"If I said that, I forgot it," Fedderman said. "The composer, what's his name, Cole Porter. Didn't he name a kind of rose after his wife?"
"He did," Quinn said, but I can't think of it."
"Internet," Fedderman said.
As Quinn was returning to his desk, Fedderman was already booting up his computer.
Within half an hour they had more than twenty species of roses that were named after women, including the Linda Porter, namesake of Cole Porter's wife. There were also among the multitude the Betty Boop rose, the Helen Traubel, and the Charlotte Armstrong.
And Quinn came across another possibility as he was roaming the Internet-Shakespeare: "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." A quote from Romeo and Juliet.
Would the next Butcher victim be a Juliet?
When he asked Fedderman what he thought, he agreed that Juliets were in danger.
"Should we warn them all?" Fedderman asked. "The Juliets and all the other rose women?"
Quinn stared at the lengthy list of rose names and thought about all the Lindas, Bettys, Charlottes, Annabels, Sonias, Michelles…He saw that there was indeed a Juliet rose listed. Not only that, it was the Sweet Juliet. He informed Fedderman.
"I dunno," Fedderman said, perusing the same list. "It seems like every woman's got a rose named after her. I still kinda like Starina. Sounds like a stripper."
"We need to make the note public as soon as possible, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to see if we can get the media to print all of the names."
"My guess is that's what the Butcher wants us to do," Fedderman said. "That way he can terrorize more women."
Quinn thought he was probably right. Still, it was the thing to do.
"I'll call Renz," he said. "He likes to hold press conferences, especially the part where you refuse to take any more questions and strut away."
"She might already be dead," Fedderman said sadly, looking at his list. "Starina, Elle, Carla, Dainty Bess…"
"Christ!" Quinn said. "Dainty Bess."
He pecked out Renz's phone number, hearing Fedderman say, "I wonder if there really is a Starina out there."
38
"Gertrude Stein," Pearl said, when she'd checked in by cell phone and Quinn told her about the Butcher's latest note. She was driving fast, trying to make up for heavy traffic due to construction on Lexington Avenue.
Now Quinn remembered. "Jesus, Pearl! It was right in front of us."
"She's the one who said, 'A rose is a rose is a rose."
"I know. Our sicko's going to kill a Gertrude." He wondered if there was a Gertrude rose. Something to check.
Steering one-handed, Pearl swerved around a furniture van. "I wouldn't be too sure. There are plenty of other possibilities, including some we haven't thought of."
"But I sure like this one, Pearl. It's oblique, which seems to be our guy's approach in his little puzzle notes. I'm glad you thought of it."
She couldn't help feeling a flush of pride. Also, she had to admit, affection. Despite her present relationship with Jeb, Quinn could still get to her. You didn't live with someone, sleep with him, without a part of that staying with you.
Maybe it wasn't just Quinn. She wondered if it somehow had anything to do with Lauri. For a moment she considered telling him about his daughter following her around after being forbidden to do so, then decided this wasn't the time or place. The way was a problem, too.
"I'm pulling up in front of the Pepper Tree to meet Ella Oaklie," she said. "Gotta go."
She replaced the cell phone in her blazer pocket and double-parked, then got out of the car and used her shield to chase away some joker who was waiting for someone while parked illegally in a loading zone. When he was gone, Pearl parked there. She placed the NYPD placard on the dash, just in case some civilian couldn't read the invisible letters on the unmarked that screamed police, and climbed out of the car into the brilliant heat.
When she entered the comparatively cool and dim restaurant, Pearl saw a thirtyish, rather plain-looking dishwater-blond woman seated on the gaily decorated deacon's bench just inside the Pepper Tree's door. The woman seemed anxious and looked up at her inquisitively, as if she'd been sitting forever in a doctor's waiting room and Pearl might at last usher her into a tiny room and poke a thermometer in her mouth. Pearl smiled, and the obviously greatly relieved Ella Oaklie rose and introduced herself.
Here is someone, Pearl thought, who's been often stood up.
They were led to a table toward the rear of the restaurant, near a corner. Pearl was glad. There weren't any diners so close that they might overhear and conversation would be inhibited.
Ella ordered a vodka martini before lunch, and Pearl a Pellegrino. This was going well; alcohol might help to loosen Ella's tongue.
"So you and Marilyn were college chums?" Pearl asked.
"We were roommates throughout our freshman year, so I guess you could call us that. We hadn't seen each other in years. I don't think I can be much help to you, but I'd sure like to do anything to help catch the bastard who killed her." Her voice didn't convey anger, but she did sound sincere.
"Conversations like this help us to get as accurate an idea as possible about a murder victim," Pearl explained. "Sometimes it leads us to the sort of people they associate with. Sometimes even to a particular person who turns out to be the one we're looking for."
Ella smiled with straight but prominent teeth. Her dentist had done everything possible but it hadn't been quite enough. "You might have some difficulty there. The Marilyn Nelson I knew liked all kinds of people. She was outgoing and friendly, and I guess what you'd call democratic. I couldn't name anyone who disliked her. I always thought she'd go into sales or public relations, but she stuck to her designing."
"Good student?"
"Dean's list. Beauty and brains. If we hadn't been roommates and friends, I'd have been jealous of her."
Ha! Pearl thought. She knew jealousy when she heard it. "Do you recall her using drugs?"
Pearl saw a sudden and familiar wariness in Ella's eyes at the mention of drugs, as the woman reminded herself she was talking to a cop.
"Not in any way meaningful," she said, obviously choosing her words carefully.
"The statutes of limitation have expired," Pearl assured her with a grin. Then she winked. "Not to mention we were all young once." Become a coconspirator; an interrogation technique she'd learned from Quinn.
It worked. Ella seemed to relax. "Okay. We smoked a little weed, took some uppers when we had to cram for exams. But when I knew her, Marilyn wasn't at all what anyone would describe as a drug addict."
"When you had lunch with her here, not long before she died, did she make any reference to drugs?"
"None whatsoever. She didn't even drink alcohol, just Pellegrino water, like you are."
"So what was your lunchtime conversation about?"
"What you'd expect. What time had done to us. What's happened to old friends. Then clothes. Or her job. Same thing in this case. She was really enthusiastic about her job designing some new store here, and the Rough Country line of clothing that was gonna be sold there. She was even wearing jeans and a Western-looking shirt and jacket to impress me."
"Did it?"
"Yeah."
"Trying to sell you?"
"I guess. That's what I'd have been trying to do in her place."
Their drinks came, and they each ordered a salad, Ella because she was on what she called her endless diet, and Pearl because she'd already scarfed down a knish.
"You sound a bit defensive about her," Pearl said, when the server was gone.
Ella sampled her martini and shrugged. "I liked her. And my God, she's been murdered. I mean, I wouldn't trample all over her memory even if I hadn't liked her."