by John Lutz
They were in business together, so Pearl would be in his life as long as that lasted. In his life during their working hours, anyway.
For now, he’d settle for that because he had no choice.
But when Pearl became Mrs. Yancy Taggart, would she continue with the agency? Would she feel the same drive she and Quinn felt now?
Or would she no longer need the hunt? Would she no longer share the feeling that at least some of what was wrong with this screwed-up, dangerous, and unfair world had to be set right, and that for some reason accomplishing that was their responsibility?
Would Mrs. Yancy Taggart think that way?
Quinn knew it was possible, even likely, that someday soon Pearl would walk out of his life for good.
On a practical level he should be able to live with that, but he had no idea how.
49
They’d each had two glasses of wine, white and red, with a gourmet dinner at Le French Affaire. Or had Lilly had three? Two glasses of red? She wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t like her to lose count.
She’d dressed up for this meeting, this date. No simple black outfit for this one. She was wearing her pale blue Aghali silk dress, with a low neckline and a skirt cut on the bias so it showed a lot of leg without seeming too immodest. When she’d tried the dress on, the sales clerk had described her as an asymmetrical dream. Her ivory cultivated pearl necklace set off the dress and her pale and flawless complexion. A touch of Givenchy dabbed between her breasts and here she was. Ready for the jousting of the heart. Ready, as ever, to close the deal. Watch out, Gerald Lone.
Gerald, sitting across from her, turned out to be charming, and obviously a skilled jouster himself. He was witty and involved in conversation, with a direct manner of looking at her—into her—that caused something inside her to stir in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. He seemed, on this first meeting beyond mere chat and coffee, to be…well, a man who was her equal. Lilly had, in her mind, encountered few of those.
They were both players with the same objective, who didn’t waste time or talk. Neither wanted to reveal too much information during the usual blather about finding things in common. Gerald had described his occupation as “helping to put pieces back together in the financial community,” but avoided going into detail. Lilly had told him she was in “high-end” Manhattan real estate, but didn’t mention that she was at the moment virtually unemployed. She figured a few secrets at the beginning of a relationship didn’t matter. Neither of them was searching for a lifetime soul mate.
On the other hand, if things developed as swimmingly as they were going now…
Or maybe it was the wine.
Whatever, they were still taking each other’s measure, like two characters in a sophisticated play, having a grand time and ad-libbing the scene as they went along. No script for tonight, but the Cole Porter mood should be maintained.
“There’s a German Expressionism display at MoMA,” Gerald said, over raspberry sorbet.
“Maudlin stuff,” Lilly said. “I love it.” Keep him off balance.
“Didn’t you mention that your apartment was near the museum?”
“I did,” Lilly said. “Maybe we should take it in. German expressionism can be very erotic.” Stealing the play from Gerald. Staying in charge. She was getting a kick out of this verbal exchange with pretentious sharp swords. Two deft fencers.
Gerald smiled and glanced at his watch. It looked like a gold Rolex, but who could tell these days, with all the brand-name knockoffs floating around New York?
“I believe that at this hour the museum is closed,” he said.
“It is. I was thinking about in the morning.”
“After breakfast at Benentino’s?”
“After we screw each other’s brains out.”
That took him slightly aback. But he recovered nicely, as she knew he would.
“You are a Lilly and not a shrinking violet,” he said with a smile.
She nibbled at her sorbet and took a sip of wine, enjoying herself immensely. “My sense is that we’re both people of intelligence and experience. People who don’t waste time but go in short order to the quick of matters.”
His smile became a grin. “That would be my impression of you,” he said. “And I admire that. In all honesty, I admire you.”
“And I you.”
“And not only your mind.”
She leaned across the table, letting some cleavage show, and gripped his right hand gently with both of hers. “Do we really want to finish dessert?”
“The wine,” he said. “It’s too good to waste.” He held up the bottle and studied it. “Almost empty. I know what. I’ll order a bottle to go, and we can enjoy it at your place.”
“Afterward,” Lilly said.
He laughed. “Let’s drink to that and then leave.”
Lilly laughed with him as he poured what was left of the wine into their glasses. She studied him without seeming to do so.
He always has something to say. He should be selling something other than himself, with his gift of gab. Or be a politician. Or lobbyist. He should be in something that requires copious amounts of blarney.
And for all she knew, maybe he was.
“Is that you, Pearl?”
Pearl winced when she heard her mother’s voice. That would teach her to rush to the ringing phone and snatch it up as soon as she entered her apartment.
“Me, Mom.” She slumped down on the sofa and used each foot to work the shoe off the other.
“What I called for was an awful thing I learned,” her mother said in ominous preamble.
Pearl went cold with sudden alarm. “Something happen? You okay, Mom? I mean, your health?”
“My health, never a finely tuned mechanism, is not so good insofar, as the doctors say, the mind affects the body, which it does.”
There was something not only in her mother’s words but in the tone of her voice. Pearl sensed something wrong that didn’t at all concern her mother’s physical well-being.
“So what’s affected your mind, Mom?”
“My peace of mind, you mean, dear. As a mother grows older she forgets more and more, to be sure, yet we grow in motherly wisdom.”
“You think you’re missing a piece of your mind, Mom?”
“Are you being facetious, dear?”
Pearl wasn’t.
“It was the news I heard,” her mother said. “News that skewered your mother’s troubled heart like a sword.”
“We’re at war?”
“Worse. Much worse. My only and lovely daughter is, as it came to me, even to me, here where I sit alone—and should I not have been the first rather than last to hear?—that she is engaged to the reptile Yancy Taggart.”
“Quinn told you,” Pearl said, her anger rising.
“Only when I called him to check on your health and well-being, as I do frequently from here in my isolation. He assumed that I’d already been told, being, as I am, your only mother.”
“I was going to call you tonight and tell you the news, Mom. I just got home.”
“Tell me the tragedy, you mean. You may take it, Pearl—and I offer this with love and even some small hope that the consummation of such a proposed legal and unblessed union will not occur—that I do not approve of the match.”
“If you spent some time with Yancy, Mom, took the time to really get to know him, you would approve. I guarantee it.”
“The mongoose approves of the cobra, and in point of fact is fascinated by the cobra, just before the strike.”
“I’m not a mongoose, Mom. I’ve never even seen a mongoose. And Yancy is not a cobra”
“A reptile is a reptile, dear.”
“I’d like for you to meet and talk with him before you lock yourself into that conclusion,” Pearl said.
“People met and talked with Hitler. Hitler loved to talk. Loved to ensnare people in the webs of his lies. He could fascinate people and make them do anything he wanted for every evil purpose. Sound familiar, dear?
”
“Maybe if you talked to Yancy you would fall for him like Mussolini did for Hitler,” Pearl said.
“I discern insubordination, dear.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just want you to give Yancy a chance. He and I would both like your approval. It’s important to us both.”
“Both? You and your mother? Or you and the reptile?”
“The rep—to me, and to Yancy, it’s important.”
“Yet you would marry without such approval?”
“Well, yes.”
“You were always headstrong and in some ways heart weak, Pearl.”
“The wedding will be in Las Vegas, Mom.”
“Too far away for your mother to attend, even if, God willing, I am alive at that time and not dead of broken wishes for my only daughter. Wishes that she would come to her senses, and see before her a man like Captain Quinn.”
A bitter column of bile rose in Pearl’s throat. “He isn’t a captain, Mom.”
“Nor is he a reptile, dear. And neither is Dr. Milton Kahn.”
“Now there we disagree,” Pearl said.
“Perhaps if you would stand back from your unfortunate betrothal and truly analyze the situation, our disagreement would blow away like smoke. An engagement can be a wonderful thing, dear, or it can be a steel trap about to spring shut.”
“Mom, Yancy and I—”
“Love can be such a trap, Pearl.”
“Mom, please reconsider how you feel about this.”
“I have considered and reconsidered, Pearl. How I feel, what I see, is a reptile in the marriage bed alongside my daughter. The thing has a reptile’s greedy eyes, a reptile’s sharp teeth, a reptile’s tongue.”
Pearl felt herself getting excited. “Sometimes two people, even if one of them is a reptile—”
“My heart is heavy, Pearl.”
“So is the phone, Mom. I’m hanging up.”
And Pearl did.
A gift, Gerald thought, as they walked from the restaurant, Lilly weaving ever so slightly and leaning on him from time to time, he with a brown paper bag tucked discreetly beneath an arm. She was smiling slightly.
He kept his anticipation—and his thoughts—nicely hidden.
Why not tonight?
There were times when things were made unexpectedly convenient, and one had merely to make slight adjustments. Maybe luck. Maybe destiny. He believed in both.
He did not believe in spurning a gift from fate.
Seize opportunity when you find it.
He could act on short notice. He could improvise.
He hailed a cab, and they kissed long and passionately in the backseat. His arm snaked around her, and his hand found its way beneath the low and graceful neckline of her dress, found the softness of her breast and the sensitive tender nipple.
By the time they got to her apartment he could convince her of anything.
While she was undressing in the bedroom, he told her he’d get the wine ready for them, put it on ice so it would be cooling while they were doing everything but that. She giggled and agreed and directed him to her high-tech European kitchen.
He glanced around the kitchen. Very nice. White pine cabinets that matched the paneling, brushed aluminum twin ovens, lots of pale green floor tile laid on the diagonal. There were three dark green oval rugs with brown strands woven through them. Throw rugs. Usually the most dangerous thing in the home. Not tonight, though.
Gerald knew he had to remember everything he touched. Everything. He was careful to stay in the center of the room and let his eyes explore.
There was the refrigerator, looking like part of the paneling. He didn’t bother opening it, but instead placed the wine bottle, still in its paper sack, on the granite sink counter. Using a decorative dishrag for a makeshift glove, he rummaged around for a few minutes more in Lilly’s kitchen before finding what he’d really come for.
The drawer where she kept her knives.
50
Pearl didn’t really believe in God, not all the way. But she felt blessed. Lying in her bed with the light out, she contemplated why.
Not everything was going perfectly. The investigation seemed to present more of a riddle every day. Her mother figured to be a bigger pain in the ass even than Pearl had anticipated. And Quinn was taking her engagement to Yancy harder than he might have.
What right had Quinn to feel any remorse or regret? He and Pearl had been good together, but only sometimes. Other times…best not to think about those.
It was the sometimes that still bothered her. She turned over violently in bed, fluffed her pillow as if it were a piñata, and clenched her eyes shut. Her feeling of benevolence from above was fast dissipating. A person shouldn’t think too much about life.
Pearl had always regarded life as a predicament. Lately, because of Yancy, it had seemed less so. Pearl had decided she could cope. The one sharp stone, the one thing in her new reality that prodded and bothered her, was Quinn. Why wouldn’t he grow up? They’d been lovers, and now she was going to be married to someone else. That was the profound and simple fact. She could live with it, and Quinn would have to learn.
Her problem, though she seldom confronted it directly, was that despite her engagement to Yancy, the crashing finality of her relationship with Quinn, wasn’t…well, final. Somewhere in her heart was an indestructible fondness for Quinn, and, try as she may, she couldn’t ignore it.
She was alone in her bed, the one she’d once shared with Quinn. Yancy was in Albany at some kind of meeting or convention about alternative energy sources. Right now he was probably charming people and yammering about wind power, she thought. She smiled into her pillow. Thinking of Yancy—that was the antidote for Quinn. If her mother liked Quinn so well, let her marry him.
The thought appalled Pearl, and she rolled over again on her back.
She stared at the ceiling and tried again to feel blessed. Couldn’t quite make it.
She didn’t like sleeping alone. Never had.
It was something genetic, maybe. Like being human.
The Carver was impressed with this one. Lilly Branston was uncommonly strong. Kneeling on her arms had failed to prevent her from struggling. He’d had to knock her about, then rip some strips off a sheet and use them to bind her. Then, when he’d stuffed her panties into her mouth, she’d attempted to bite him. No quit in Lilly.
Breathing hard from his efforts, he assumed his kneeling position, his knees pressing down on her bound arms. He was safely back within the ritual.
In control.
He held up the thin-bladed boning knife he’d found in her kitchen drawer so she had to look at it. Grinning down at it, he pretended to pluck a hair from his head and slice it with one quick stroke of the blade.
He aimed his grin at her.
She glared up at him without fear. Without curiosity. She knew what was going to happen. She’d been tricked. She’d been had. There was going to be a penalty. As they locked eyes, a subtle glow came into hers. He recognized it easily as hate. Deep down from the depths of hell hate. It amused and excited him.
He moved the knife closer to her face so it was almost blocking her vision, but not quite. He wanted to see her eyes.
He smiled before her hate, and he knew that if she could break free she’d attempt to kill him.
He waved the knife from side to side. “I’m going to explain a few things to you while I’m doing them,” he said.
When he deftly removed the first nipple she began to scream. Firmly gagged as she was, the sound could barely be heard in the bedroom, much less outside the condo walls. He adjusted the gag. He didn’t want her to inhale any of the rich silk material and choke on it.
He placed the nipple in a small plastic bag, letting her see he was leaving the bag unsealed, and talked to her some more, taking his time, stringing out the enjoyment. There was no hate in her eyes now, only horror.
When he was finished, he was pleased to see that while Lilly had bled profusely, there wa
s little blood on him. He’d been nimble and escaped most of the arterial blood when he’d slit her throat.
He was surprised to notice that he was sweating. Lilly’s still body also was coated with perspiration where it wasn’t bloody.
Hard work. She’d managed to make it hard work for both of them.
Well, she’d paid the price.
He climbed out of bed and went to the window, parting the drapes he’d closed before beginning Lilly’s final ordeal. Then he opened the window as wide as it would go. This was part of his plan. The only facing windows were blocks away. It was highly unlikely that anyone would happen to glance out of one of them and into this particular window. He returned to the bed and stood by Lilly’s body, noting as before with satisfaction that the angle of the drapes made it impossible to see the bed from outside.
There was a slight breeze in the room now, which he enjoyed as it played over his damp body. The open window would serve another purpose; he didn’t want this one to be discovered too soon, and the stench of putrefaction and feces from the relaxed sphincter wouldn’t be noticed right away in the building if some of the odor escaped through the window.
He began the methodical process of wiping away his fingerprints. He’d been careful as always, his mind neatly filing away in his memory everything he’d touched. When that was finished he’d go into the bathroom and use the shower, nude but for a pair of white latex gloves. When that was done he’d place the fresh lily he’d brought with him in his victim’s hair. The finishing touch and a riddle for the police.
Then he’d get dressed and be on his way. Into the city. Into the night. Part of the dark.
He had to admire Lilly. She’d never really given up until her last, paper-thin breath. She’d been a fighter.
He bet Pearl would be, too.
51
Addie came bustling in out of the night, surprising Quinn.
She was surprised herself. She hadn’t expected to see him sitting behind his desk, bending over paperwork in the narrow island of light from his lamp.