John Lutz Bundle (98 page)

It didn’t take long for Pearl, as Jewel, to move into the vacant apartment on the eighth floor of Jill Clark’s building. She was in 8G, not exactly above Jill’s 7C unit, but close enough. She could get to the fire stairs in a hurry if she had to, and be downstairs and pounding on Jill’s door, or kicking it in, within less than a minute. She made a mental note to tell Jill that. It would reassure her.

Pearl had brought everything she thought she’d need. It was packed in a twenty-six-inch rolling suitcase. Almost everything. The only thing not in the suitcase was the folding cot Quinn had given her. It was brand new from a discount store, still in the box. There should be instructions with it.

She unpacked the suitcase, then got the folding cot from its box and looked at it. She saw rolled green canvas, and what looked like aluminum tubes that must be legs. She withdrew one of the tubes and was surprised when another came with it. They were attached by a small metal plate of some kind run through with a bolt or rivet. She fumbled around and soon saw that the two tubes could be separated to form an X. Another of the metal tubes telescoped. Perhaps this was one of the side bars running down each edge of the cot. But how did you get the canvas on the damned thing? The canvas was what she was interested in, what she was going to sleep on. She played with the telescoping tube for a while, trying to figure out how it related to the canvas, until it pinched her finger painfully and she cursed and tossed it down on the rest of the cot’s various parts sticking out of the box.

How had all those parts, along with the canvas, ever fit in the stupid box? It didn’t seem possible. It
wasn’t
possible. It was a trick, so the cot would be impossible to return.

Something white attracted her attention. Directions. She unfolded them and saw that they were in Spanish, also French and German, and some language she didn’t recognize. Ah, there was the English part, on the back.

She studied the instructions. They confused her.

Quinn, she thought. Was he trying to mess with her mind, giving her something like this to sleep on? Or was it just his usual insensitivity? Either way, the cot was his idea, so let him put the damned thing together.

She’d go down and talk to Jill Clark. They were supposed to meet at her apartment in—Pearl glanced at her watch—ten minutes.

Without a backward look at the unassembled cot, Pearl headed for the door.

She had to descend only one floor, so she decided to take the stairs. That was the way she’d go if she had to get to Jill’s apartment in a hurry, so she might as well familiarize herself with the route.

The stairwell wasn’t air conditioned. There were two sets of wooden stairs with rubber treads, with a tiny landing in between so the steps could make their angled turn. Nothing she couldn’t negotiate in a hurry. She opened the door to the seventh-floor hall and a noticeable movement of somewhat cooler air.

There was Jill Clark down the hall, in jeans and a yellow T-shirt, just stepping into the elevator.

“Jill!”

But the momentum of her step caused Jill to disappear into the elevator. Pearl wasn’t sure if she’d heard.

Pearl hurried toward the elevator. “Jill! It’s Jewel!”

The elevator door was closing.

It was almost all the way closed when Pearl looked in and saw Jill staring out at her.

“We were supposed to meet.”

Jill looked startled and fumbled with the elevator’s keypad to stop the door. Pearl tried to hold the closing door with her hand, but mechanics had taken over and wouldn’t be denied. Pearl yanked her hand out of there before she got a finger pressed in the rubber seal.

As the door growled shut, Jill looked out at Pearl with a helpless smile and shrugged. “I’ll be right back up.”

The indicator above the elevator doors said the elevator was dropping.

Pearl was alone in the hall. She didn’t have a key yet to Jill’s apartment, so she decided to walk down and stand by the door.

She’d taken two steps when she heard the other elevator door softly rumble open behind her.

She turned around and saw Jill step out into the hall.

Pearl stepped toward her and realized suddenly that this was impossible. There was no way Jill could have ridden the elevator down to the lobby, and then returned on the second elevator. And why would she have taken a different elevator back up?

And why was she wearing different clothes?

Her hair was the same color as that of the woman in the other elevator, and worn in the same style. Her face…It wasn’t exactly the same, Pearl realized. The first Jill had somewhat broader features, and something about her neck and jaw wasn’t quite the same.

Pearl called up the image of the other Jill, commanding her mind to re-create the woman in fine detail. She was sure the other Jill, smiling helplessly out at her as she seemingly tried to stop the elevator’s closing door, but was probably holding in the button to close it, had the same light pattern of freckles along and above the bridge of her nose. Nothing you’d call a flaw. A minor distinguishing feature only a cop would notice.

My God! Even the freckles!

“I saw her,” Pearl said.

Jill looked confused. “Saw who?”

“The other you. She was riding the elevator down to the lobby while you were coming up. You had to have passed each other. She must have been in your apartment and seen you approach out the window. Or maybe somebody called from outside and warned her.”

Pearl dug her cell phone out of her blazer pocket, then put it back. Too much time had passed. The other Jill would be out of the building and putting distance between it and her. She’d be blocks away within minutes.

Jill had gone pale and was leaning with an arm against the wall.

Pearl steadied her. “It’s okay. It was quite a shock to me too, and I’m not even you.”

“She must have been learning about me, seeing what was in my refrigerator, my bedroom drawers, maybe trying on my clothes….”

“Maybe stealing some of your clothes.”

“I don’t think it would be the first time.” Jill stood away from the wall and Pearl released her hold on her arm. “A week ago I blamed the dry cleaners for something they lost, something I couldn’t find the receipt for. And there’ve been a few other items, even some jewelry, that seem to have disappeared.” She gave Pearl a wan smile. “At least you believe me now.”

“Oh, we believe you,” Pearl said.

Jill looked around as if suddenly realizing they were in the hall. “C’mon, Jewel. Somebody’s liable to overhear us and think we’re nuts.”

At first Pearl didn’t know who Jill was talking to. She almost glanced around. Then she realized she was Jewel and followed Jill down the hall to her apartment.

The door was unlocked.

“She must have left in a hurry,” Jill said. “Maybe somebody did call and warn her.”

Pearl edged in front of Jill. “Let me go in first.”

Jill seemed to resist at first, then moved aside.

Pearl drew her 9mm Glock from its belt holster and used her free hand to push the door almost closed. She motioned for Jill to stay in the hall, and then Pearl was inside.

She was in a modestly decorated living room with cheap or old eclectic furniture. Covering most of the hardwood floor was a threadbare fake Persian rug that was mostly maroon. The blinds on one of the street-side twin windows were angled down, as if someone had been peering between the wooden slats keeping an eye on the street. The blinds on the window next to it were slanted to admit light from above. Sunbeams stenciled angled shadows over everything.

The apartment was quiet. It
felt
empty. But Pearl knew that could be deceptive. People who knew how to hide could be as silent and still as the furniture. With the gun pressed against her thigh, she made her way past a small galley kitchen on her right, then the opened door to a bathroom with chipped gray tile and old but clean white fixtures. There was a bunched plastic shower curtain, pulled all the way open to the faucet side of the claw-foot tub. Nowhere to hide in the bathroom. Pearl continued down the hall to the bedroom.

It was surprisingly large, with a double bed covered with a blue and gray duvet. On the wall near the foot of the bed was a tall chest with some of the wood veneer starting to peel. There was a small TV on a table near the chest. On another wall was a dresser with a mismatched framed mirror. A bench by the windows. The blinds were both half open to admit yellow sunlight. The room was bright. Pearl saw that the closet door was hanging open. A light beige dress, maybe something you’d wear someplace nice, was carefully spread out on the bed.

Pearl approached the closet cautiously, gun at the ready, then parted the clothes.

No one was hiding behind them.

She checked under the bed, the only other place in the room someone might find concealment, and saw only a few dust bunnies. The floor was bare wood in here, too, like the living room floor under the faux Persian rug, only in here there were throw rugs scattered about. Throw rugs. The most dangerous things in a house or an apartment—usually.

Still holding the gun against her thigh, she returned to the living room.

Jill had of course disobeyed her instructions and was standing just inside the door.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jill said. “I thought something might have happened to you.”

“And you came in so it could happen to you too?”

“It was dumb,” Jill said. “I’m sorry.” She hung her head like a kid who’d just been admonished.

“Well, that’s one reason I’m here, to teach you how not to take risks,” Pearl said.

“I’ll learn,” Jill assured her. “Really I will.”

“Did you leave a dress on the bed when you walked out of here? Beige, lacy neckline, sexy?”

“No. I wouldn’t have. I’m sure I didn’t.”

“But it
is
your dress?”

“It sounds like one of mine.”

Pearl led her back to the bedroom and showed her the dress spread out on the bed, the closet door hanging open.

“It’s mine, all right.” She glanced around, angry and scared. “I didn’t leave things like this,” she said. “She’s been here, handling my stuff, wearing my clothes.”

“We might have gotten here just in time to save your dress,” Pearl said wryly.

“Why would she steal my clothes?”

“Easier to be you if she has some of your clothes. And maybe she wants to hang around the building, even the neighborhood, and let people glimpse her wearing them. Getting people used to seeing her as you. Safe enough, unless you and the other Jill are in the same place at the same time. The people we’re after are no doubt careful about that not happening.”

Jill sat down on the edge of the bed, just missing the hem of the dress, and slumped staring at the floor. She looked as if she might start crying. Pearl didn’t want that, didn’t want to waste time with it.

“They’re even stealing my clothes,” Jill said. “They’re stealing
me.
Madeline said I was halfway to nothing already. She was right.”

“No, we can change that.”

Jill looked up at her with moist eyes. “I believe you. I have to. These people might follow me anywhere. You’re the only chance I’ve got.”

“It’s not just me, Quinn, and Fedderman,” Pearl reminded her. “There’ll be undercover cops looking after you every step of the way, Jill. You’ve got a whole brigade of guardian angels on your side. Angels who know their jobs. Angels with guns.”

Jill stared again at the worn hardwood floor. “The only chance I’ve got,” she repeated in a soft and lonesome voice.

Pearl thought she had it about right.

For the next several hours, Pearl stayed with Jill in her apartment and went over instructions Jill was to follow until the case was resolved and she was again safe. Jill was to inform Tony Lake that Jewel, who lived just upstairs, had become her friend. After that, Jewel would be hanging around Jill most of the time when Tony showed up. Maybe Jill would even invite her new friend to dine with her and Tony. The best way for Jill to be safe was for her to get Tony to think she and Jewel had become a pair, the way it was sometimes with women who were best friends. If he suspected anything, let him suspect they were lovers. That would make it even more problematic for E-Bliss.org to murder Jill and try to pass off another woman as Jill Clark. New best friend Jewel would almost certainly notice the differences in the imposter. Short of murdering both women, which would be way too risky, E-Bliss.org would have no choice but to delay the substitution.

That was what Quinn and his team were counting on—delay while they gathered evidence. While they built their case brick by brick into a wall that would fall on and crush E-Bliss.org in a court of law.

It was only when Pearl finally left Jill, to return to her apartment on the floor above, that it struck her.

Which of the two Jills she’d met today was the original?

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.