Hard work. She'd managed to make it hard work for both of them.
Well, she'd paid the price.
He climbed out of bed and went to the window, parting the drapes he'd closed before beginning Lilly's final ordeal. Then he opened the window as wide as it would go. This was part of his plan. The only facing windows were blocks away. It was highly unlikely that anyone would happen to glance out of one of them and into this particular window. He returned to the bed and stood by Lilly's body, noting as before with satisfaction that the angle of the drapes made it impossible to see the bed from outside.
There was a slight breeze in the room now, which he enjoyed as it played over his damp body. The open window would serve another purpose; he didn't want this one to be discovered too soon, and the stench of putrefaction and feces from the relaxed sphincter wouldn't be noticed right away in the building if some of the odor escaped through the window.
He began the methodical process of wiping away his fingerprints. He'd been careful as always, his mind neatly filing away in his memory everything he'd touched. When that was finished he'd go into the bathroom and use the shower, nude but for a pair of white latex gloves. When that was done he'd place the fresh lily he'd brought with him in his victim's hair. The finishing touch and a riddle for the police.
Then he'd get dressed and be on his way. Into the city. Into the night. Part of the dark.
He had to admire Lilly. She'd never really given up until her last, paper-thin breath. She'd been a fighter.
He bet Pearl would be, too.
51
Addie came bustling in out of the night, surprising Quinn.
She was surprised herself. She hadn't expected to see him sitting behind his desk, bending over paperwork in the narrow island of light from his lamp.
'Go ahead and smoke your cigar,' she said, surprising him again.
They were alone in the office. She'd come in to work late, as she often did, and he'd come in to reread and reorganize some of the case files. He'd been contemplating how nice it would be to light up a Cuban cigar and lean back in his desk chair. It would help him think. He hadn't realized that, to Addie, his thoughts were so transparent.
She was smiling as she walked over to her desk. Hers and Fedderman's.
She leaned back with her haunches against the desk and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. The way she stood made her skirt hike up so a lot of leg showed. Quinn had noticed before how small-breasted women sometimes tried to compensate by taking pride in and showing off their legs.
Sexist thought. He mentally slapped his wrist.
'You've been absently feeling your shirt's left breast pocket,' she said, 'as if there should be something in there. You've been licking your lips, and your eyes keep going to the drawer where you keep your cigars.'
'You notice a lot of detail,' he said.
She gave a small shrug, still smiling. 'My job.'
'So what else have you noticed?'
'That this place is set up more like precinct squad room than an office.'
He glanced around and laughed. 'I guess that's natural. NYPD blue runs in my blood.'
'The past keeps its hold on us,' she said. 'You're the major partner and run the place, so maybe you should have your own private office.'
'I wouldn't like that. I might lose touch.'
'You could at least smoke a cigar whenever you wanted one.'
'There is that.'
'And maybe if you broke more from the past it might help you to accept change.'
'You mean quarters, nickels?'
'You know what I mean. Treating a serious problem lightly is one way not to face up to it.'
He reached into his desk drawer and drew out a cigar. It was in a brushed aluminum tube that looked like some kind of ammunition. He closed the drawer but didn't yet part the sections of the tube to get to the cigar. He regarded Addie, knowing where the conversation was going.
She didn't seem to mind being regarded. She sat all the way up on the desk now, with the heels of her hands on its flat surface so her arms were propped straight and made her shoulders high and narrow. The skirt had worked even higher. One of her legs was rhythmically pumping so the back of her high-heeled shoe barely struck the desk and made a repetitive soft bumping sound in the quiet office.
'We're talking about Pearl's engagement,' he said.
She nodded, giving him that faint little smile that came mostly from her eyes. 'That engagement is quite a change for Pearl, and for you.'
'Me?'
'Because of the way you obviously feel about Pearl.'
'I'll cope,' Quinn said.
'It'd be easier with a cigar, I bet.'
She sat watching him, waiting, the leg still pumping.
He opened the aluminum tube and removed the cigar. Opened the desk drawer again and got out a cutter to snip off the tip. He didn't have to rummage for matches. There was always a book of them next to where he kept his cigars.
The cutter that he used looked like a miniature guillotine. He worked it and was pleased to see that it was still sharp and efficient.
'Ouch!' Addie said. 'What brand are you smoking? Marie Antoinettes?'
'It was a gift,' he said, holding the cutter up so she could see it clearly and then returning it to the drawer.
'From Pearl?'
'From another cop who liked cigars but had to quit them.'
Quinn held the cigar, but he didn't light it.
'Pearl wouldn't mind,' Addie said. She didn't seem surprised by his hesitation.
Quinn smiled. 'She might.'
'She couldn't. She wouldn't know.'
'She might.'
'It doesn't make any difference now,' Addie said. Her tone was patient, as if she were speaking to a contrary child.
'It-'
'No,' Addie said calmly, 'that's over. It'd be better all around if you recognized that and accepted it.'
The psychologist in her coming out.
Quinn sat looking into her eyes, into her smile. A man might become used to that smile warming his world, might become addicted to it. His gaze slid down to her leg, still tapping out its rhythm, its message, softly, softly on the front panel of the desk.
He clamped the cigar between his teeth and struck the match. Touched flame to the tip of the cigar and got it burning smoothly with a couple of deep draws. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed.
'Satisfied?' she asked.
'Almost. I've learned to settle for that. It has to do with recognizing and accepting change.'
'There is no almost when it comes to satisfaction.' The smile again. So knowing and hinting of secrets. So invitingly erotic.
She stood up suddenly from the desk, tugged her skirt down, and smoothed it over her thighs. There was an air of embarrassment about her now, but it wasn't real. 'Sorry. I shouldn't have broached the subject of you and Pearl. I know how it is-old loves, like old habits, die hard.'
'Sometimes they take us with them,' Quinn said.
