thinking. Gotta be him, at least for a while.”
That’s why I hired you, baby.
“That’s the only way we’ll be able to predict what he might do when, where, and to who,” Quinn said.
“Isn’t that to whom?”
“Fuck youm.”
Renz chuckled, pleased to have gotten to Quinn. “Well, this is his third set. If there was any doubt before, there isn’t now. We’ve got a serial killer who does happily married couples.”
“All three couples were married,” Quinn said, “but two of the wives used their maiden names. There are plenty of couples living together in New York who aren’t married.”
“So, you’re saying them being legally hitched was coincidental?”
“I’m saying if the killer knew the victims were married, he knew more about them than just their names and addresses. He couldn’t have just picked them out of a crowd, or run his finger down the phone book with his eyes closed and chosen three married couples.”
“Then victims and killer knew each other. That should make it easier for us.”
“Or maybe they didn’t know each other at all. Maybe he’s somebody in a position to know people’s marital status.”
“Jesus! He might be employed by the state or city in some kinda record-keeping capacity.”
“Or by a bank or credit bureau. Someplace where you can get real and deep information about people without them knowing about it. Or maybe someplace where you can get their keys and steal them or make copies-like a parking garage or a store where women might check their purses.”
“Their keys?”
“Sure. There was no sign of forced entry into any of these apartments, but our killer came and went at will. After all, he was practically living in their apartments while his future victims were asleep.” And maybe when they weren’t home. Quinn made a mental note to have Pearl and Fedderman check the victims’ neighbors to find out if anyone noticed someone coming or going during the day, work hours, in the weeks before the murders.
“Sounds to me like you’re giving a two-sided problem eight sides, Quinn. Could be the killer and victims knew each other, that they were friends. Or thought they were. What’s simple is usually right.”
“Now you’re bragging.”
“Don’t be such a prick. You know I’m probably right-probably correct.”
Quinn knew Renz was making a classic mistake, settling on a theory too soon and ignoring other evidence. Yet he was right about the obvious usually being what happened in a homicide. But this killer was definitely different; Quinn had felt it from the time he’d read the Elzner murder file. “Yeah, it’s possible. We still have to sort it all out.”
“What about computers? These victims own one?”
Quinn remembered a laptop on a corner of the desk. “Everyone has a computer.” Except for washed-out ex- cops.
“We’ll check it and make sure it wasn’t hacked. The other victims’ computers were okay.”
That was something Quinn hadn’t thought to consider. Slipping mentally? Or just being buried by technology like the rest of the poor schmucks my age?
“Maybe we shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss the bloody mark on the wall,” he said, not wanting to come up short again.
“Egan doesn’t think it’s important. Poor woman just didn’t get her message down in time.”
“He’s probably right, or the killer would have smeared it.”
“Now you want some good news?” Renz asked.
“Don’t tease me, Harley.”
“We’ve made some progress tracking the silencer.”
“Be still, my heart.”
“We got it narrowed down some more.”
“To the northern hemisphere, I’ll bet.”
“What with the way records are kept these days, and what you can do on the Internet, this isn’t as long a shot as you think. I’ll tell you, Quinn, the computer is a marvelous instrument.”
Quinn wondered if Renz was jabbing at him for not factoring in what might be on the victims’ computers. Or was he slyly referring to the fact that a computer had helped to set up Quinn for the rape accusation? “That’s what Michelle says.”
“Michelle?”
“My sister.”
“Oh, yeah, the Quinn kid that turned out okay.”
“Remember to let me know about the silencers, Harley.”
Quinn hung up, thinking what a waste of time it was, even with the aid of computers, tracking silencers. Guns were difficult enough to trace, but mail-order silencers that had no individual serial numbers and changed hands maybe several times since their purchase…Quinn thought again that the only good thing about the silencer hunt was that it would help to keep Renz occupied and not ragging him and his team. Though it hadn’t seemed to have that effect so far.
The intercom rasped. Pearl and Fedderman.
Quinn buzzed them up and threw the bolt on his door.
They both looked exhausted. Pearl’s hair was stuck in lank bangs to her perspiring forehead, and her white blouse was patterned with wrinkles. Fedderman’s eyes were bloodshot and his baggy brown suit looked as if it had been used in a tug-of-war. Pearl flopped herself down on the sofa while Fedderman trudged out to the kitchen to help himself to a beer.
“You coulda asked us,” she said, irritated, when Fedderman returned carrying only one can of beer.
“Blame our host,” Fedderman said. “We come in expecting a buffet, maybe some canapes, and there’s nichts. ”
“Canapes and nichts in the same sentence. You don’t hear that very often.”
“Shows I’m well traveled and you’re not.” Fedderman popped the tab on the can and licked foam from between his thumb and forefinger.
“Shows what a putz you are.”
“My old German grandmother would tell you who’s what part of the anatomy.”
“I’m going out to the kitchen and get two more beers and a bag of potato chips,” Quinn told them. “Then we’re gonna talk police work. Unless you two have been doing other things all day.”
Neither answered as he walked into the kitchen.
When Quinn returned with the beer and chips, Fedderman said, “If memory serves, there were a couple of murders just this morning, weren’t there?”
“I told you he was a putz, ” Pearl said.
Quinn said, “He didn’t exactly deny it.”
He yanked open the top of the potato chip bag and placed the bag on the coffee table. Then he opened the beers and handed a can to Pearl, took a swig of the other. He sat down in his chair opposite the sofa.
Fedderman sat down next to Pearl, who threw a potato chip at him. “Have a canape.”
The chip landed in Fedderman’s lap. He picked it up and ate it.
Quinn told them about his phone conversation with Renz.
“You think that silencer thing will actually get anyplace?” Fedderman asked.
Quinn shrugged. “It keeps you-know-whom busy.” He looked from Pearl to Fedderman. They looked as if they would have sprung at each other’s throats, only they didn’t have the energy. “So how was your day?”
They told him it hadn’t been good. Other than the woman who’d noticed the thin trail of blood on her wall in the unit below the murder apartment, no one in the building had seen or heard anything unusual.
“What about the doorman?”
“We were including him,” Pearl said. “But he admits he’s not always on the door. He might have been running an errand or hailing a cab for one of the tenants. And sometimes he sneaks a smoke down in the stairwell of the building next door.”
“Did anyone mention seeing something or someone unusual during the two weeks or so leading up to the
