“You know what she means,” Lora said, throwing in with the enemy. “Personnel files.”
Zoe leaned forward. “We need to find out about seriously disgruntled employees, but just as importantly,
“You’re asking for a lot of time,” Repetto said. “A lot of work hours.”
“It might be worth it,” Lora said.
“What about Zoe’s previous theory that the killer’s insisting on game playing, so we should concentrate on that aspect of his personality?” He was asking Lora, not Zoe. Lora the turncoat.
“It could still be true,” Lora said. “So could this theory.”
“It could also be true that the Sniper might start killing children.”
“The two theories could coexist,” Zoe admitted. “We’re talking about probabilities.”
“You are. I deal in hard facts, then put them together to make an arrest that’ll stick in court.”
“I’m suggesting a way to get at the facts,” Zoe said.
Repetto finished his drink and signaled the waiter for another.
“Better go easy,” Lora said, touching the back of his hand. “I love you and don’t want to have to wrestle the car keys from you.”
Repetto had to smile. What chance did he have?
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll talk to Melbourne and see what he thinks about raiding the department’s confidential personnel files.”
“Not just the NYPD files,” Zoe said.
Repetto waved a hand like a surrender flag. “I know, I know. . ”
Zoe grinned. Lora sighed with satisfaction. She was a woman who reveled in manipulating and outmaneuvering her mate. Or was that
Zoe said, “Thanks,” looking at Repetto. Then she glanced at her watch. “Almost eight-thirty. I’ve gotta meet somebody at nine for drinks on the other side of town.” She dug some bills from her purse and laid them on the table to pay her part of the check. “You two stay and finish your coffee.” She stood up.
“A date?” Lora asked.
“A date,” Zoe confirmed.
That didn’t sound right to Repetto. He never imagined Zoe with any kind of social life, though she was single and certainly attractive. There was probably a lot about Zoe he didn’t know.
Zoe nodded good night to Repetto, then leaned toward Lora. Repetto thought she was going to peck her on the cheek. Instead he heard her whisper, “Your husband’s a hardhead, but he’s actually quite nice.”
She didn’t look back at them as she walked away. However many drinks she’d had, she was moving in a straight line and with a hip switch and grace that could only be called sexy.
“A seductive redhead,” Lora said, probably reading Repetto’s mind. “I’ve sometimes thought of dying my hair red.”
“What did she just whisper to you?” Repetto asked his wife, refusing to be distracted by her diversion.
“You know what. You overheard. I was watching and could tell by your expression.” Lora rested her hand on Repetto’s arm. “I’m proud of you. You handled that well.”
“Well, I handled it,” Repetto said.
24
It was almost 8:30, and the cab was caught in stop-and-go traffic on East Fifty-second Street. Kelli was sure that getting out and walking would get them to Four Seasons earlier than if they stayed in the cab and gained ground ten feet at a time. Besides, Jason was beginning to fidget, his fingers absently working on the box containing his new radio-controlled car. No doubt he was thinking that Michael Schumacker in his red Ferrari race car would figure out a way to roar through or around this traffic.
“We’ll get out here,” Kelli told the driver, as the cab rolled forward a few feet, then lurched to a stop inches from the rear bumper of the car ahead.
“We’re almost there, lady. Another block.”
“Here’ll do fine,” Kelli said, digging in her purse. She handed the driver a ten-dollar bill and told him to keep the change.
She climbed out of the cab first, standing holding the door open while Jason slid across the backseat and scampered out, still tightly gripping the box from the toy store. Heat was rolling out from under the cab, warming her ankles, reinforcing her decision to leave the cab now; the vehicle could overheat if traffic didn’t start to move soon.
Kelli made sure Jason was clear, then shut the cab door and stepped up on the curb. They began walking the block and a half to the restaurant. After sitting cramped in the cab for so long, it felt good to Kelli to be stretching her muscles. She really should exercise more. She’d been slacking off lately, skipping some of her scheduled workouts. Her chiropractor had given her a large inflatable ball to use for low-impact exercises. It made working out seem like play and might help her resolve.
They were standing on the corner with a man and three women, waiting for the signal to change so they could cross Park, when Kelli released Jason’s hand and touched her chest high between her breasts. She’d felt a sudden, sharp pain and was having difficulty breathing.
The light changed to WALK and the people around her began crossing the street. Someone behind bumped her hip as they danced around her, a large woman in a hurry and not slowing down or saying excuse me.
“Mom?”
She started to look down at him and noticed the bright red on her soft brown mink jacket.
“Mom?”
Kelly touched the red brilliance and stared at her stained fingers when she withdrew her hand from the wet fur.
“Mom?”
Before she could figure it out, she was dead on the sidewalk.
“A vendetta against the city?” Meg said, when Repetto called and told her about Zoe’s revenge theory. It was almost nine o’clock. The windows were black mirrors. She’d been dozing when the phone rang. Now she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, clutching the receiver and watching on TV a man in a dark suit, a vaguely familiar political pundit, frowning fiercely and waving his arms behind the yellow letters MUTE.
“That’s the angle we’re going to start working tomorrow,” Repetto said. “Disgruntled former city employees.”
Meg tried to shake off her sleepiness. “If Melbourne goes for it.”
“Melbourne will go.” Repetto was at his desk in his study, thinking about smoking a cigar, thinking maybe he shouldn’t. Things were going more smoothly with Lora now that he’d agreed to lay out Zoe’s theory to Melbourne and request additional help.
“There must be a lot of disgruntled former city employees,” Meg said. “Just cops alone. .”
“Not a lot of them with the makeup of a serial killer.”
“How we gonna know we’re looking at that makeup if we come across it?”
“There’s the question.”
“You think there’s actually anything to it?” Meg asked. “The revenge motive?”
“Might be. There’s enough to it that Melbourne will have to cover his ass and send us searching.”
“Seems like a fuckin’ waste of time,” Meg said, thinking about a disgruntled former city employee with the
