Pulse

36

T he troops had arrived before Pearl and Quinn-and Jody. There were three radio cars parked at forty-five-degree angles to the curb. Just beyond them was an ambulance, lights out, with two paramedics sitting in it, waiting for the work to be done upstairs.

Quinn felt his throat tighten as he observed the two white-clad men. Taking out the dead. Some occupation, always to arrive at a crime scene when the battle’s lost.

Beyond the ambulance a black Chevy was parked properly at the curb. Quinn recognized it as Nift the M.E.’s car. Pearl had noticed the car, too. “He’s put himself on all these cases,” she said.

Quinn nodded. “He always does.”

“Who is he?” Jody asked, walking alongside Pearl.

“Dr. Nift,” Quinn said.

“Think of a cross between Napoleon and Frankenstein,” Pearl said.

Jody didn’t quite understand that, but she didn’t push it, reminding herself she was here as an observer.

A big uniformed cop was standing sentry at the building entrance. Quinn knew him. His name was Harmon and he lifted weights and could pass for thirty even though he had to be about Quinn’s age. Quinn wondered why he, Quinn, didn’t work out, as he always wondered when he saw Harmon.

“Apartment’s on the fifth floor, right where you get off the elevator,” Harmon said to Quinn and Pearl, pointing and making a huge bicep stretch the material of his shirt. He looked at Jody and smiled. It was scary. “Journalist?”

“Observer,” Quinn explained.

Harmon didn’t press. If the young woman with the springy red hair was with Quinn and Pearl, that was good enough. But she had that look about her, like a journalist. Curious as a cat that had used up about eight lives.

They entered the building and took the creaky old elevator to the fifth floor.

When the door slid open, there was the crime scene.

The opened apartment door had 5-A on it in those luminous stick-on parallelogram labels. A tech guy with white gloves looked out at them as he passed the door carrying a plastic evidence bag. There were two more techs in the room, one of them a woman. The corpse was in the middle of the room, centered on the carpet as if on display.

Beside Quinn, Jody said, “Holy shit!”

Everyone in the room except the dead woman looked at her.

“Observer,” Quinn said, by way of explanation.

After a few seconds, the rest of the room’s occupants turned back to their work.

Fedderman came in from a hall that led to the back of the apartment. He came over to stand by Quinn and Pearl. “Her name was Deena Vess. Twenty-four, single, occupation food server.” He glanced over at Jody, back to Quinn.

“This is Jody Jason,” Quinn said. He turned toward Jody. “This is Larry Fedderman. Don’t let his casual sloppy persona fool you. He’s even worse than he seems.”

Jody nodded hello to Fedderman with a sickly smile.

“She’s an observer,” Quinn said.

“Really?” Fedderman might never have heard the word before.

“Pearl’s daughter,” Quinn said.

“Huh?” Fedderman stared at Jody. Everyone alive in the room stared at her. Deena Vess stared straight ahead. The expression on her face made you wonder what she might have been looking at when she died.

“Explanations later,” Pearl said. Mind your own damn business!

Everyone dutifully looked away. Even Nift, though he looked away last. He smiled. “I can see the resemblances.”

“It’ll be the last thing you see if I shove those tweezers up your ass,” Pearl told him. Jody stared at her.

Nift shrugged and continued to pick with the tweezers where Vess’s left breast had been.

Jody swallowed loud enough for everyone to hear. No one spoke. Quinn looked at Jody and she looked back, knowing what he was wondering. She subtly shook her head no and he smiled.

The victim, who was wearing only panties, had been hog-tied in the same manner as the previous victim, tilted back on her knees so her breasts would have jutted out, if she’d still had breasts. A rectangle of duct tape was fixed firmly to her mouth. Quinn didn’t want to ask Nift if she’d been alive when her breasts were sliced off. He already knew the answer; she’d been alive, like the other victims.

“It looks like what he did to her was the same as with Ann Spellman,” Nift said. “Hog-tied her, then stood straddling her, grabbing her by the hair or under the chin, and bent her up toward him so her breasts dangled and he could reach down and remove them easily and completely.”

“You pretty sure about that?” Pearl said.

“It’s how I’d do it. Unless…”

“What?”

“The victim’s breasts were very firm. Then I’d have her on her knees, bent back and facing up. Looking at the ceiling.” Nift’s mind seemed to have drifted. He came back abruptly. “Our killer’s certainly a breast man,” he said. “Likes his women with long dark hair, too.” He pointedly did not look at Pearl.

“How long’s she been gone?” Quinn asked.

“I’d say only a few hours.”

“Same guy?”

“Same guy, and probably the same knife. He made small torture cuts on her. Some of them are beneath her panties.”

“Which are the size worn by Ann Spellman,” Quinn said.

Nift looked at him in faux admiration. “Damn, you’re smart.”

“Sometimes,” Quinn said.

“He puts the previous victim’s panties on them,” Pearl said softly, explaining to Jody.

“Why?”

Pearl shrugged. “Why does he kill them in the first place?”

“Something different here, though.” Nift had held something back, as he often did for dramatic effect.

Quinn arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She had a broken ankle.”

“ He broke it?” Pearl asked.

“I don’t think so. Be a good detective and look over there.”

“The cat?” Pearl asked, seeing a tabby-striped gray cat slide around the corner of the sofa and disappear. Sometimes she wondered if she was the only person in New York who didn’t own a cat. City of cats.

“Not the cat. Though she might be the only witness to the crime. Over there.”

Pearl looked where Nift was pointing and saw a metal cane and a plastic cast. The cane was leaning in a corner. The cast was near it on the floor as if it had been carelessly tossed there. “Looks like the killer removed the cast and used the ankle to torture her. A broken bone must have been like a gift to him.”

“You would understand that,” Pearl said.

“Another thing,” Nift said, ignoring her. He pointed to a small metal object near where the victim’s long hair spilled onto the carpet from her thrown-back head. “That was balanced on her forehead when she was discovered.”

“What is it?” Quinn asked, looking closer.

“It’s a roller-skate key,” Pearl said. “The sort that tightens the kind of skates that fit over your shoes.”

“What the hell could that mean?” Fedderman asked. He looked at Jody as if she might supply the answer. She felt flattered that he was including her in the conversation. “The key to the case…” she offered.

There was a ripple of laughter.

“She might be right,” Quinn said, in such a way that all laughter stopped. What the hell am I doing now, getting protective?

“One thing it might explain,” Pearl said. “She might have hurt herself skating, and the broken ankle is why he wasn’t able to lure her someplace and decided to kill her in her apartment. She’s the first victim found indoors.”

“How many of Daniel Danielle’s victims were found indoors?” Fedderman asked.

“Two out of twelve,” Pearl said. “Of course, he might have murdered over a hundred women, so we don’t know for sure how many were indoors when they were killed.”

“More than a hundred? ” Jody asked.

Quinn stared at her somberly. “It’s a dangerous world.”

She looked dubious and shook her head. Even let slip a slight smile.

Oh, God! He was beginning to feel like a parent again, not being taken seriously.

Pearl was looking at him in a kind of surprised way. Had she experienced the same sensation?

She had, he was sure.

It was disconcerting.

“I’ve got a question,” Jody said. “What’s going to happen to the victim’s cat?”

“No!” Quinn and Pearl said simultaneously.