the morgue.'
They walked with him into the living room and watched him leave.
Fedderman, talking to one of the techs over near a window, noticed Pearl and Quinn and came over. Even though it was warm in the apartment he still had on his wrinkled brown suit coat, and had his notepad stuffed in the coat's breast pocket behind where he had his shield displayed. He'd been taking notes. A stub of yellow pencil was tucked behind his right ear.
'Just a moment,' he said, excusing himself.
Quinn knew where he was going, though probably there was no need. It was a professional obligation to call on Celandra Thorn.
Fedderman looked pale and somber as he returned to the living room.
'The bastard!' was all he said. Then, 'Like the others. Leaving us nothing to work with.'
'Someday maybe he'll drop his wallet with his ID and photograph,' Pearl said.
Quinn wondered what was bothering her. He could understand her being sarcastic with that little prick Nift, but why was she riding Fedderman?
Still sobered by what he'd seen in the bathroom, Fedderman ignored her and pulled his notebook from his pocket. He flipped through the pages for a few seconds then stopped. 'Victim's name's Cecelia Thorn,' he said. 'Acted under the name Celandra. A friend she had a breakfast date with came by to get her, found the door unlocked, then let herself in and found what was left of Celandra.' He glanced over at Quinn and Pearl. 'The name Thorn-'
'We know,' Pearl said, cutting him off.
'We should have thought of it,' Fedderman said. 'It's right there in the note between the lines, just like thorns are between the roses. If you're thinking roses, you're a fool if you're not also thinking thorns. Like coffee and cream.'
'Ham and eggs,' Pearl said. 'The Butcher is probably feeling pretty smart right now.'
'The smarter he feels,' Quinn said, 'the sooner we'll nail him.'
'Techs told me not to expect much in the way of useful prints,' Fedderman said. 'There are various ones around the apartment, but they're sure our guy wore gloves. No blood-work to be done, either. He drains them as best he can before he cuts, and whatever blood gets splashed or smeared around he scrubs away like an honest Dutch maid.'
'So we've got zilch again,' Pearl said.
'Not quite,' Fedderman said. 'A neighbor down the hall seems to be the last one who saw Celandra alive, in the elevator about six o'clock yesterday evening.'
'According to Nift, that's just about the time she was killed,' Quinn said.
'This'-Fedderman consulted his notes again-'Mrs. Ida Altmont was going out to walk her dog and stepped out of the elevator at lobby level when Celandra was coming in. They exchanged a few friendly words, then Celandra got in the elevator. The thing is, when the Altmont woman's dog was finished doing its business, Mrs. Altmont went grocery shopping, then stopped at a Starbucks for a coffee. Got back home about eight o'clock and saw a man leaving the lobby carrying a white box. He had on a gray shirt and dark pants, and she thinks he mighta been a deliveryman of some sort. Not much help on the description. Average height and weight. Dark hair, she thinks, but he was wearing a baseball cap. She remembered him because her dog growled at him even though he was over a hundred feet away, and the man looked what she called furtive.'
Quill sighed. 'Furtive, huh?'
'You don't often hear a witness say furtive,' Fedderman said.
'He was carrying a box,' Pearl reminded them. 'The Butcher's gotta have something to lug around his cutting tools and power saw.'
'And maybe an apron or change of clothes in case he gets bloody,' Fedderman added.
'Let's canvass the building,' Quinn said. 'Make sure nobody got a delivery or had a pickup around eight last night.'
'We've also got Debrina Fluor,' Fedderman said.
Quinn and Pearl looked at him.
'She's downstairs in the unmarked. She's a dancer and friend of the victim, the one who let herself in and discovered the body. Pretty little thing.'
'You go down and get her statement,' Quinn said. 'I'll tell the paramedics they can remove the body soon as the techs are finished here. Then Pearl and I will see what Ida Altmont has to say.'
44
The butcher shop stench came after them as they walked a short distance down the hall. Or maybe they carried it with them.
Pearl wondered with sudden irrational panic if maybe they always would.
The Altmont apartment was three doors down. Quinn knocked, and the door promptly opened.
A small, hairy brown dog ignored Quinn and acted as if it wanted to tear Pearl's leg off. The stocky redheaded woman who'd opened the door adroitly scooped up the dog and clasped it tightly to her breast, saying, 'No, no, no, Edgemore. We say no, no, no to naughtiness.'
Shouldn't we all, Pearl thought, wishing she could have kicked the hairy little bastard.
Quinn was smiling. 'Edgemore,' he said. 'Nice name. Nice dog.' He reached out and petted the dog, which became instantly quiet and licked his hand.
'It's sort of a family name,' Ida Altmont said. Pearl noticed for the first time that the woman's face and eyes were puffy, as if she'd been crying. Though she seemed younger at a glance, he guessed her age as about sixty. 'Such a horrible, horrible thing that happened to Celandra,' she said. 'And right down the hall. So horrible.'
Naughtiness, thought Pearl.
Ida Altmont sat down in the corner of a graceful blue-patterned sofa with dainty mahogany legs. Pearl noticed there was brown dog hair on one of the throw pillows. She and Quinn remained standing, watching as the distraught woman drew a handkerchief from a pocket of her gray skirt. She didn't use the handkerchief, merely crumpled it and gripped it tightly in her right hand, keeping it in reserve in case grief or fear overcame her.
'Did Celandra Thorn seem her usual self when you and she talked at the elevator?' Quinn asked her.
'Oh, yes. Very friendly. Celandra was always friendly to everyone.'
'You told Detective Fedderman about the man you saw leaving the building when you returned from walking Edgemore.'
Ida Altmont beamed, obviously pleased that he'd remembered the dog's name. All in all pleased with Quinn, this mature, ruggedly handsome cop favoring her with his attentiveness. 'That's right. Edgemore and I had gone grocery shopping for some salad vegetables, then we stopped for lattes at Starbucks before returning home.'
'That would have been about eight o'clock?'
'As near as I can remember.'
Under Quinn's seemingly casual questioning she recounted how she'd been approaching the building, and when she was almost there an average-size, average-looking man came out and bounded down the concrete steps to the sidewalk. She tightened her grip on the handkerchief and waved it in the general direction of her face. 'He was carrying a large white box and looked…'
Quinn and Pearl waited patiently.
'Furtive,' Ida Altmont said.
Pearl had been expecting average.
'What size was the box?' Quinn asked.
'Oh, I'm a poor judge of such things, but I'd say it was about as wide as it was high, maybe eight or ten inches, and quite long, maybe twenty-four inches. It looked like one of those white boxes florists use for long- stemmed flowers, only somehow heavier, sturdier.'
'A very good description,' Quinn said. 'Are you a trained observer?'
Ida Altmont fidgeted about, made uneasy by the compliment. 'Oh, no, no. It was still light out, and I do
