"I admit I don't like wasting time. In this kind of thing, there's no sense in dancing around forever unless that's what you enjoy most."
"This kind of thing?"
"There was a handwritten phone number on the back of the business card you gave me."
"My cell phone," she said. "In case you recalled something and wanted to talk to me when I was in the field."
He wasn't buying into it. He gave her a confident smile, in that way he had of being just this side of arrogant that she found attractive. "I don't believe you came here to have a conversation about Marilyn Nelson."
Okay, you like coming to the point. She drew in her breath, and then plunged. Idiot, Pearl.
"No," she said, "I came to see you."
"Good. I'm pleased. More than pleased."
Done. And it worked out well. The world didn't cave in on me. She was having difficulty breathing. "The dinner invitation still good?"
"Of course."
Absently toying with the wrapper from his straw, he glanced through the archway dividing the coffee shop from the lobby, toward the elevators.
Uh-oh! Pearl knew where this was going. She knew where she might be going if Jeb Jones had his way. We not only dress the same; we both tend to seize the moment.
But not this moment. You're a cop on duty.
"You're not planning on asking a police officer up to your room, are you?" she asked with a poker face.
He grinned. "I confess."
She was about to speak when her cell phone chirped.
Still looking into Jeb's brown eyes, she drew the phone from her pocket, flipped it open, and saw by the caller ID that it was Quinn.
"What's up?" she said. She could hear traffic sounds in the background; he was calling from his car.
"We've got another Butcher job. Down in the Village." He gave her the address.
"Like the others?"
"Feds said it was when he called me. He got there first. I'm on my way. Like you are."
"Like I am," Pearl said, and broke the connection and flipped the phone's lid down.
She looked across the table at Jeb. "Work," she said. "I've gotta go."
He reached across the table and his fingertips brushed the back of her hand. The contact almost hummed with high voltage. "I'm disappointed, but I understand. Duty."
When he withdrew his hand she stood up and reached for her wallet.
"On me," he said, standing also. "Dinner still on for tonight?"
"I can't promise," she said.
"I understand again."
She smiled nervously, feeling oddly as if she'd just been shot at and missed.
"I've got your number," he reminded her, as she hurried away.
Yeah, she thought.
32
Pearl flashed her shield for the uniform guarding the open door and found the victim's apartment crawling with crime scene unit techs.
As soon as she stepped inside, the familiar butcher shop stench made her stomach protest. She swallowed bile and continued past the techs busily gathering evidence in the modestly furnished living room, then continued through the kitchen and along a narrow hall to the bathroom.
She looked inside and found Quinn and Fedderman blocking her view. Pearl could see by the shape of the hips and the small black shoes that the Medical Examiner's office had sent a woman this time, who was bending over the bathtub to sort through what was left of the victim.
Quinn and Feds both glanced over at Pearl and nodded. There was no room for Pearl to enter the small bathroom, so Fedderman edged over so she could see.
Another jolt to her stomach. Even though she knew what to expect now, it was a shock.
That one human being could do this to another…
The detached head resting atop pale and severed arms had damp dark hair.
"Not a blonde," Pearl said.
The ME shot a look over her shoulder. She was about fifty, with puffy cheeks and carrot-red hair worn so short it was almost a buzz cut. Though Pearl was sure they'd never seen each other before, the glance seemed to satisfy the ME that Pearl belonged, because she simply returned to her work.
Quinn eased his way out of the crowded bathroom and led Pearl down the hall to the kitchen, where as yet there was no CSU activity.
"Same bullshit?" Pearl asked.
"So far," Quinn said. "When it comes to method, our guy's the model of consistency."
The ME came into the kitchen. She was wearing a man's pinstriped gray suit and tie and carrying a scuffed black leather medical bag. Perspiration beaded her puffy face and she looked tired and bored. Pearl thought that no matter how the woman felt, she probably always looked bored.
"Julius filled me in on the others," she said. Her voice didn't sound bored. It was crisp and efficient.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Julius?"
"Dr. Nift," she said. "This fits the pattern all the way down the line. Virtually all bodily fluids drained before dissection began. Most of the cutting done with sharp blades and a cleaver. The larger, more difficult cuts done with what appears to have been a power saw."
She might as well have been talking about carving a turkey. But then that was what the Butcher did, dehumanized his victims by making them mere meat.
Pearl must have appeared ill. The ME gave her a look without pity. "Sorry not to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Jane Tumulty."
Pearl nodded. "Pearl Kasner. Where's Nift today?"
"Dr. Nift had family business."
It was difficult for Pearl to think of Nift-Julius Nift-with a human family, but she supposed it was possible.
Tumulty turned her attention back to Quinn. "When the cutting was finished, the body parts were stacked and washed clean. Not scrubbed or rubbed in any way, though. I think the cleansing agents from the empty containers were used, along with spray from the shower, then bleach was employed. Everything liquid went down the drain with the shower water." She looked at both Quinn and Pearl. "I've never dealt with such a clean cadaver, whole or in part."
"He's a butcher who works clean," Quinn said.
Tumulty gave a swollen smile. "I don't think this was done by a butcher, and certainly not by a doctor, but whoever did it had experience with dismemberment. Maybe a short-term medical student with limited time with cadavers."
"Or on-the-job training," Quinn said.
"Possibly. Cause of death was probably drowning. I'll have more for you after the postmortem. Dr. Nift or I will be in contact." She hefted her black bag with both hands. It was obviously heavy. "She's all yours and the paramedics'. I'm finished here."
Quinn thanked her.
As she was leaving, Tumulty shook her head. "One sick bastard, this killer. I'd rather not do another of these prelims."
"We'll see what we can do," Quinn said.
When the ME was gone, Pearl said, "What do we know about the victim, other than that she's in pieces?"
"She didn't show for work," Quinn said, "so they called. They got no answer, so they asked the super to look in on her. When there was no reply to his knock, he noticed the smell, then let himself in and found her. The uniform at the door and his partner took the call. The super's down in his basement apartment, trying to get used to what he saw."
"I guess he is," Pearl said.
"Victim worked at Courtney Publishing. The super and neighbors aren't sure what her job was. We need to talk to the people at Courtney."
"What was her name?" Pearl asked, picturing again the severed head with its dark wet hair and closed eyes. She wondered if Jane Tumulty had closed the dead eyes. Nift wouldn't have bothered.
"Anna Bragg," Quinn said.
Pearl turned the name over in her mind. Quinn was watching her, smiling slightly and sadly.
Pearl struggled to connect Anna's name to the killer's note. "Bragg…Braggadocio…The victim worked for a publisher. None of it fits."