Night Victims

When he was almost finished with the web, he had to fight the desire to tap on the glass and wake her, give her a glimpse of him outside her high window, so close to her. Only a thin pane of glass between Nina and everything she’d ever feared.

But he’d resisted and quietly ascended to the roof. He used his line, slender but strong, and, from the ground, invisible as a spiderweb, to traverse dark space to the adjacent roof.

He left behind a sleeping Nina Count, who would look out her window in the morning and know he’d been there, so very near her. Terror would leap through the glass to her and cling to her and bore into her like a parasitic insect that would be her companion for the brief duration of her life.

Something to think about.

She’s thinking about it now. She must be because she isn’t able to think about anything else. Not completely. She’s thinking about me at this precise instant.

Because she knows I’m thinking about her.

Through the light and shadow and angles of the narrow streets, the greater and lesser terrors of swarming humanity, the raucous, hard-shelled traffic with cars like intrepid beetles dusty or glistening in the sunlight, her fear wended its way to him.

He closed his eyes behind the bulging, tinted lenses and fed on it.

30

Paula knew deep down it wasn’t really necessary to question Harry Linnert again, at this point. But then she knew a lot of things deep down, and there was nothing wrong with a cop playing a hunch.

She was parked across the street from his apartment building, and occasionally glanced at his windows, which were still dark. It was almost eleven o’clock and she’d checked the apartment twice since eight o’clock. So maybe he was out to dinner with friends, fellow architects or Rugby players.

She was about to give up and drive away when Linnert rounded the corner up the block and walked toward his building. He was wearing a tan waist-length jacket to protect from the mist and carrying a small bag of some sort by its handle.

Paula forgot to slump down; he caught sight of her, did a double take, then stepped off the curb and began crossing the street toward her.

Great! Terrific! Better think of some questions.

He leaned down and peered in through the window, which she lowered.

“Paula?” he said. “Officer Paula?”

“Detective Ramboquette,” she corrected.

He grinned. “Detective Ramboquette, I’m getting wet.” Bearing down on the et syllables and making it sound like a poem.

“Get in the car,” she said, making it sound damned official.

He settled in beside her and the windows immediately started to steam up. Two people in the car now, double the body heat, but still, Paula had to be impressed.

“More questions?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Am I still under suspicion?”

There was a hot, musky scent coming off him, one she thought she recognized. “Everybody’s under suspicion,” she told him. “Where are you coming from?”

“My gym. I’ve been working out. Trying to get the leg in shape.”

“You’ve been with a woman,” Paula said. “I can smell it on you.”

His jaw dropped with surprise, then he laughed. “I’ve been with a Nautilus machine. What you smell’s probably the old socks and jogging shoes in my bag.” He leaned toward her. “I can open the bag and prove it.”

“That’s not the way to respond to questions from the law,” she said.

“You want to come up to my apartment again and we’ll talk?”

“No.” Not again. Not yet, not yet. .

“You don’t usually get questioned by the law in a cozy unmarked police car with the windows all fogged up.” He glanced around. “You know, we could make out in here, Detective Ramboquette, and nobody would see us.”

“You’re part of an active homicide investigation,” she reminded him.

“Is that all that’s stopping us?”

She turned and looked him dead in the eye. “That’s all.”

That backed him up but not much. He was grinning widely, obviously pleased. “Do we really have to wait until the case is solved?”

“We do.”

“You’re damned serious about your job.”

“Yeah, I am.”

He leaned toward her and kissed her lightly on the lips. She couldn’t turn away. Could barely make herself move. She was losing control of the situation here and didn’t like it.

There was a deafening high-pitched Whooop! that made him jerk backward and bang his head against the window.

“What the hell was that?” His eyes were wide.

“Siren,” she said. “For emergencies.”

She switched on the wipers to allow a view out of the car, and in. Two elderly women who were half a block away were standing and staring at the unmarked.

“Jesus, Paula.” Linnert rubbed his head where he’d bumped it, then he started to laugh.

“Get out of here,” she said.

“Now? Right now?”

“You betcha.”

He stirred, started to lean toward her again, then changed his mind and opened the door. He slid out of the car, still looking at her. When he’d gotten out, he didn’t straighten up. “That’s it?”

“No,” she said. “Don’t leave town.”

He laughed again and shut the door.

She drove away fast. Her heart was doing a wild dance.

Dumb, dumb, dumb! Definitely, a dumb thing to do!

But she wasn’t sorry.

This looked like it: the Home Away Diner.

Unimposing little place, Nina thought, as she observed it from across the street. Just another corner diner like a zillion others in Manhattan, windows with booths looking out on the street, menu taped on its tinted glass door, yellow and blue Plexiglas sign that bent around the corner, no doubt backlighted in the evening. A placard on an easel near the door advertised daily specials. It was the kind of place Seinfeld and his friends might use as a hangout.

As she waited for a break in the traffic so she could cross the street, Nina wondered if Horn knew what he was doing.

And do I know what I’m doing?

She saw her opportunity and hurried across the street as fast as possible. Her high heels were in her oversized leather purse; she was wearing her Nikes. Still, she almost wasn’t fast enough. A horn blared and a taxi she hadn’t noticed pulled away from the curb and had to skid to a stop rather than hit her.

The driver rolled down his window. “Better get a guide dog, lady!”

Nina gave him the finger and went on her way.

“Hey! Ain’t you that TV newswoman?”

“I am,” Nina said, smiling and not looking back.