Ashes to Ashes

guys are sexually inadequate with their partners.”

“Is that the voice of experience?” Tippen dug.

“Well, I haven't been sleeping with you, so I guess not.”

“Fuck you, Tinker Bell.”

“What part of no don't you understand?”

“I'll put a car outside his apartment,” Kovac said. “I want him downtown ASAP. See if you can't track down this house he's sitting. Somebody's gotta know where he is. Call his boss, call the wife again. Tonight. Get the names of his friends. Call them.”

“I'll help with that,” Moss said.

“Annoy everybody who knows him,” Kovac said. “That'll get back to him and rattle him. Did you find out what he's driving?”

“A maroon GMC Jimmy.”

Kovac felt like someone had punched him in the diaphragm. “A bartender on Lake Street spotted our witness Sunday night getting into a dark-colored truck or SUV. This was the john she did in the park before she came across victim number three.”

“Did she name this john?” Adler asked.

“No.”

“Would Vanlees have had any way of knowing the girl was staying here?” Moss asked.

Liska shook her head. “I don't see how, unless he somehow managed to tail her here from downtown. Seems unlikely.”

“Who all did know the witness was here?” Adler asked.

“Us, Sabin, the vic/wit people, the brass cupcake out there”—Kovac hooked a thumb in Toni Urskine's direction—“and the husband. The mayor, Bondurant's people—”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Elwood finished.

“One of the other victims had a connection to this place,” Moss pointed out.

“And when she turned up croaked back when, we interviewed everybody at the house, checked records, alibis, known associates, yadda, yadda, yadda,” Kovac said. “I remember the body was found on a Friday. She'd been out of here six months or more. I make it over here on Sunday to see if she was still tight with anyone. The Urskines are gone to some cabin up north, so I can't talk to them, right? Monday morning, eight o'clock, Toni Urskine's on the horn to the lieutenant, demanding he ream me a new one because I hadn't called her yet.”

“Now we get to do it all again for a fresh batch of hookers.” Tippen groaned. “Like we need more fucking paperwork to do.”

“Hey, that's why they pay you slave wages and treat you like dirt,” Kovac said.

“Here I thought it was something personal.”

“Okay. Who wants to hit Lake Street?” Kovac asked. “See if you can find anyone who might have seen the DiMarco girl get in that truck Sunday night? If you can get a plate number, I'll kiss you full on the mouth.”

“That ain't no incentive, Kojak,” Adler said.

“Let Tippen do it,” Liska said. “He might find a girlfriend.”

“Send Charm,” Tippen said. “The hookers will pay him.”

“The two of you,” Kovac said, pointing to Yurek and Tippen both. “You're the perfect pair.”

“God's Gift and the Mercy Fuck,” Liska snickered.

Tippen jerked the end of the scarf around her throat. “You'll get it one of these days, Liska.”

“Not if I stay more than three inches away from you.”

“Hit the bricks,” Kovac ordered. “Time's a-wastin' and this case is starting to cook. No pun intended. Let's get this dirtbag before he lights someone else's fire.”

“THAT'S A HELL of a cat,” Quinn remarked, regarding Thor as Thor regarded him from the front hall table. “But I think I could take him.”

The cat had to be twenty pounds. Fantastic tufts of hair sprouted from his ears. His whiskers looked a foot long. He tucked his chin back into a great ruff of fur and made a sound like “hmmm” deep in his throat. He raised his hind leg up behind his ear in a yoga move and licked his butt.

Quinn made a face. “Guess I know what he thinks of me.”

“Don't take it personally,” Kate said. “Thor is above the petty considerations of mere humans.”

She hung her coat in the hall closet and nearly reached for a second empty hanger, but stopped herself.

“Thanks for your help tonight,” she said, closing the door and leaning back against it. “I was less than gracious about the offer, but I know it's not your job to investigate.”

“Or yours.”

“True, but I needed to do something proactive. You know I can't bear to just sit back and let things happen. What about you? It wasn't your job to go to the Phoenix with Kovac.”

“This case has been anything but normal.”

“Because of Peter Bondurant. I know.” She stroked a hand over Thor. The cat gave her a look of affront, hopped down, and trotted away, belly hanging low to the ground.

“Money changes all the rules,” Kate said. “There's not a politician in the Cities who wouldn't bend over backward to kiss Peter Bondurant's ass, then tell him it smells like a rose. Because he's got money and they want him to keep it here. Because of that his attorney can sit in on meetings with Sabin, and he can have the ear of the mayor, and of the director of the FBI, no less. I'll bet Lila White's parents couldn't get past Director Brewster's secretary. If it would even occur to them to try.”

“Now you're sounding like Toni Urskine, saying there's no equal justice under the law.”

“It's a lovely ideal we both know doesn't hold water in the real world. Money can and does buy justice—and injustice—every day.

“Still, I guess I can't blame Bondurant. What parent wouldn't do everything in their power to get their child back?” she said, her expression somber. “I would have made a deal with the devil himself when Em got sick. In fact, I believe I tried,” she confessed, forcing a lopsided smile. “No takers. Shook my faith in evil.”

Her pain was still a palpable thing, and Quinn wanted to pull her into his arms and invite her to divide it between the two of them, like old times.

“Bondurant's money didn't stop his daughter's death either,” he said. “If that body is Jillian's. He's convinced it is.”

“Why would he want to believe that?” Kate asked, bewildered by the notion. She had been so violently resistant to the news of Emily's death that even after a nurse had taken her into the room to see her daughter's body, to touch the cold little hand, to feel for herself there was no pulse, no breath, she had insisted it wasn't true.

“What an odd man,” she said. “I was surprised to see him at the meeting tonight. He's been keeping such a low profile.”

The offhand remark hit Quinn like an invisible fist. “You saw Bondurant at the meeting? Are you sure?”

“Sure looked like him to me,” Kate said. “I saw him on my way out. I thought it was strange he wasn't with his camp, but it was clear he didn't want any attention. He was dressed down like one of the common folk in a parka and a crumpled-looking hat, trying to look anonymous, slipping out the back with the rest of the crowd.”

Quinn frowned. “I can't get a handle on him. I'd say he's being uncooperative, but he's the one who brought me in, then he turns around and refuses to answer questions. He's one contradiction after another.

“Christ, I can't believe I didn't see him there.”

“You weren't looking for him,” Kate said reasonably. “You were looking for a killer.”

And did I miss him too? Quinn wondered, rubbing harder at the sudden searing pain in his gut. What else had he missed? Some subtle sign: a look, a squint, the hint of a smile. And if he'd seen it, would Angie DiMarco be in bed at the Phoenix right now? Logically, he thought no. But catching a killer like this one required something more than logic. It required instinct, and it seemed that he was feeling around in the dark through a blanket for his these days.

“I can't shake the feeling that his daughter is the key to this whole thing,” he said. “If she's the third vic. Smokey Joe deviated from the pattern with that one. Why? With the first two, he burned the bodies but didn't try to make them unrecognizable in any other way. With number three he obliterates her fingertips and the soles of her feet. He takes her head. He makes it as difficult as possible to identify her.”