waistband in back?”
“She didn’t put them on,” Pearl said. “Somebody else did, after she was dead, and while she was lying on her back the way she is now. The panties dragged and rolled in back and didn’t go all the way up.”
“I was wondering when one of you would notice that,” Nift said. “Very good, Quinn. Now, another question: do you recognize the M.O.?”
Any cop who’d been involved in a serial killer case, anyone at all interested in serial killers, would recognize the M.O.
So like the Daniel Danielle murders.
Quinn nodded. Beside him, Pearl said, “Daniel Wentworth, aka Daniel Danielle.”
“Or Danielle Daniel,” Nift said. “Depending on which sex he wanted to be at the moment.”
“There’s not a lot of blood on the scene, either,” Pearl said, “considering what was done to her. Daniel Danielle was good at managing blood flow. Got a guess as to the actual cause of death?”
Nift grinned at her. “I’d estimate that she was alive when all or most of the butchering was done. He wanted to share that with her. If she was lucky, she died of shock at some point before the abdominal wound.” Nift’s grin widened. “You look down where you’re used to seeing what musta been a huge rack of tits and see your insides instead, it’s probably quite a shock.”
A cop near the door flap was giving Nift a fish-eyed look. Not much expression. Probably he knew Nift. Almost everyone who dealt with the city’s lower forms of life knew Nift, at least by reputation.
Pearl moved over to see the newspaper page lying on the floor near Nift’s black leather medical case. There were bloodstains on it, but it was readable. The E VERYTHING S LASHED Macy’s sale with its play on the victim’s name.
“I saw it,” Quinn said, before she pointed it out. “Sick sense of humor.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nift said.
“That’s for damn sure,” Pearl told him. “You don’t have the slightest idea.”
Nift merely continued grinning at her. “I love getting under your skin,” he said. “No pun intended.”
Quinn gave him a look, letting him know he’d gone far enough. Knowing dangerous ground when it started to shift on him, Nift stopped grinning.
“Any sexual interference?” Quinn asked.
“I’ll have to do the postmortem to know for sure.” Nift was all business now, tired of verbally poking at Pearl. “I can call you later with the details.”
“Got an estimate as to how long she’s been dead?”
“Not more than a few hours. But that’s an approximation. We can be more precise later.”
Quinn looked over at the cop with the scarred eye. “You catch the squeal?”
“Yeah, but not alone. They directed two radio cars over here. No nine-eleven call. An anonymous call direct to the precinct house. They took it serious.”
“He must have left here shortly after the murder and made the call,” Quinn said.
“He might’ve wanted there to be a show for us when we got here,” Pearl said. “Might’ve even watched us arrive. A shared experience. That’s how these sickos think. Ask Nift.”
“Set a sicko to catch a sicko,” Nift said, not bothering to glance over at her. “Pearl’s right. The killer might be standing across the street right now, taking it all in. Maybe waiting for the body to be removed.”
Quinn knew that what Nift said was true in some cases, but this killer was different. Always had been.
If it was the same killer.
Nift did a quick visual study of the corpse, head to toe, as if trying to fix everything in his memory. He flashed his nasty little smile. “Just like in the textbook chapter on the Daniel Danielle murders.”
Quinn nodded. “What do you think? The methodology the same all the way through?”
“Close enough. Would I swear this is a Daniel Danielle murder? No. I couldn’t call it that close. I never actually saw one of his-or her-victims.” He shrugged without seeming to have moved any part of his hefty little body. “And of course it couldn’t be a Daniel Danielle murder, Daniel Danielle being dead. Killed in a hurricane. Body never recovered.”
“Tornado,” Quinn said.
“What’s the difference?”
“Smaller.”
“Copycat killer?”
“Well, there’s that same lively sense of humor. Most of that didn’t get into the media. But I couldn’t rule out a copycat. They’re most likely to be inspired by infamous killers.”
“That would give the killer a motive,” Pearl said.
“Which is?” Nift asked.
“He’s nuts. Like you are.”
Nift chewed on his tongue and seemed to consider that. “No, not like I am.” He leered at Pearl. “Well, maybe a little.” He nodded toward the body. “One thing’s for sure-the killer’s got Daniel Danielle’s taste in women. Macy would have had the second best rack in the room.”
Pearl took a step toward Nift. “You asshole.”
Quinn raised a plate-sized hand as a signal for her to stop, which she did. They had more important things to consider than Nift’s bad manners.
“Take a look at the vic,” Quinn told her. “Imagine her with her hair brushed back off her forehead.”
“I don’t have to look,” Pearl said. “The resemblance struck me when I walked in the room.”
In one way or another, the Daniel Danielle victims had all resembled Pearl. Quinn hadn’t liked that ten years ago, during the killer’s rampage of death, even though Daniel had never taken a victim in New York. He didn’t like it now.
Nift stooped, then snapped his rubber gloves and peeled them off. He began arranging his instruments in his bag, preparing to leave. “When you’re done with the beautiful Macy, you can have her removed. She and I have a date for later.”
When Nift straightened up and moved toward the tent flap, Quinn stood in the way with his arms crossed.
“Something more?” Nift asked.
“The missing breasts…”
“I rolled her over and looked under her, looked all over the place. The CSU had uniforms search the surrounding grounds. They will again tomorrow. But we both know the killer must have taken them with him. Like Daniel Danielle.”
“Souvenirs,” Pearl said.
“Or maybe more souvenirs,” Nift said, and strode around Quinn and out of the room.
That was when Renz entered.
His suit had taken the night’s strenuous activity pretty well and still looked as if he’d just put it on. The brilliant lights in the tent glittered off his gold accoutrements. Renz looked like what he was-a corrupt politician. Quinn wondered if, when people got older, they began to look more and more like what they were. Renz’s overstuffed features were beginning to resemble a rodent’s.
“So Nift introduced you to Macy Maria Collins,” he said.
Pearl made a note of the victim’s full name.
Renz waited with feigned politeness until she’d finished writing. “College girl living in the Big City, maybe looking for a summer job.”
“Where’d she go to school?” Quinn asked.
“Someplace upstate. Wycliffe… Waycliffe. Kinda place where you have to be either rich or smart to get in.”
“Or both,” Pearl said.
“Jealous?”
“Not of Macy Collins. If you look close enough you might notice she’s dead.”
Renz grinned and looked at Quinn. “She’s still got the mouth, huh?”
Quinn shrugged.
