Jill had to admit that Madeline was right about the fingerprints and DNA. And the family she didn't have. There was no one who cared enough to make a spirited inquiry.
'You're halfway to nothing already.' Madeline took a deep breath. 'Do you believe any of this?'
Jill sat silently for almost a minute staring at the woman who might be mad. Who certainly appeared mad.
Only she wasn't mad. And Jill knew it.
'I believe enough of it,' she finally said, remembering filling out her endlessly detailed and personal E- Bliss.org profile.
Do you take cream in your coffee?
What brands of cosmetics do you use?
Do you ever wear a hat or cap?
Would you drink from someone else's water bottle without first wiping it?
Do you jaywalk?
Do you use an electric toothbrush?
Madeline stood up from the sofa. The look on her face suggested she might rush over to Jill and hug her.
But she didn't.
'I'll go now,' she said. 'I know your mind must be whirling. You need time to think about all this. Let's meet tomorrow, around noon, just inside the main library on Fifth and Forty-second. They don't throw anyone out of a public library, and I can neaten myself up enough so they won't think I'm a panhandler. We both need to think this over and then have a talk, try to come up with some kind of plan.'
'A plan…?'
'Some kind of plan,' Madeline repeated. Her eyes brimmed with tears, pleading. 'Will you be there, Jill?'
Jill couldn't look away from those eyes. They didn't seem insane now. Desperate, but not insane.
'I promise I'll think about it,' she said.
Madeline nodded.
'If you think about it, you'll be there.'
24
So here Quinn was in a blazing forest, terrified animals streaking past him, ignoring him. Deer, bears, rabbits, a lion. What next? A unicorn?
Quinn had fallen asleep in the brown leather chair in his den while reading about the Torso Murders in the Post. It amazed him how so much could be written on something everyone knew so little about. The Cuban cigar he'd been smoking lay smoldering in an ashtray on the carpet beside his chair. That was the sort of thing Pearl often warned him about. He was going to start a fire, kill them both, kill everyone in the building. Pearl, who'd melted the shower curtain with her curling iron.
He smelled cigar smoke and almost woke up. But not quite. His dreams weren't ready to release him. The smoke grew denser.
He was wearing only a plastic raincoat with a hood and, like the animals surrounding him, he was terrified of the advancing wall of flame. Even without the heat of the forest fire, he was sweltering in the plastic NYPD coat. The California heat was merciless.
California?
Where was Lauri? Was she safe from the fire? Was Wormy?
Pearl?
A phone was ringing. Or was it the urgent jangle of a fire engine? Gotta pull the damned car over to the side of the road.
Hold on! He wasn't driving. He knew that because he couldn't find a steering wheel.
He realized he'd fallen asleep. He struggled up out of the chair, wearily stumbled toward the phone. Snatched up the receiver and almost said, 'Pearl?'
But he didn't say it. The word hadn't quite escaped.
Why did I think of Pearl? I was worried about Lauri. Even Wormy.
He smelled something burning and terror took a swipe at him. Then he noticed the smoldering cigar in the ashtray on the floor.
'Quinn?' a woman's voice said on the phone. Not Pearl's voice. 'Quinn? It's Linda.'
He suddenly wanted to see Linda. To hold her and feel her holding him.
'Linda,' he said stupidly, still tangled in the cobwebs of sleep. He dropped the receiver but caught it just before it could bang against the desk. 'I dozed off in my chair,' he explained.
'You're working too hard.'
'Not hard enough, though.'
She was silent for a moment.
'I need to see you,' he said.
'That's why I called. I need to see you.'
Jesus! Quinn thought. Where is this going? So fast. Like being caught in a strong current propelling me toward a sea I know is dangerous.
'Quinn?'
Sharks. Not fire-water. Wake all the way up, numb wit!
'Quinn?' Linda said again, concerned.
'The Lotus Diner in half an hour?'
'I'll be there.'
He hung up the phone and stood staring mutely at it for several seconds. Then he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. On his shirt, too. He decided he needed a fresh shirt. Realized he still had a bitter taste in his mouth from the cigar. Brushed his teeth. Went into the bedroom and changed his shirt. Back to the bathroom to comb his hair.
Before leaving the apartment, he picked up the cigar and ashtray and carried them into the kitchen. He ran water on the cigar and threw it away, then wiped the glass ashtray clean and set it on the sink counter.
He found an aerosol can of air freshener and sprayed it around the apartment, especially in the den, where he'd been smoking.
As he left the apartment, he wasn't thinking about his dreams, about the Torso Murders, about dead women.
Only about Linda, alive.
At first Jill was awkward around Tony when they met for dinner. He seemed not to notice, and by the time they were seated at Scampi, a four-star restaurant near Sixth Avenue and Fifty-second Street, she was much more at ease. Tony was so attentive, so reassuring, so…nonthreatening that Jill's conversation with Madeline receded in her mind and seemed more and more unreal.
Surely it was unreal, the delusional ranting of a mentally ill street woman. This was reality, sitting here with Tony in the soft light from the candle in the center of the white-clothed table, their half-eaten meals before them, the waiter bringing more wine.
Tony couldn't-he simply couldn't-be the kind of monster Madeline had painted. Surely if the story were true Jill would be able to see it in Tony. Not that he'd have horns and his eyes would glow red, but there'd be something. A person simply couldn't be as Madeline had described and at the same time be like Tony.
Besides, Jill knew this man. They'd had several dates now and were moving toward sleeping together. While making it obvious that was what he expected, Tony hadn't rushed her in any way while they continued to explore each other, making sure of what they wanted. Making sure of Jill, really. Tony seemed to know he wanted her, and for more than simple sex.
That was what had emerged from their time together, an intimacy that would be cemented by commitment
