“The knife sounds right,” Fedderman said.
“Everything sounds right,” Quinn said. “Right, and then fortunately interrupted.”
“Did anybody see this sicko flee the premises?” Vitali asked.
“Maybe,” Quinn said. “We got a cab driver picked up a guy near Nixon’s apartment building in the right time frame. A blind man, no less, wearing dark glasses and bumping into things. No seeing-eye dog or cane, just blind faith. Cabbie said he drove the fare to an intersection near Central Park and left him there.”
“He left a blind man near Central Park at night?” Fedderman asked.
“There are big apartment buildings on the other side of Central Park West, facing the park. The cab driver figured his fare was gonna enter one of them. The guy also gave him a line of bullshit about wanting to make it the rest of the way home by himself, so he’d feel self-reliant and useful.”
“A man with pride,” Vitali said.
“Those were the cabbie’s exact words. So he drove away and left the guy.”
“Smartest thing he ever did,” Fedderman said.
“Or luckiest,” Pearl said.
“He said he did glance in the rearview mirror when he was a little way down the street. The blind man was cautiously crossing the street, relying almost entirely on his sense of hearing not to be run down by some hard- charging motorist.” Quinn looked at his detectives and didn’t see optimism. “Nixon was raped six years ago and picked out her attacker from a lineup. The man she falsely accused got out of prison less than a year ago on new DNA evidence. He’s all alibied up.”
“Too bad Nixon didn’t get much of a look at her attacker,” Pearl said.
“She did say she thought he was average height and build. The word average came up a lot.”
“It always does,” Fedderman said.
“What about our guy Link Evans?” Vitali asked. “He was starting to look good for it.”
“Different story. His wife in Missouri said he was at a big numismatic convention in Denver.”
“That’s coin collecting?” Vitali asked, to be sure.
Quinn nodded.
“In point of fact,” Mishkin said, “he might collect other kinds of money, Sal, not only coins.”
Vitali glared at him, still intolerant from his confinement in the car with Mishkin. “What the hell does that mean, Harold?”
“Bills. Paper money…”
“No. ‘In point of fact.’ What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“In this case it means he was lucky,” Pearl said.
“Not exactly,” Quinn said. “Seems there is no coin show in Denver. Hasn’t been one there in weeks.”
Focus narrowed. Attitudes changed immediately.
Pearl stood up away from her desk. “We’ve got him.”
“Not yet,” Quinn told her. “And not for sure. We still can’t be positive he’s the Skinner.”
“Maybe you ’re not positive,” Pearl said, “but I-”
The door banged open, and Jerry Lido came stumbling in.
One lapel of Lido’s wrinkled sport coat was twisted inside out. His stained paisley tie was loosely knotted and flung back over one shoulder, as if he was battling a strong headwind in an open-cockpit plane. He needed a shave, and his eyes were reminiscent of stuffed olives.
“Don’t you look like shit,” Pearl said.
“Been busy,” Lido said, shuffling his feet with nervous energy.
Pearl could smell the gin. She knew Quinn must, too. “Been at the bottle?” she asked.
“Just enough to straighten me out so I could come over here,” Lido said. “I been at the computer.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “I found out a couple of things.”
“I told them about the nonexistent Denver coin convention,” Quinn said.
“Found something other’n that,” Lido said. “Link Evans took a flight out of Kansas City two days ago, not to Denver, but to Philadelphia.”
“So Denver was a feint,” Vitali said.
“He rent a car in Philly?” Pearl asked.
“No,” Lido said. “But he coulda taken a train right into New York City. It’s an easy commute, and if he paid cash for his ticket, there’s no way to check.”
“Security tapes,” Pearl said.
“Maybe. But that might take weeks. Months, even. And they might’ve missed him, or had a bad camera angle. You know security cameras.”
Pearl did.
Quinn slowed Lido down enough to tell him about last night’s attack on Jane Nixon.
“Okay,” Lido said, still vibrating. “That dovetails. I think Evans trained into New York, and he paid Jane Nixon a visit. Then, after spending the night in New York, it was back to Philadelphia.”
“Or somewhere nearby,” Pearl said.
“I checked his round-trip ticket,” Lido said. “He’s due back in Kansas City at ten o’clock tomorrow.”
“We can meet him when he comes through security,” Quinn said.
“Call the K.C. cops,” Vitali said.
“You’re thinking like you’re still NYPD,” Fedderman said. “Besides, we’ve gotta be certain about this guy.”
“If he gets a whiff of cop, he’s gonna go underground and we might never get him,” Vitali said.
“Pearl and I will fly to Missouri and meet him in Edmundsville when he comes home,” Quinn said. “I want to talk to the wife before he gets there, be sure of our facts so we don’t make asses of ourselves.”
“If he’s the Skinner,” Pearl said, “wifey will know. She might not have admitted it to herself yet, but she’ll know. And when she does admit it, we can be sure.”
She smiled faintly at Quinn. Quinn and Pearl, thinking alike again.
“Get on the phone or Internet and get us airline tickets to whatever’s closest to Edmundsville,” Quinn told Pearl. “Let’s see if we can get into a motel near there to use as our base, then drive in early tomorrow morning and talk to the wife before hubby arrives.”
“I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for his chances,” Vitali said.
Mishkin said, “I bet he knows exactly what one of those is worth.”
80
Hogart, the present
Mathew Wellman was eating chocolate ice cream. He would spoon it into his mouth with one hand, and with the other manipulate the mouse and keyboard of Westerley’s computer. With Westerley’s permission, and charge card, Mathew had added to the computer memory chips and apps and features that Westerley not only had never heard of but still didn’t understand.
Bobi had soon developed a liking for young Mathew and brought him snacks from time to time, even on days when she wasn’t working.
Westerley sat at his desk and observed Mathew, marveling at how his gooey fingers danced. The sheriff couldn’t see what was happening on the monitor because of reflection, with the sun angling in through the bamboo window treatments Bobi had bought. They softened the light somewhat but didn’t keep it out.
After a while, Westerley voiced what he’d been wondering. “Is all this tech wizardry-which I heartily admire, Mathew-actually getting us somewhere?”
Mathew didn’t answer until he’d swallowed the ice cream he’d skillfully transferred from bowl to mouth.
“’Es, sir,” he said, swallowing. On the return trip to the bowl, his spoon dribbled chocolate onto his blue Stephen Hawking T-shirt. Westerley had broken his rhythm.
“Where?” Westerley asked, somewhat surprised.
And Mathew Wellman proceeded to tell the sheriff everything that Jerry Lido had told Quinn and
