'No, I meant what good will it do to release the note to the media?'
'If we don't figure out what the killer's trying to tell us, maybe somebody else will.'
'You think he wants this figured out.'
'Yes, but only when it's too late. In fact, if we don't figure it out, he'll tell us. But not in time to have stopped him from taking his next victim.'
'Maybe the key is colors,' Fedderman said. 'Red and blue.'
'And gold,' Pearl added.
The three men looked at her.
''Fools rush in.' Fool's gold. The gold rush.'
'Somebody whose last name is, or starts with, the word gold,' Fedderman suggested.
'If the killer's still focusing on his victims' initials,' Quinn said.
'There's that question,' Pearl said, 'Maybe he's spelling out something else. I mean, not necessarily a person's name.'
'It better be the word apprehended,' Renz said, looking at each of them in turn. 'And soon.'
Quinn considered telling him to stop playing the hard-ass, then he decided to let it pass. It was part of Renz's persona. He needed to flex his bureaucratic muscles now and then to remind himself they were still there. The important thing wasn't that Quinn knew what made Renz tick; it was that Renz knew that he knew.
Pearl, however, looked as if she were about to say something. He could tell by her eyes, by the way she was tensing her lips.
'We're on it, Harley,' Quinn assured Renz, figuring Pearl would be less likely to spout off to a superior who was on a first-name basis, who was one of them rather than simply an authority figure. Before she could cut into the conversation, he added, 'We'll go to the office, run computer searches on the colors mentioned in the note. If you don't mind, I'll take it and the envelope with me so we can put it in the file.'
'That's the place for the original,' Renz said, handing the items to Quinn. 'We've got copies.'
As the three detectives filed from the office, Renz motioned for Quinn to stay behind and close the door.
'Are you staying on those two?' Renz asked.
'They don't need it, Harley. They're solid cops. And remember, you chose them just like you chose me.'
'But I had some reservations.'
'About who?'
'You and Pearl together, if you know what I mean.'
Quinn knew. 'It isn't any of your business, but that relationship's been over for a long time.'
'Then why do you look at her the way you do?'
'Start worrying, Harley, if she looks back at me that way.'
Renz smiled. 'I haven't noticed that. She looks terrific in that outfit. If boobs were brains she'd be a genius.'
'How come you have to keep trying to irritate people?' Quinn asked, pushing his anger away.
'I dunno. How come the Butcher keeps killing and chopping up women?'
'Maybe it's the same answer,' Quinn told him.
'Hey, screw you!' Renz said, as Quinn was leaving.
Quinn couldn't help smiling. It wasn't easy getting over on Renz. He'd have to tell Pearl about it.
As it turned out, the decision to release the note to the media wasn't relevant. It was featured on the front page of the New York Post. The killer had sent copies to all the New York papers and TV news desks.
When Renz released the information that the tile in Marilyn Nelson's apartment was indeed blue, the media was on the story even hotter. Red blood on blue tiles. Cindy Sellers wrote it straight, but a columnist in City Beat speculated that if the bathtub and commode were white, there might be a patriotic slant to the killings.
At the office, Pearl continued to work the computer, double-checking Renz to make sure no one had mentioned the color of Marilyn Nelson's bathroom tiles before the note arrived.
She found no mention. The only way the author of the note could have known the colors was if he'd been in Marilyn's bathroom, unless someone in the NYPD had leaked the information to him. That last was one Pearl didn't want to think about.
Quinn was at his desk rereading the murder files, while Fedderman was on line with his own computer, using the Internet to tie everything possible to the colors red, blue, and gold.
Beneath the hum of the air conditioning, the only sounds were Quinn shuffling pages, and the rattling of keyboards. Pearl raised her head for a moment and looked around, thinking they were all probably doing precisely what the killer intended.
She considered returning to the victim's apartment again. Maybe she'd missed something unobtrusive, or too obvious. Or maybe Jeb Jones would turn up again.
Not that he had a reason, she thought.
Or he might. She might be the reason.
The possibility made her blood rush. It also made her realize she wasn't thinking straight or professionally. This was the kind of thing that had gotten her in trouble throughout her career. It was a bad idea to return to the Marilyn Nelson apartment on the unlikely premise that Jeb might be there.
Not only am I flirting with disaster, but I'm making everything all too complicated.
She put returning to Marilyn's apartment out of her mind.
Easier simply to phone the Waverton.
28
Anna Bragg emerged from the dimness of the subway stop's narrow concrete stairwell into slanted, early evening sunlight. A compact, shapely brunette wearing a tight skirt and blazer, she drew admiring male glances as she strode along the sidewalk in her four-inch heels toward her apartment. Anna would have preferred wearing joggers back and forth to work like most of the other women at Courtney Publishing, but she was conscious of her height deficiency and thought it might be affecting her prospects for advancement. By chance or design, most of the other women at Courtney were built like, and in fact resembled, tall twelve-year-old boys.
Anna had decided that for health reasons as well as how she wanted to appear, it was a bad idea to diet relentlessly and exercise away your hips and boobs. Anyone looking at her would have applauded the decision.
Pedestrian traffic piled up at the corner, and Anna waited with everyone else for the light to change. She had a clear complexion, large brown eyes, and a way of holding her head always cocked to the side as if she were straining to hear a slight, distant sound.
Usually she was thinking. Right now she was considering 'Greenlander's meal on the wing' as a crossword clue for 'puffin.' Anna's job at Courtney was to edit their monthly crossword puzzle magazine. While the puzzle writers submitted clues and answers together, it was the clues that most often needed editing. Some were too vague, some too suggestive, some simply irrelevant or downright dull. The clue for 'puffin' was one that definitely had problems. It might be too obscure. There were subscribers who didn't even know what puffins were, much less that Greenlanders ate them.
The traffic light changed, and Anna stepped off the curb and moved with the mass of pedestrians across the street. A van making a right turn honked at her, though the vehicle wasn't nearly close enough to hit her. The guy driving it might have been leaning on the horn as a way to compliment her. Anna preferred to think of it that way rather than contemplate what else might have been on his mind.
Something, maybe a small pebble, worked its way between the sole of her shoe and her right foot. Anna moved to the side and stopped walking, then raised her leg bent at the knee so she could work a finger beneath her foot and remove whatever was bothering her. The pose she had to strike showed a lot of thigh and brought a lot of male looks, and an especially long look from a handsome, dark-haired man in a blue sport coat and gray slacks. He was average-size-not too tall for Anna-and his regular features almost but not quite formed a smile as he glanced at her and walked on.
It occurred to her that he looked somewhat familiar. Had she seen him around the office? Maybe he worked
