'Not in my judgment,' Quinn said. 'When we nail them, I want them nailed hard and for good. So far, we don't have anything approaching actual proof. We'll keep watching them while we build our case. The last thing we want at this point is to spook them so they roll everything up and disappear themselves. Jill Clark figures to be their next victim, so we can play for time.'
'Agreed,' Renz said. 'But we wouldn't want the media to discover what we know and when we found out. They'll think we shoulda broke into E-Bliss's offices like Eliot Ness and the Untouchables and gunned everybody down. Make sure you keep the media out of it. Cindy Sellers is all over me every day like chiggers.'
'I'll do what I can,' Quinn said. 'We've been reasonably successful so far.'
Renz sat high in his chair again. 'Hey, there's our waiter.'
He had his arm halfway up to summon the waiter when his cell phone beeped. He dug the phone out of a pocket, flipped it open, and pressed it to his ear and identified himself. His hound-dog expression became even graver as he went to a different pocket with his free hand and got out a black leather-bound notepad. He said, 'Uh-huh,' and then said it several more times while making notes. Renz thanked whoever had called. He flipped the phone closed so it made a loud snapping sound.
'We've got another victim,' he said. 'Female. What's left of her was found less than fifteen minutes ago on the Lower East Side.'
He tore off the top sheet of paper containing the information from his notepad and handed it across the table to Quinn. He slipped the notepad back in his pocket, then settled down in his chair.
'Round up your team and go,' he said. 'I'm waiting for dessert.'
36
Palmer Stone sat in his office at E-Bliss.org and looked across his desk at Victor Lamping. For the first time, he was worried about his business partner and longtime associate. It wasn't so much anything Victor had done. It was more his behavior. He seemed distant sometimes, distracted. This could be bad for business.
On a table near the office window, a small TV was tuned to local cable news. The volume was muted, but closed-caption lettering appeared at the bottom of the screen. It was all about politics, sports, celebrity name- calling, a man who'd set a hamburger-eating record.
'How do you explain it?' Palmer asked.
He wasn't yet aware that Charlotte Lowenstein's torso had been found. What was the delay? He'd expected the news on TV hours ago.
Victor knew what he was talking about. 'I don't explain it,' he said. 'Gloria and I did our work, including placing the object where it was sure to be discovered. I wouldn't worry. It has to be found soon. It isn't the kind of thing people consciously step over.'
Stone's desk chair was located where he could see his reflection in a small framed mirror. He glanced at the suave middle-aged man in the mirror and automatically adjusted his imported silk tie. He always dressed well, leaving his suit coat on in the office, though it was rare that a client or anyone else ever dropped in. Almost all of E-Bliss.org's business was done via the Internet.
His hand came away from the straightened tie knot as he saw the increasingly familiar faraway look transform Victor's eyes. That look seemed to occur off and on during the first few days after a client deletion. Where had Victor gone? He certainly wasn't in the office.
Daydreaming didn't suit Victor, who, like Stone, was a dedicated businessman who let nothing interfere with the pursuit of profit. What Victor and Gloria did in the course of their work for E-Bliss.org was for them simply part of the job. Or so Stone had thought. He hadn't seen Gloria since the Charlotte Lowenstein deletion, but he doubted there was anything different about her behavior. Victor seemed to be another matter.
Stone smiled, making him look like a kindly father on a TV sitcom. 'Something bothering you, Victor?'
Victor's attentiveness returned like a lamp switching on. He was back in the here and now. 'No. Why do you ask?'
Stone shrugged. 'You seem preoccupied lately.'
Victor, in some ways a younger version of Stone, smiled like the dutiful son in the same sitcom. 'I'm fine, Palmer.'
'And Gloria?'
'The same.'
'The messy part of the work you two do, it's simply business, Victor. Like a medical procedure. The termination of life, the dissection, and the diversionary act-it's all about money, and nothing else. Of course, I can understand how you might form something like an affection for the deleted client.'
'I guard against that from the beginning,' Victor said.
'Of course you do. What about Gloria?'
'You'd have to ask her.'
'Do you think she might have gotten more involved than she should have with the last client? Charlotte?'
Victor laughed. 'Palmer, she's…Gloria.' He placed his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. 'What's bothering you, Palmer?'
'In the kind of work you and Gloria undertake, there are two dangers. One is developing a revulsion for what you must do. The other is getting to like that part of the job too much.'
'There's no danger of either of those things happening,' Victor said. 'Not with me, and not with Gloria.'
'Fine,' Stone said, sitting back in his leather upholstered executive chair and beaming with satisfaction.
But he'd seen the change of light in Victor's eyes and knew Victor was lying. The question was, who had the problem? Was it Gloria, or Victor? And what was the problem-revulsion, or too much attraction?
'Ah!' Stone said.
He was staring at the TV. Local cable news was running the story about another Torso Murders victim. The torso of an unidentified woman had been found only hours ago on the Lower East Side. Palmer knew the police would soon note the similarities of the crime with the other Torso Murders, and they would match at least one of the two bullets removed from in or near the heart with the gun that had killed the previous victims.
Victor was also staring at the TV. 'Feel better now, Palmer?'
'Infinitely,' Stone said. 'Nothing makes me happier than business as usual.'
If only Victor were as usual.
37
Quinn decided that sex with Linda Chavesky was better each time. He knew it had to do with trust. They'd both entered the country of lovers cautiously, knowing now there was no turning back. But they were learning and were more at ease with each other every time.
Of course, there were adjustments for each of them to make. Right now, lying next to Linda in his bed, watching the dying light around the blinds indicate the sun was about to set, Quinn would have enjoyed smoking a cigar. He could imagine himself doing that with Linda propped up beside him smoking an after-sex cigarette. But he knew it was only a mental image and would never become reality. Hell, for all he knew, smoking a cigar in bed might have become illegal in New York when he wasn't paying attention.
It hadn't been that long ago when Pearl had lain there beside him in postcoital languor, but it seemed to have happened in another world. It wasn't so much time as it was events that turned life's pages.
Quinn did still think of Pearl as more than simply a colleague who happened to be his former lover. When Pearl had found out about Linda, he'd read something in her eyes. Suddenly, with their romantic relationship supplanted by another for him, a part of her wanted him back. But only a part of her.
Maybe it was always that way with ex-lovers, even after tempestuous relationships. A reflexive thing. The heart refusing to surrender completely a piece of its past. He did love Linda, but he wondered in an abstract way if a
