And could subpoena it anyway, Pearl thought, but politely kept silent.
Pearl found Ella Oaklie's address easily enough. She was in the phone directory. Sometimes detective work was a snap.
The woman behind the counter of a small flower shop on First Avenue had let Pearl used the shop's directory. Pearl made a note of the address and phone number. Not wanting to be overheard, she thanked the woman and stepped outside into the heat to use her cell phone to call Oaklie.
She got an answering machine informing her in stilted language that there was no one available to take her call right now, but if she would please leave a message…
Pearl waited patiently for the drivel to end, then left her name and number for Ella Oaklie and cut the connection.
Since it was almost lunchtime, she drove over to Third Avenue and Fifty-fourth, where she knew a street vendor sold tasty and reliable food. Pearl generally lightened up for lunch, so she bought a knish and bottled water from the vendor, then wandered over to sit on a warm stone wall and people-watch while she ate.
After her second bite, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Setting knish and bottled water aside, Pearl picked up.
Ella Oaklie had called home and checked her messages and wanted to get in touch with Pearl as soon as possible, since it was so horrible what had happened to Marilyn Nelson. When Pearl offered to meet Ella at her office, Ella was reluctant, but might they meet for lunch? Pearl said sure, and suggested the Pepper Tree near Marilyn Nelson's apartment. She'd found that putting the witness as close as possible to the scene of the crime sometimes did wonders for the memory.
Ella agreed at once. While Pearl had Ella going, she suggested they meet in half an hour. Forty-five minutes would work, Ella said, and Pearl said she'd meet her just inside the door, where there was a small waiting area with a bench. Ella asked if she'd be in uniform, and Pearl, irritated, told her no, she'd be wearing gray slacks and a blue blazer, not to mention sensible black shoes.
Kind of a uniform, Pearl thought, as she broke the connection and slid her phone back in her pocket.
It buzzed again almost immediately.
This time it was Jeb. He wanted to meet her for lunch.
"If you can get away," he added, when he sensed Pearl's hesitancy.
"I'm going to meet someone at a restaurant for a brief interview, then we can have a bite ourselves if you want, and maybe go somewhere."
"Sure it's okay? I mean, I don't want to mess you up in your work."
"It's more than okay," Pearl assured him. "The restaurant's the Pepper Tree."
"Great. We were planning on going there anyway."
She told him approximately what time the interview would be over.
"Go ahead and eat hearty," he said. "I'll have some lunch before I turn up at the restaurant, then we can have a drink or two and leave."
And go to your room at the Waverton?
Pearl didn't have to ask him. She knew it was what they both wanted.
She said good-bye to Jeb, then again slid the phone into her pocket, hoping the damned thing would stay there for a while and be quiet.
That was when she glanced across the street and saw Lauri Quinn.
Lauri, in patched and faded jeans and a baggy red pullover shirt, was standing near the doorway of an office supply store, pretending to look at something in the display window. Pearl figured she might be watching her in the window's reflection and averted her gaze.
She was more annoyed than surprised at seeing Lauri, because it wasn't the first time. Twice before Pearl had caught a glimpse of someone she thought might have been Lauri, but it had been so brief she couldn't be sure. Now she was sure. Apparently Lauri hadn't taken her insistence that she not accompany Pearl on the job seriously, but had decided to follow Pearl without Pearl's knowledge.
Lauri not giving up on what she wanted.
Lauri being like her father.
Pearl wasn't sure what to do about this, but decided not to do anything now. She had to meet Ella Oaklie soon, anyway, and didn't feel like confronting Lauri about being inexpertly and annoyingly tailed. And of course there was the danger of an amateur-a kid, at that-dogging a homicide detective on the trail of a serial killer. It might be a good idea to tell Quinn what was going on, find out how he wanted to handle the situation. After all, Lauri was his daughter.
On the other hand, Pearl did feel a certain protectiveness toward Lauri, and Quinn seemed completely at sea when it came to dealing with a teenage girl who wasn't a murder suspect.
Pearl glanced at her watch. Forty minutes until her meeting with Ella Oaklie. She had the unmarked and could get to the Pepper Tree in a hurry, so she was okay on time.
Being careful not to glance again in Lauri's direction, Pearl ate her knish.
37
Another one.
Quinn had expected it. The Butcher was going to continue taunting the police with his puzzle notes.
Renz had just faxed the newest one to Quinn, along with the expected useless results of lab tests on the note itself and the envelope it arrived in. No prints on envelope or stamp, no DNA on the envelope flap, the usual common and virtually untraceable paper stock, a midtown New York postmark, and almost mechanically neat printing in number-two pencil. Like the first note, this one was addressed to Quinn.
Pearl and Fedderman were in the field, leaving Quinn alone in the office. He carried the just-faxed note to his desk to give it some thought. It was cool in the office and quiet except for an occasional thump or muffled voice from the dental clinic on the other side of the wall. Quinn leaned back in his swivel chair and rested the note on his knee, squinting at it and trying to parse its brief and cryptic message:
A rose is a rose is a rose by any other name.
Take care,
The Butcher
Fedderman came in from helping to canvass the buildings surrounding Anna Bragg's apartment. He looked hot, his suit coat hooked over his shoulder with a forefinger as he often carried it, his shirt sweat-stained and wrinkled. His right cuff was flapping unbuttoned, as it often was. Fedderman was the only person Quinn knew whose cuff persistently came unbuttoned while he was writing with pen or pencil. Maybe it was the brand of shirts he wore. His rep-striped tie was loosened and looked as if it had been used in a tug-of-war.
He sighed, and his desk chair sighed as he sat down in it.
"Any progress to report?" Quinn asked.
Fedderman rolled his weary eyes in Quinn's direction. "How can you even ask that?"
"I wanted to get it in before you passed out."
"None of Anna's neighbors remembered anything they hadn't recalled or made up last time they talked to us. There are a few inconsistencies, but I think that's because the heat is addling their brains. I know it's addling mine."
"Maybe you oughta have a hot coffee," Quinn said. "There's a theory that if you drink something warmer than your body temperature it will feel cool on a hot day. Worth a try."
"Sadist," Fedderman said. "Lab give us anything from the paper or envelope?"
"Not a thing. We got zilch. Except for this other note he sent us."
Fedderman stopped feeling sorry for himself and sat forward, interested.
"Renz just faxed it over." Since Fedderman still looked too exhausted to stand, Quinn got up from behind his desk and walked over to the opposite desk and handed him Renz's fax.
Fedderman studied the brief printout for almost a minute, as if waiting for inspiration.
It never came.
"Woman named Rose?" he said finally.
"Kind of obvious."
"Kind of rose," Fedderman said. "We look for roses named after women, maybe we come up with the next victim's name."
"I thought you said your brain was addled."