Pulse

50

Q uinn was back behind his desk. Darlene and Boomer had gone and taken the pouch with them. The lab would doubtless be able to match the DNA with one of the victims.

Unless the pouch had been fashioned from the breast of one of Daniel’s earlier victims. Was that what the monster was doing with his victims’ body parts? Using them for some kind of grotesque hobby?

It seemed too horrible to be possible, but Quinn knew that human beings were capable of any nightmare they could conjure.

Helen the profiler had come in to the office. Quinn wanted her to be in on this. Her short, carrot-colored hair was ruffled and looked soft, as if she’d just washed it and sat under a dryer. Probably, Quinn figured, she’d rubbed it dry with a towel and forgotten about it. Her denim shorts made her long legs look even longer. She had on blue jogging shoes and a sleeveless Fordham sweatshirt. Quinn didn’t think she’d attended Fordham, more likely some college in the Midwest where they played basketball. He’d asked her once if she’d played basketball and she told him no, but she was a fan. Just because a woman was over six feet tall didn’t mean she’d played basketball.

Quinn had wondered why not.

“He’s trying to taunt us,” he said.

“More to it than that,” Helen said. She was wearing either no makeup or scant makeup skillfully applied.

Pearl returned from the coffee machine carrying two steaming mugs. “It’s goddamned gruesome,” she said, handing one of the mugs to Helen.

Helen accepted the mug and moved away a few feet to sit on a different desk. She’d been perched on Pearl’s. Now Pearl sat down at her desk and placed her coffee mug on a cork coaster.

“If the killer’s trying to send someone a message, it’s probably Quinn,” Fedderman said.

“And it’s probably more than a simple taunt,” Helen said.

“I don’t know if it’s complicated,” Quinn said. “He wants to get me mad so I screw up. He’s playing chess.”

“The chess analogy goes only so far,” Helen said.

“Maybe the idea is to make you feel vulnerable,” Fedderman said, thinking back on his recent conversations with Penny.

“That’s closer,” Helen said. “But it’s also possible that he wants to demonstrate how vulnerable Pearl is.”

Fedderman appeared puzzled. “Why Pearl in particular?”

“Because he knows we’re living together,” Quinn said. “He sees Pearl as my possession and wants to show me he can take it away whenever he chooses.”

“Women as toys for the sadist,” Pearl said.

Fedderman sipped his coffee, which had become cool. “I dunno, Pearl. It could simply be that you’re his type and he wants you the way he wanted those other women. That’s what the pouch might signify-he’s objectifying you. You’re no more to him than another souvenir pouch.”

“Thanks,” Pearl said.

“Or some other kind of souvenir,” Helen said.

“No, he’s a breast man,” Fedderman said.

Pearl shot him a glance that would have stung a more sensitive person.

“The package was addressed to me,” Quinn reminded them.

“He wouldn’t send something valuable like that direct to a mere possession of yours,” Helen said.

“That might well be,” Quinn admitted. Once you figured out where Helen was coming from, she tended to make a lot of sense.

“Men!” Pearl said. “It’s always about you.”

“Helen’s the one that worked it out,” Fedderman said, “and she’s a woman.”

Pearl had no adequate response to that, but she wished now that she hadn’t fetched Helen’s coffee.

“Whatever is in this sicko’s mind,” Quinn said, “Pearl is in danger.”

“And she’s being followed,” Fedderman said.

“That one’s been worked out,” Pearl reminded him.

“That’s right,” Helen said. “Your daughter.” She smiled. “I’d like to meet her.”

“I’m sure you will someday,” Pearl said.

She wondered as she spoke, had Jody been active in any kind of sport?