"Do you have anything?"
"Not a thing. Forensics is stumped. We've got no unusual fibers or hairs. No fingerprints. You can buy the notepaper at any place. The rose is an ordinary rose.
Ditto the black dye."
"What do you suggest?"
"We're doing a computer search on the m.o. and I've got Ross Barrow calling around to other police departments and the FBI."
"Are you looking into possible connections between the victims?"
"Sure. We've got lots of obvious similarities. The three women are around the same age, upper middle class, childless, housewives with executive-type husbands. But we've got nothing connecting the victims to each other."
Tobias could have been describing Tina. Alan closed his eyes and massaged the lids.
"What about health clubs, favorite stores, reading Circles? Do they use the same dentist or doctor?" Alan asked.
"We've thought of all those and a dozen more."
"Yeah, I'm sure you have. How far apart is he working?"
"It looks like one a month. We're into what? Early October? Farrar was August and Reiser was September."
"Christ. We better get something going soon. The press will eat us alive once this breaks."
"Tell me about it."
Alan sighed. "Thanks for calling. Keep me up-to date."
"You got it."
Alan hung up and swiveled his chair so he could look out the window.
Man, he was tired. Tired of the rain and this asshole with the black rose and Tina and everything else he could think of. More than anything, he wanted to be by himself on some still-soaked beach where there were no women and no phones and the only decision he would have to make was about the strength of his suntan lotion.
No one ever called Elizabeth Tannenbaum stunning, but most men found her attractive. Hardly anyone called her Elizabeth, either. An "Elizabeth" was regal, cool, an eye catching beauty. A "Betsy" was pleasant to look at, a tiny bit overweight, capable, but still fun to be with. Betsy suited her just fine.
Betsy could — also be a bit frazzled at times and that was how Betsy Tannenbaum felt when her secretary buzzed her just as she was stuffing the papers on the Morales case into her briefcase so she could work on them at home this evening, after she picked up Kathy from day care and cooked dinner and straightened the house and played with Kathy and…
"I can't take it, Ann. I'm late for day care."
"He says it's important."
"It's always important. Who is it?" I
"He won't say."
Betsy sighed and looked at the clock. It was already four-thirty. If she got Kathy by five and rushed to the store, she would not be done cooking until six. On the other hand, if she did not keep bringing in clients she would have all day to shop. Betsy stopped pushing papers into her briefcase and picked up the phone.
"Betsy Tannenbaum."
"Thank you for taking the call. My name is Martin Darius."
Betsy caught her breath. Everyone in Portland knew who Darius was, but he did not call many of them.
"When does your staff leave?" Darius asked.
"Around five, five-fifteen. Why?"
"I need to speak to you this evening and I don't want anyone to know about it, including your secretary.
Would six be convenient?"
"Actually, no. I'm sorry. Is there any way we can meet tomorrow? My schedule is pretty open then."
"How much is your normal fee, Mrs. Tannenbaum?"
"One hundred dollars an hour."
"if you'll meet me at six tonight, I'll pay you twenty five hundred dollars for the consultation. If I decide to hire you, you will be extremely pleased by the fee."
Betsy took a deep breath. She dreaded doing it, but she was going to have to call Rick. She simply could not afford to turn down that kind of money or such a highprofile client.
"Can I put you on hold, Mr. Darius? I have another obligation and I want to see if I can get someone else to take care of it."
"I can hold."
Betsy dialed Rick Tannenbaum on the other line. He was in a meeting, but his secretary put her through.
"What is it, Betsy? I'm very busy," Rick said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I have an emergency.
A client needs to meet me at six. Can you get Kathy at day care?"
"What about your mother?"
"She's playing bridge and I don't have the number at her friend's house."
"Just tell the client you'll meet him tomorrow."
"He can't. It has to be tonight."
"Damn it, Betsy, when we separated, you promised you wouldn't do this to me."
"I'm really sorry," Betsy said, as angry at herself for begging as she was at Rick for making this so difficult. "I rarely ask you to pick up Kathy, but I need you, this once. Please."
Rick was silent for a moment.
"I'll do it," he answered angrily. "When do I have to be there?"
"They close at six. I really appreciate this."
Betsy hung up quickly, before Rick could change his mind.
"Six will be fine, Mr. Darius. Do you know the address of my office?"
"Yes," Darius said, and the line went dead. Betsy put the phone down slowly and sank into her chair, wondering what business a man like Martin Darius could possibly have with her.
Betsy glanced at her watch. It was six thirty-five and Darius had not arrived. She was annoyed that he had kept her waiting after she had put herself out, but not annoyed enough to jeopardize a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fee.
Besides, the wait had given her time to work on the Morales case. She decided to give Darius another half hour.
Rain spattered against the window behind her. Betsy yawned and swiveled her chair so she could look out into the night. Most of the offices in the building across the way were deserted. She could see cleaning women starting to work. By now, her own building was probably deserted, except for the night people. The silence made her a little uncomfortable. When she swiveled back, Darius was standing in the doorway. Betsy started.
"Mrs. Tannenbaum?" Darius said, as he entered the room. Betsy stood. She was almost five feet eleven, but she had to look up to Darius. He extended his hand, exposing the exquisite gold cuff links that secured his French cuffs. His hand was cold and his manner distant.
Betsy did not believe in auras, but there was definitely something about the man that did not come across on television or in newspaper photos.
"I'm sorry to be so mysterious, Mrs. Tannenbaum," Darius said when they were seated.
"For twenty-five hundred dollars you can wear a mask, Mr. Darius."
Darius grinned. "I like an attorney with a sense of humor. I haven't met too many of them."
"That's because you deal with business lawyers and tax attorneys.
Criminal lawyers don't last long without a sense of humor."
Darius leaned back in his chair and looked around Betsy's cluttered office. It was her first and it was small and cramped. She had made just enough money this year to think about moving to larger quarters. If she ever collected the verdict in the abortion case she would definitely move, but that case was bogged down in the appellate courts and she might never see a penny.
"I was at a charity 'dinner for the Portland Opera the other night,"
Darius said. "Do you go?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Too bad. It's quite good. I had an interesting discussion with Maxine Silver. She's on the staff. A very strong-minded woman. We were discussing Greig's book.
Have you read it?"
"The novel by the serial killer?" Betsy asked, puzzled by the direction the conversation was taking.
Darius nodded.
"I've seen a few reviews, but I don't have time to read anything but legal periodicals. It's not my kind of book, anyway."