Quinn took a careful look around, and then started to back out of the bathroom so he and Pearl could talk to the first uniforms on the scene, then to the crime scene techs, to see when they'd be finished. Then they'd help Fedderman interview Marilyn Nelson's neighbors. She'd been dead only a few hours. Maybe someone would remember actually seeing the killer come or go.
As they were leaving the bathroom and the immediate presence of violent death, Pearl decided to mention calmly to Nift something to the effect that from now on he should concentrate on his job and let the detectives concentrate on theirs. She really did intend for it to be calm and measured. A relatively polite parting shot.
What came out was, "Hey, Frankenstein, you really are an insufferable little asshole."
Far from being insulted, Nift grinned and glanced wide-eyed at Quinn. "She's alive!"
Quinn wrapped an arm around Pearl's waist and turned her away from Nift, then gripped her elbow tightly and got her out of there.
"Sorry," Pearl said, when they were back in the living room. "I couldn't resist."
Quinn smiled at her. "Considering the provocation, I thought you did well."
Still avoiding the CSU techs, who assured them they were almost finished, they crossed the room to a small desk where a phone sat. A tech told Quinn the phone had already been dusted for prints, so it was okay to touch. Quinn touched. He pressed the redial button on Marilyn Nelson's phone and got a number that gave out time and temperature and an offer for expense-free checking. So the killer hadn't called the police from the apartment. At least not on this phone.
A cursory search of Marilyn Nelson's apartment wasn't very revealing. There was no sign of a cell phone, vibrating or otherwise. Maybe she'd had a cell and the killer had taken it with him, used it to call the law.
Quinn had to smile, thinking maybe the killer had tried to use the cell phone and it only vibrated.
They left the apartment and stood out in the hall, more to get away from the stench of bleached death than for any other reason.
Quinn said, "Nift is probably right. This one might have been chosen because her last initial was N, but the killer probably got to know her first as a brunette, or had known her all along."
"Maybe it's her brother," Pearl said, glaring back into the apartment in the general direction of Nift. Once someone got under her skin she simply couldn't let it go. She fumed for a long, long time, maybe unto eternity. Quinn thought it might be part of what made her such a good detective and such a bad cop.
He was familiar with the white splotches at the corners of her mouth, the pugnacious thrust of her chin. In truth he'd always found these manifestations of her righteous rage oddly attractive, though he'd never told her so.
He shook his head slowly and with sad knowledge. "Pearl, Pearl…"
The look she gave him might have scorched his clothes.
The sanitized stench of death stayed with them the rest of the evening and followed them home.
Quinn shared Pearl's rage, but in a quieter way and directed at the killer. Pearl was a hothead buffeted by her emotions. Quinn's rage was constant and controlled and patient, a laser beam probing the darkness, obsessively seeking its target.
Pity the target.
21
Quinn had no idea who had knocked unexpectedly on his apartment door. He was peering out at an emaciated kid in his early twenties, over six feet tall but not more than a hundred and forty pounds. He had on incredibly narrow Levi's, a stained gray T-shirt lettered IMAGINE REALITY across the chest, and untied, worn-out jogging shoes held together with duct tape. His red hair looked like a mass of unruly springs. It was the hair, and indeed something springy in his slightest movement, even as he stood what in his mind must be still, that triggered Quinn's memory. The lead singer of The Defendants at the Hungry U.
"I'm Wormy," said the human Slinky.
"They've got pills for that," Quinn said.
The kid's grin spread wider, so wide for his narrow face that it pushed his cheeks way out. "I've heard that one. Wormy's my name."
"Is that French or something?"
"No, it's a nickname, actually. I'm a singer-musician."
"I've seen and heard you," Quinn said, noticing the odd tattoos on Wormy's arms, twisting, twining designs that apparently represented nothing while adding to the impression of constant movement. There seemed to be, for Wormy, nothing akin to a state of rest.
"I know," Wormy said. "I remember you 'cause you walked out in the middle of my big number."
"It had nothing to do with the music," Quinn said. "I got a phone call."
Big smile. Bounce, bounce. "That's good to know." Wormy looked up and down the hall, then back at Quinn, as if waiting for Quinn to invite him in.
Quinn simply regarded Wormy as if his name represented what he was.
"I'm here for Lauri," Wormy said.
"I was afraid of that."
Quinn moved back and Wormy slithered in. Well, he didn't exactly slither, but his long body's repetitive S motion seemed to propel him forward.
"Hi, Worm." Lauri, who'd been in her bedroom changing clothes, was now in the living room. She looked tentatively from Wormy to her father, then back. "I see you two have met."
"Formally for the first time," Wormy said, "but your old-your dad-was at the Hungry U having dinner the other night. I guess to listen to the music. He's a fan."
"Great!" Lauri said, pleased but puzzled.
"I wanted to check out where you worked," Quinn said. He saw anger cloud her face, and for a second she looked remarkably like her mother.
Wormy touched her arm. "Don't be hard on him, Lauri. It's a dad thing. He's concerned about his daughter's all."
Lauri took a deep breath and seemed calmer. "So what did you think of the Hungry U?" she asked Quinn.
"Food was good."
No one spoke for an awkward few moments.
"You two are going out?" Quinn said finally, as if the possibility had just entered his mind.
"On a date," Lauri said, bearing down on the last word.
Quinn told himself he was being tested. He had little control, maybe none at all, over whom Lauri dated. But this human single-cell creature…
"I'll have her home 'fore she turns into a pumpkin," Wormy said, still with the grin.
Quinn wanted to scare him stiff then hurl him like a javelin, but he restrained himself.
"I understand your dad's concern," said Wormy. "You're his dear daughter, an' he don't know a thing about me other than I've got musical talent."
I do know about you. I've seen thousands of you.
Lauri moved toward the door, and Wormy seemed rooted though moving, continuing to grin at Quinn.
"Where are you two going?" Quinn heard himself ask. He thought he sounded casual, only remotely interested. Tried, anyway.
Must have failed.
Lauri clouded up again. "Look-"
"Zero down," Wormy said good-naturedly to her. "We're gonna take in a band down in the Village, Lauri's dad. Some band thinks it's better'n mine, if you can believe it. No drugs, and no…drugs."
"You didn't say no-"
"Dad!"
Quinn knew he was helpless. He willed his stiff facial muscles to arrange themselves in a smile that couldn't have fooled anyone. "So have a good time. You got a key?"
"Got my key," Lauri said. Impulsively, she came to him and pecked his cheek, grinning up at him. "Don't worry so much about me, Dad, really."
"I'll try not to."
"She's with me," Wormy said reassuringly.
"I'll try not to," Quinn repeated.
Then they were gone into the world, his little girl and the human worm, and the door was swinging closed.
"I like your dad," Quinn heard Wormy say, just before the latch clicked.