"Rapt," Quinn admitted, and drew thoughtfully on the cigar, feeling like a character in a Kipling story.
"The killer sent me a brief note, taunting several of our city's homicide detectives, even included your name. I guess he didn't know you retired. He assured me there would be more such victims."
"If anybody in the NYPD knows this," Quinn said, "it's sure to explode in the media soon like a hand grenade."
"We need to be ready for that."
"We?"
"I've decided you are the man," Renz said. "Serial killers are your specialty. You brought down the Night Prowler, and you can bring down whatever the media decide to call this sick creep."
"You left out the part about me being retired."
"I can work it out so you and your team will be doing work for hire. It'll be the way you like it, with all the resources of the NYPD at your disposal, through me, and all the advantages of working outside the department."
Quinn knew what Renz meant-the advantages of being able, if necessary, to work outside the law.
"Who's on my team?" Quinn asked.
"The same people who helped you nail the Night Prowler. Pearl and Fedderman."
"Pearl's working as a bank guard. Fedderman's living down in Florida, learning how to play golf."
"They'll say yes to you, Quinn. Just like you'll say yes to me." Renz waved an arm toward the window that looked out on the sidewalk. "Ever notice how much that ironwork resembles prison bars?"
"Never." Quinn looked at Renz through a haze of cigar smoke. "You thought you'd be chief by now."
"Instead I was demoted, but I'm back up to deputy chief."
"I heard. Also heard that's as far as you're going."
"I'm like you, Quinn. I don't quit. I don't stop climbing. What the hell else is there in life? I think you understand."
"Sure. We nail this sicko, and you get the credit and promotion. Life's been breathed back into your career."
"And you save the lives of the killer's future victims."
"Don't go altruistic on me, Harley."
"Well, okay. Then your answer is yes."
"Was that a question? I didn't hear a question."
"Since we both know the answer, a question isn't necessary."
"Have you talked to Pearl or Fedderman?"
Renz smiled. "I thought I'd let you do that. One way or another, you can talk anybody into anything."
"Not Pearl," Quinn said.
Renz thought about that and nodded.
"I'll talk to them," Quinn said. "But no promises."
"Good!" Renz was careful to place his beer can on the table where it would leave a ring, then stood up. "I'll get the murder books to you, then try to find you some office space near the closest precinct house. Something without dust and mold where you won't feel at home."
Quinn didn't get up. Far too busy with his cigar.
At the door, Renz paused. "I'm serious about nailing this asshole, Quinn, or I wouldn't have put a hellhound like you on his track. We've both seen a lot, but mother of God, if you'd seen those two women…"
"Is this where you cross yourself?" Quinn asked.
"Oh, I don't blame you for being skeptical, keeping in mind your devious nature and coarse cynicism." Renz bowed his head, closed his eyes, and for a second Quinn thought he actually might cross himself.
"You do compassion really well."
Renz gave him a sad and sickly smile. "We're gonna find out how well you do it."
When Renz was gone, Quinn settled back in his chair to finish his cigar before he phoned Pearl and Fedderman.
He glanced over at the print of ducks flying in a tight V formation against a vivid sunset and decided he still liked it.
The cigar was only half gone when he picked up the phone.
3
"Something's different," Pearl said.
"You took a lot of the furniture with you," Quinn said. "I had to move a few things around." He was seated in his leather armchair, not smoking a cigar.
Pearl was in the chair she used to sit in all the time, but it was on the other side of the room now. She had on jeans and a jacket this morning, Saturday, when the bank was closed. Her hair was blacker than anything Quinn had ever seen. Raven-colored, he guessed they called it. Not much makeup, if any, but still her dark eyes and lips were in sharp contrast to her pale skin. "You redecorated," she said.
"More like made do."
"I smell cigar smoke, Quinn."
"I have one infrequently."
"Not good for you."
You not being here isn't good for me. "I stay within limits."
"Not like you." She sat back and smiled with her large, perfectly aligned, very white teeth. "So what did you want to see me about?"
"Harley Renz came by yesterday and talked to me."
Her smile disappeared. "He still such an asshole?"
"More than ever. I was thinking he should be our boss again."
Pearl gave him an odd look, as if he'd just spoken in an unfamiliar language.
"That's not gonna happen," she said. "But go ahead, try to talk me into it."
He told her what Renz had said, watching her closely as he described what the killer had done to his victims. The odd look never completely left her face.
"What if I say I want no part of this?" she asked, when he was finished.
"I forge ahead with Fedderman. He wasn't cut out for golf in Florida. Last time I talked to him on the phone he said the game was driving him crazy."
"And you think he'll throw away his irons and woods and fly up here and join forces with you and Renz to hunt down a serial killer?"
"That's his real game," Quinn said, "not bogies and birdies. It's yours, too. Not standing around Fourth National-"
"Fifth."
"-with a gun you'll never fire."
"And never want to fire. Fedderman will tell you exactly what I'm going to tell you."
"His wife left him, you know."
"I know. Last year."
"He's lonely."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
Pearl looked away from him. "Don't try that crap with me, Quinn."
"Well, think about it before you give me a definite answer."
"Okay. I've thought about it. Answer's no. There's a time for everything, Quinn, and the time for us to track a killer who slices and dices his victims is way past."
"You have to feel for those women."
She let out a long sigh, he thought a bit dramatically. "Feeling. That's something else I'm past."
"Pearl-"
"I'm content, Quinn. Screw happiness. Contentment is enough. I get up and get through my days in a pleasant enough way, do my chores, live my life, not pulled this way and that like a…I don't know what."
"Like you were with me?"
"Yeah. Like that. I need to be self-sufficient, Quinn. So do you. That's why we didn't make it together. Why we shouldn't work together. I want no part of Renz's operation."
"Sounds almost final."
She smiled and stood up from her chair, then walked over and leaned down so she could kiss his forehead. "What a hard case you are, Quinn."
"You, too."
She didn't deny it.
He watched her walk out the door.
Before calling Fedderman in Florida, Quinn fired up a cigar and sat down at the desk in the spare bedroom that had become his den.
He leaned back and listened to the phone ringing in what was probably an empty condo in Boca something or other, Fedderman being out on the golf course, dazed and chasing a little white ball in the sun.
He was about to hang up when Fedderman picked up.
"Quinn?"
"How'd you know, Feds?"
"Caller ID. There's a widow I'm trying to avoid." Fedderman had been alone since his wife left. Their grown kids had moved out several years before. If Quinn remembered right, the girl was working in Philadelphia; her brother was one of those people who never wanted to leave college and was away somewhere on a scholarship working on yet another degree.