'Driving with you is an adventure,' Jill told him. There was a curious elation in her voice, as if motion and risk had temporarily taken her mind off her more ominous troubles.
'Life's an adventure, dear.'
'Sometimes a fatal one,' Jill said gloomily.
Back in her doomsday mood.
Maria Sanchez thought she might be going crazy. She had no money problems, but three years ago she'd made a mistake Jorge didn't know about. She'd violated his strict rule of dealing drugs, not using them, and become a user. Now she was trying to quit.
She didn't think of it quite that way. Maria regarded herself as being in the process of quitting. She still had part of the stash she'd brought with her when she'd flown in to LaGuardia. Smuggling it in had been easy enough; arrangements had been made. Even if anyone had found the drugs in her possession, it probably wouldn't have proved a problem. Money had been laid down. People who counted knew who she was.
Who she wasn't anymore.
She scratched at her bare arms, stood up from the sofa, and paced back and forth across the living room of the apartment that was feeling more and more like a prison cell. Over the past several months she'd shortened up on her daily lines of cocaine, cut her usage almost in half. It wasn't as if she had any choice. Maria had always been the exception to the rule. What others were afraid or unable to do, she could accomplish. Her drug usage wouldn't be any different. Other people got hooked for life-not Maria.
Cutting back had been difficult at times, was difficult now, but well within the scope of her will and physical ability to deny herself. Confidence was bred in her. She'd been sure she'd be able to quit entirely when the time came.
Now she was beginning to wonder.
So far, the trip to the morgue wasn't as bad as Jill had imagined. She was told she didn't have to view the actual body. They sat her down in a red plastic chair in an anteroom and would show her close-ups of the dead woman on a television monitor.
Quinn stood behind her and to the side with his hand resting gently on her shoulder. 'There are worse things on cable television,' he said. 'The medical channel.'
Jill didn't know if there actually was a medical channel, but his words did lend her courage.
Still, she drew in her breath as the first image took form on the monitor.
Quinn said nothing, but tightened his grip almost imperceptibly on her shoulder.
'Madeline,' she said simply, her voice almost too soft to hear.
'You're sure?'
'Positive.'
Jill turned her head to the side, away from the monitor. One photograph was enough. She knew it was Madeline and knew that was how she'd always remember Madeline. 'Can we get out of here now?'
'Of course.' As Quinn removed his hand he patted her shoulder, letting her know she'd done well and he was still concerned about her, looking out for her. 'Are you all right?'
Jill nodded as she stood up. 'Fine.'
Outside in the warm sunlight, she felt slightly nauseous and swallowed. She felt better after drawing a few deep breaths through her mouth.
'Tummy okay?'
He must have known exactly how she felt. 'It's all right now. The most awful thing is the smell. It doesn't want to go away.'
'Usually after a visit to the morgue, I smoke a cigar,' he said.
'Feel free.'
He drew a stubby, almost black cigar from his shirt pocket. Jill was surprised to see that it was half smoked. It wasn't badly damaged where it had been snuffed out. The charred tobacco had been evened out and tamped with care.
'It's Cuban,' Quinn explained, seeing her staring at the cigar. 'They're kind of precious.' He dug into a pants pocket for paper matches, then struck one and fired up the cigar. 'Would you like one?'
'No, thank you. Aren't Cuban cigars illegal?'
'No Cuban cigar has ever been convicted of anything,' Quinn said. He drew on the cigar, rolled the smoke around in his mouth, then exhaled. He grinned at her. 'Want a puff?'
'No. Smelling the secondhand smoke instead of the inside of the morgue is enough for me.'
They walked on to where the Lincoln was illegally parked in a loading zone, an NYPD placard visible on its dash.
'For you,' Quinn said, 'I'll smoke in the car.'
There was no reason to avoid the press as they drove away from the morgue. But just in case, Quinn ran a red light to make sure they weren't being followed.
'Still sure of the identification?' he asked when they were stopped in stalled traffic on First Avenue.
'It-she's Madeline. The real one.'
Quinn unbuckled his safety belt so he could work his cell phone from his pocket and pecked out a number.
'Isn't that illegal, too?' Jill asked. 'Driving in New York City while using a cell phone?'
'Not if you're also smoking a cigar,' Quinn said.
When Quinn was finished telling Fedderman he had a lunch date, he called to set up his own lunch with Renz.
Renz already had a luncheon appointment, but when Quinn told him what he wanted to talk to him about, Renz broke it. They were sitting now in Puccini's, an Italian restaurant that played opera for background music, only a few blocks from where Quinn had hooked Jill up with Fedderman near a good fusion restaurant on Amsterdam. From this point on, Jill would need protection. She was in more danger than she knew.
When Quinn was finished telling Renz about his visit with Jill Clark, and their subsequent trip to the morgue, Renz sat silently staring at his rigatoni carbonara. He wasn't listening to La Boheme.
'This Jill is having lunch right now with Fedderman?' he asked, to make sure, not looking up from his plate.
'Right up the street,' Quinn said.
'The woman pretending to be Madeline might have been suspicious of her. We've gotta protect her. Gotta keep her away from the media wolves.'
'You believe her story?'
'It's all we've got.' Now Renz did look up from his food. 'What's your gut tell you?'
Quinn didn't take the question lightly. 'Tells me it's probably true.'
A soprano warbled up the scale to improbably high notes. Renz sat for a while considering everything Quinn had told him, including political ramifications. Maybe especially political ramifications. Quinn sipped the Heineken he'd ordered and didn't disturb Renz until what felt like five minutes had passed. Possibly Renz had zoned out with his eyes open.
'Harley?'
'Jesus H. Christ!'
'Leaving him out of it,' Quinn said, 'I need for you to check and see who's obviously disappeared or gone into deep cover the past year or so. People the law might be interested in. It has to be done without raising any curious eyebrows. We can't afford to spook E-Bliss.'
'I can do that,' Renz said. 'E-Bliss. I hate this high-tech bullshit, especially when it mixes with serial murder.'
'Clark said it was a New York-based company. We'll check it out carefully.'
'What about Clark? We can't leave her hanging out there. If she goes down with us knowing this and keeping it from the media, I'll never do anything but pound a beat someplace where I'll probably get shot, not to mention that poor young woman.'
'Not to mention,' Quinn said. He took a long pull of beer. 'What I think, Harley, is that Jill Clark needs a new friend living right in the same apartment building.'
Renz smiled, catching right on. 'A woman friend. A close one who'll keep an eye on her, and who'd sure as
