Night kills

63

Tonight was going to be different.

As he walked, Greeve thought about how tailing Weaver had paid off. Two days ago she'd led Greeve to the building where the woman he now knew as Madeline Scott lived. Greeve hadn't known her name at first, but it was simple enough to find out she was the reason why Weaver was watching the building. An hour had passed, and then Scott emerged and Weaver fell in behind her.

What to do but join in?

It was fun being the caboose on the train. Scott, Weaver, Greeve. He thought Weaver was pretty good at her work.

Scott returned carrying a newspaper and some magazines. Weaver was nowhere in sight. But Greeve knew she was there.

Same thing had happened the next evening; Scott emerged from her building and Weaver appeared from a doorway across the street and tailed her.

That time Greeve didn't follow them. He waited until they returned about half an hour later. It looked as if Scott had only gone down to the corner deli for some takeout food. Weaver took up her post again when Scott entered the building.

Greeve watched the windows to see which lights came on.

Third floor east.

A later check of the mailboxes in the vestibule, when Weaver wasn't around, established that M. Scott was the tenant of that apartment. Greeve inserted a pen with a clip into the grilled front of the box and skillfully snagged a thin piece of mail and rolled it up on the pen. He withdrew it without damaging it. The piece of mail was an ad inviting Madeline Scott to open a free checking account at a nearby bank. Now he knew where M. Scott lived and knew her full name.

He inserted the undamaged mail back in the box and smiled.

Detective work. Greeve was so good at it, sometimes it amused him.

Tonight was different, all right. The usually sedately dressed Madeline Scott was something when she emerged from her apartment building. She was dressed like a hooker. Maybe she was a hooker. All Greeve really knew about her was that Quinn and his team were interested in her. And with those high heels, she had a helluva wiggle. He skillfully followed Weaver, who was tailing Madeline. Greeve loved this kind of thing.

After a short cab ride, Madeline walked from dive to dive, usually not spending much time inside. She seemed to be searching for someone. Or something. Greeve followed the two women into one of the clubs, an S amp;M place that was divided into cubicles. They were in there about ten minutes; then it was off again on the hunt.

He stayed outside of Billy G's. He'd been there before and knew the layout and figured the odds were too great that Weaver might notice him if he ventured inside.

From across the street, he watched the drug raid go down, wondering what that was all about, if it had anything to do with Madeline or Weaver. There was no way to know. A place like Billy G's might be raided frequently. He smiled, wondering if Madeline would be taken in as a prostitute. The way she was dressed, she shouldn't be surprised. He could imagine her being escorted to the police van parked down the block, and then climbing up into the back in that short skirt.

He was the one who was surprised when Weaver came out the door dragging Madeline along by the elbow.

What the hell's this all about?

At first he thought Weaver might be taking Madeline in. But they turned the wrong direction for that, away from the police van. He watched as the two women hurried down the block, and then he casually crossed the street to fall in behind them.

Behind them was a good place to be. It was something watching Madeline walk in those high heels. Weaver…she was worth watching, too.

They stopped, and Madeline yanked her arm free of Weaver's grip. They stood close to each other talking. The conversation seemed amiable, but the body language was all wrong. Greeve knew he was looking at two people who were wary of each other. Then Madeline reached into her purse and fished something out.

At first Greeve thought she might be drawing a gun, but it appeared that her fist was clenched around nothing-or something very small. She stuck her fist up close to the surprised Weaver's face, and instantly a fine mist became visible in the glow from a nearby streetlight.

Tear gas or mace.

Madeline used both hands to push Weaver to the sidewalk. Then she broke into a fast walk, clacking along in her high heels. After about ten feet she stumbled and almost fell. She bent gracefully and removed the stiletto-heeled shoes. With a quick glance back at Weaver, Madeline broke into a run, carrying her shoes as her nylon-stockinged feet hit the pavement. The whole thing had taken about ten seconds.

Shit!

Greeve didn't like anything resembling an outright pursuit, but he had to stay close to Madeline. He broke into a brisk jog, his gaze fixed on the pale action of Madeline's legs flashing in the shadows up ahead. She could really run, without those high heels. Thanks to the tight skirt inhibiting her leg movement, he thought he'd be able to stay with her.

When he reached where Weaver lay on the sidewalk, she was still gagging and coughing. Her eyes were swollen and unseeing. She hadn't had time to close them or turn away. She was clutching her gut and trying to catch her breath. Whatever she'd been sprayed with, tear gas or mace, she must have breathed in plenty of it.

He stepped over her and kept going.