'Step to the center of the living room,' he said.
Keeping the gun low for a moment, he moved to the window and closed the drapes.
'If this is a robbery-' Florence began.
'Keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it with a bullet.'
That got through.
'Now you can undress.'
Not robbery. Something more. Something worse.
Her dread was like a drug, slowing her motions. Florence undressed slowly and deliberately, keeping her elbows in close, movements tight, trying to make what she was doing look like anything but a striptease.
'All the way,' he said, when she was down to panties and bra. 'Leave your clothes on the floor. I'll pick them up and fold them for you later.'
She felt more naked than she ever had in her life, yet strangely she wasn't embarrassed. Maybe because the stakes were so high. Or because of her terror. She would cling to any hope. She told herself the nice man was right. If I keep my head and do as I'm instructed, I might get through this.
Might.
It was all she had, all she could allow herself to believe.
'Sit down on the sofa.'
She obeyed, keeping her knees pressed tightly together, her arms crossed over her breasts.
He laid the white box down alongside the sofa, where she couldn't see its contents, then straightened up holding a thick roll of wide silver-gray duct tape.
Useful for so many things.
Quickly and skillfully, with the practiced motions of someone who'd rehearsed or done it countless times before, he taped her wrists together, then her ankles, then her knees. It had happened almost before she started to panic, aghast at her sudden immobility. She strained against the tape. He seemed to expect this and hurriedly ran a length of tape around her back and taped her wrists so she couldn't raise her arms from her lap.
She was about to scream when a rectangle of tape was slapped painfully over her mouth. Her lips were parted about half an inch and stayed that way. She began breathing noisily through her nose and realized she was crying.
She panicked and began to squirm desperately.
He smiled and patted her gently on the head until she was calm enough to sit still.
'It's going to be all right,' he said. 'I promise.'
She nodded.
'There's nothing to get excited about,' he assured her.
But at the same time he pulled the white box out where she could see its contents-gleaming steel, and what looked like a portable electric drill or saw.
Yes, a saw!
Meticulously, with a lazy kind of precision, he undressed before her, standing directly in front of the sofa so she'd have to look at him.
He had an erection, but how could he violate her, with her legs taped so tightly together? The inaccessibility of her position was some small comfort to Florence. If only she could move something other than fingers, toes, or her head. If only she could make some noise, attract someone's attention. Anyone's attention. She needed help.
Any kind of help!
Without glancing at her, the intruder turned his back and sauntered toward the hall, toward her bedroom and the bathroom.
Then came a familiar sound; pipes clanking in the walls.
Water. Preparation!
Florence knew that the man in her bathroom must be the Butcher.
Panic took her again and her body shuddered as if she were freezing. Her tears blurred the room around her. Her rapid breathing through her nose sounded like a small animal nearby panting.
A warmth spread beneath her and she knew she was urinating on the sofa cushions. An acute humiliation cut through her panic, only making it worse.
There was no hope here. None.
She attempted mightily to scream, but the only sound in the apartment was that of running water.
12
Pearl almost fainted when she was hit with the familiar charnel house smell as she, Quinn, and Fedderman entered the victim's apartment. Sickening images of the previous Butcher victims flashed through her mind. She felt them in her stomach.
It was another white-glove affair. The crime scene unit was still at work, dusting, photographing, picking, probing, bagging, choreographed to stay out of one another's way in the crowded apartment.
Fedderman started talking to the uniform who'd been standing by the door, someone he knew, or possibly the first officer on the scene. Pearl followed Quinn toward a hall and what figured to be a bathroom. The meat market stench grew stronger, along with the perfumed disinfectant scent of soap and detergent.
Only Nift, from the Medical Examiner's office, was in the bathroom with the victim. Though it was hard to think of Florence Norton as a victim, because a victim was a person. Florence had become a blanched stack of body parts in the bathtub. Pearl remembered what Sinclair had said at Nuts and Bolts:
'…the way he carves up his victims and puts their parts on display. The meat.'
The Napoleonic, annoying little bastard Nift was dressed today as if on his way to apply for a banker's job. His shave was so close he'd nicked himself, and his sleek black hair was combed straight back. Stooped low next to the tub, he had his chalk-stripe blue suit coat unbuttoned. His red silk tie was tucked into his white shirt, so it wouldn't dangle and contact any blood or anything else that might stain it. He glanced up at Quinn and Pearl, flashing his nasty smile.
On the floor was an assortment of bottles and boxes, empty cleaning agent containers. The shampoo was Swan, the brand Pearl used-used to use.
The body parts were stacked in the same ritualistic order, the severed head resting on top, its facial expression one of pain even though the eyes were closed. The victim's brow was furrowed, cheeks and mouth drawn tight as if braced for more agony to come. Agony that had mercifully ceased.
It was obvious to Pearl that Florence was older than the other victims, and though it was unfair to judge in death, she hadn't been a particularly attractive woman. Not the usual sort of Butcher prey. Pearl wondered why the deviation from type.
'The guy would make things easier if he'd shrink-wrap the meat,' Nift said.
Pearl felt like kicking him.
'What I'm wondering,' Quinn said, 'is if you'll find any water in her lungs.'
'Haven't gotten that far yet.' Nift began parting the victim's matted hair with his fingertips, exploring for head injuries. 'Haven't even gotten down to finding out whether she had good boobs. It's a science, you know. The blood stops flowing and they don't look so great, but I can tell.'
Pearl felt herself flush. If this wasn't bad enough, a horrible little prick like Nift could make it worse.
'You're sick,' was all she said. Admirable restraint.
'She's right,' Quinn said. He didn't want Pearl getting out of control. Her temper was what had hamstrung her in her career, even before the missing knife incident that had resulted in her leaving the department.
Even awkwardly stooped over as he was, Nift somehow shrugged and made it look nonchalant. 'Well, whatever I have, it isn't fatal.'
He straightened up all the way and stretched his back, sighing and sticking out his stomach. Like a lot or short men, he stood with rigid posture, as if to make every inch count. Pearl saw that he was getting a little paunchy. He was wearing suspenders so his suit pants draped well. 'To answer your question,' he said, 'my guess
