presume.”
“When you see it you’ll know it’s not just a presumption. I’m looking at it right now.”
“A woman?”
“Was.”
“You know I’ve seen dead women before,” Quinn said, “so there must be something special about this one.”
“Oh, there is. Come over here and you’ll see why. You’ll also see why the city is going to hire you and your agency.”
This wouldn’t be the first time Quinn had done work for hire for the city. Renz, the most popular police commissioner in New York’s history, could arrange that with no trouble. He had before. The sleazeball did know how to work the levers of power.
And he knew not to work them too often, so this murder must be special.
“You think the killer’s going to be a repeater?” Quinn asked. That was why he often became employed by the city even though he was out of the NYPD. He’d gained a reputation as a unique talent when it came to tracking serial killers. And of course Quinn and Associates, or Q amp;A, had solved other politically sensitive homicides. In a city as large as New York, there was little downtime between investigations.
“I think we’ve got a serial killer operating in this town,” Renz said. “We both know that’s usually why I call you. But this time there’s something more to it than that.”
“Where are you?” Quinn asked.
“In Central Park, but not very far in. Where Seventy-second Street runs into it, but a little north. Walk up Central Park West and look into the park, over the low stone wall. Where there’s this clump of trees, you’ll see some police cars and a lot of yellow crime scene tape. You can’t miss us.”
“It’s still dark out, Harley. And don’t tell me you’ve got lights. The city’s been doing nighttime work in the park. I’m just as likely to be walking toward a midnight-shift maintenance crew.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you right outside the Beymore Arms, opposite the park, and walk you in.”
“So where exactly is the Beymore Arms?”
Renz gave him a Central Park West address. “Look for a gray stone building with a green awning out front. It’s down the block from a coffee shop.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“Yeah. Even dead people beyond the rejuvenating power of lattes.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Bring Pearl. I know she’s there. I can hear her grinding her teeth.”
Renz knew Pearl didn’t like him. Nobody really liked Renz except the citizens, who knew only the Renz facade and not Renz.
“Should we see the victim before or after we eat breakfast?” Quinn asked.
“Before, I would say. Though on the other hand, she isn’t going anywhere real soon. And when you learn more about the situation, you’ll see why this one will interest Pearl, too.”
“I’ll check with Pearl,” Quinn said. “But she might wanna sleep in.”
“It would behoove her to be here.”
“What exactly does that mean, behoove?” Quinn asked. “It sounds like something a blacksmith might do to a horse.”
“You wanna discuss blacksmithing and word roots,” Renz asked, “or do you wanna be introduced to the late Miss Macy Collins?”
“You make it sound like social networking,” Quinn said.
“In a way it is. You’ll definitely wanna know people who knew the victim. One person in particular.”
“Now you’re making it sound like a quiz show.”
“Yeah. Well, it isn’t that. I guarantee you Pearl won’t think so, either.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. “I’ll wake her up.”
“I’m awake,” she said, from somewhere beneath Quinn’s unshaven jaw.
“Renz wants-”
“I heard him,” Pearl interrupted. “Tell him to go fu-”
Quinn moved the receiver away as far as he could, then turned his head so he could speak to Renz. “She says she’s on her way.”
“I thought I heard her talking. She got a message for me?”
“That was it,” Quinn said. “More or less.”
5
Quinn and Pearl found the Beymore Arms with no trouble. Renz was waiting for them beneath the green canopy. He was wearing a well-tailored blue suit, a white shirt, and a red and black striped tie. He looked ready to broadcast the evening news, but the clothes didn’t disguise the fact that he’d put on even more weight since becoming police commissioner.
The three of them waited for a break in traffic that was already starting to build on Park Avenue West, and then fast-walked across the street. Fat as he was, Renz moved quickly and gracefully. They climbed over the low, age-darkened stone wall that bordered the park. Quinn was curious to see if Renz would go over the wall that way, which involved not much more than boosting up the body, then sitting, and swiveling. Renz clambered over the low wall with impressive nimbleness. Didn’t do his tailored suit much good.
They walked across dew-damp grass toward a cluster of trees that emitted a faint white glow. Then Quinn saw the crime scene tape, and that the glow was coming from a white tent that was eight or ten feet square. Shadow movement on the taut white material indicated a lot of activity inside.
A tall, poker-faced uniform posted outside the flap entrance to the tent seemed not to pay them any attention. Renz stood to the side of the flap and motioned with an arm for them to enter, but he stayed outside in the interest of giving people in the tent more room to move.
What was going on inside the tent was nothing like social networking, even with the Napoleonic and twisted little medical examiner, Dr. Julius Nift, smiling from where he stood over the body and saying, “Miss Macy Collins, may I present Frank Quinn and Pearl Kasner.” He made a motion with his hand, palm up. “Pearl, Quinn, this is-”
“Just shut up,” Pearl said.
The tent had no floor and was illuminated by brilliant lights on flimsy-looking metal stands. Quinn had to duck his head slightly, but Pearl could stand up straight. Where there was room to move, two CSU guys were using it, carefully tweezering up possible evidence and placing it in plastic evidence bags. They were dressed in white and wearing white gloves and looked as if they’d arrived in a box with the tent.
What was left of the victim lay on bent and bloodstained grass. A rectangular flag of gray duct tape clung by a corner to her lower lip. Her bulging brown eyes bespoke horror.
She was on her back with her arms taped to her sides, her legs together, toes turned down as if frozen that way by painful spasms. Her body was arranged with a symmetry and neatness suggesting she’d been posed after death. She was wearing only blue panties. Both of her breasts had been removed.
“Her breasts-” Quinn began.
“Haven’t found them,” Nift said. “Judging by the removal circumference, she must have had quite a rack.”
Quinn was aware of Pearl stiffening beside him. “Sick necrophiliac,” she said under her breath.
Nift heard her and smiled. He enjoyed getting under people’s skin, and Pearl was a favorite target.
“There’s a mathematical formula for everything,” Nift said.
“Like for how much longer you’ll live with that mouth of yours,” Pearl said.
Nift seemed not to have heard her.
The CSU techs said they’d done all they could until the body was removed, and left the tent.
Quinn nodded toward the victim. “Notice anything about the panties? The way they’re rolled up at the
