a few deep breaths. Quinn thought he might pop a pill next. If he wasn't taking something for his blood pressure, maybe he should. Renz looked like the definition of an impending heart attack.

"The same gun, different kind of broomstick, vaginal, anal…Somebody's screwing with our minds, Quinn."

"That's how Pearl sees it. I think she might have a point. I also think we might have two killers."

Renz wearily rubbed his fleshy features, leaving marks beneath both eyes. "Serial killers don't usually come in pairs."

"But it happens," Quinn said. "A leader-follower kind of relationship. Together they're capable of what neither of them might do individually. And considering E-Bliss, the switch in M.O.s might be part of a diversion to lead us to the assumption that we're looking for a garden-variety psychosexual serial killer."

"I don't see where it'd make much difference to whoever's killing these people whether we're looking for one or two psychos. The murders are part of a business plan, if what this Jill Clark says is true."

"It's true," Quinn said. He told Renz about Pearl coming face-to-face with the other Jill Clark yesterday in Jill's apartment building.

Renz dry washed his face again with his blunt-fingered hands. "Sometimes I think there are two of everybody," he said.

Quinn didn't know what he meant by that. Probably another reference to two-faced backstabbers in the NYPD. He should know they could be found wherever there was rampant ambition, which was just about everywhere.

"You sure you're set up well enough to protect the real Jill Clark?" Renz asked.

"She's safe as we can make her. Protection around the clock, and Pearl's staying on the floor above, playing the new best friend. We need more information. And we need to link Tony Lake and E-Bliss with the Torso Murders without Jill Clark becoming a victim."

"Sounds like she's ripe for it," Renz said, "considering what you told me about Pearl bumping into the other Jill yesterday."

Quinn heard a series of soft pops. Renz was absently cracking his knuckles. It was a new habit that could soon get on Quinn's nerves. People do change their habits, sometimes their M.O.s. Maybe this is another Renz.

"What the hell're you smiling about?" Renz asked.

Quinn hadn't been aware of the slight smile on his face. "Nothing. Nervous reaction, I guess."

Pop, pop went the knuckles.

"What would flush them out," Renz said, "is if they made a play for Jill." Quinn knew that was what he was secretly hoping for. "Unsuccessful, of course. But we need for something to happen before the media learn everything. That'd blow the investigation and we'd all get fed to the wolves."

"Maybe there's a way to hold the wolves at bay," Quinn said.

Renz sat forward again, subjecting himself to the hot sunlight. Pop, pop. "Are you about to show me your devious side, Quinn?"

"That's why you hired me."

"One reason," Renz admitted. "Takes one to catch one."

"And know one. Let's give the media a suspect."

Renz's face fell in disappointment. "Hell, I thought of that. Standard operating procedure. Trouble is, we don't have anyone to give them."

"All the better. That way they won't be able to nail anything down. If it's somebody we can't find, they won't be able to find him either and eliminate him as a suspect. It might also lull the real Torso killer into thinking we've gone off on a tangent."

Renz stopped unconsciously cracking his knuckles. "You've obviously given this some thought."

"Uh-huh."

Quinn watched Renz's expression, the Swiss-watch mechanism behind the sad eyes. Renz was figuring the odds and risks and rewards of what Quinn was suggesting, and what it might mean to his career, his relentless climb up the slippery ladder. It took him only seconds to grasp it all. He was shrewd as well as ambitious. It struck Quinn, as it had many times, that Renz was a great politician in a small way.

Renz smiled. "Who've you got in mind? Nift?"

"I wish," Quinn said. "I'm thinking Tom Coulter."

Coulter was a burglar and rapist who had allegedly murdered a single mother and her three young children a month ago in New Jersey. He'd used a kitchen knife on them, leaving his fingerprints on its handle and in the blood of the victims. There was virtually no doubt of his guilt. When police located him and approached with a warrant for his arrest, he shot at them and sped away in a stolen SUV. Neither he nor the vehicle had been seen since.

With the victims in their graves, and the disappearance of the killer, Coulter had pretty much dropped out of the news. He'd reportedly been spotted here and there, but none of the leads went anywhere.

"Leak to the media that Coulter's suspected of committing the Torso Murders," Quinn said.

Renz began chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. "Think there's enough similarity in M.O.s for them to buy into it?"

"Slash killings in this area-that's all they'll need because they'll be hungry for the story. They'll make Coulter a viable suspect. Rumor will build on rumor. The media will furnish the facts and the credibility."

"We've seen them do that before," Renz said.

"It might shake Coulter loose somehow so we can pick him up, but that'd only be a bonus. The main thing is, it'll generate endless ink and TV babble and take media minds off the real investigation."

"A diversion," Renz said in a pleased voice. "Like the diversion created by E-Bliss."

"Something like that," Quinn said.

"Raw meat thrown to the media wolves so they'll gorge on it and slow down. Chew on each other in their blood feast."

"More like that."

"I like it," Renz said, closing his eyelids and showing some REM movement, as if enjoying the imagery. "In fact, I'll enjoy it."

Thinking no doubt of Cindy Sellers.