John Lutz - Darker Than Night

“A few objects she can’t explain-probably because she doesn’t remember-have turned up around the apartment. This Night Prowler jerk leaves his intended victims anonymous gifts before he kills them, like he’s courting them or something.”

“Can you explain the gifts?”

“Not other than Claire’s hormones are running wild with the pregnancy. Her mind’s fucked up.”

Dalia, who’d never been pregnant, mulled that over and came to no conclusion.

“She does say when she called the cops, she found an extra teddy bear in the room she’s got decorated for the baby. Said she bought four and now there’s five, and the new bear was holding a yellow rose.”

“Is that significant?”

“According to the news, the Night Prowler likes to leave his victims-to-be yellow roses.”

Dalia delicately placed a few fries on her sandwich plate, then pushed the rest of them away, where they wouldn’t tempt. She sipped her iced tea and sat back. “Sounds creepy.”

“Sure. She’s probably imagining it. That’s all I can think of.”

“And she wants you to come home so she’ll feel safe?”

“No, she told me I should stay here and do my work. She said the cops’ll be looking out for her.”

Dalia gave him a level, questioning look. “You worried about her?”

“Sure. I don’t want some crazy killer to carve her up.”

“I mean really worried?”

Loaded question. Jubal wished now he hadn’t mentioned Claire’s phone call. Women were…women. Careful here… “Not really worried,” he said, “because I don’t think anything’s really going to happen to her.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know Claire. And I know Claire pregnant. She could let her imagination get the best of her and one thing would lead to another. Right now, it’s how she is.”

It wasn’t how she was, not really, and Jubal knew it. It was probably the ruby necklace that had started Claire’s mind whirring. She might not have entirely believed his lie, and he didn’t like the cops involved. He knew how to handle her. She needed reassurance. He should bolster his story, maybe surprise her, and soon, with a matching ring or bracelet.

His explanation was good enough for Dalia. She opened her mouth wide, cocking her head sideways in a way that reminded Jubal of a shark about to close on its prey, and attacked her club sandwich.

Jubal thought there was something wonderfully carnal about her.

The next night that the stakeout was in place, Quinn ran it from the vestibule of an apartment building across the street that had a clear view of the entrance to Claire Briggs’s building. They were going on the assumption the Night Prowler hadn’t noticed Pearl starting to follow him last night in the unmarked car. Or if he had seen the car, as far as he knew, it had been innocently parked down the street, or was accelerating after turning a corner.

Fedderman was inside the building across the street, Claire’s building, positioned in a storage room with its door propped open a crack so he had a view of the lobby. He had a hard wooden chair to sit on, which would help keep him awake, and a thermos full of strong coffee. He’d been on a lot of stakeouts during his years as a cop, and he knew how to maintain a kind of not-quite-asleep awareness that allowed him to survey an area for hours effectively without moving and without missing anything. He thought when he retired, he might find a job as a human security camera.

Pearl was parked in the unmarked half a block down, near where she’d been last night, using binoculars to help her keep an eye on Claire’s apartment windows. It was warmer than last night, without much of a breeze, and she was uncomfortable even with the windows down. She knew she couldn’t start the engine and switch on the air conditioner; noise and exhaust fumes might give her away. She, too, had a thermos full of coffee, and also her portable plastic potty. She’d considered telling Fedderman about the device, then figured it wouldn’t be worth the grief.

A couple of undercover cops were nearby, one in a closed dry cleaners a few doors down the street, another dressed as a homeless person in a doorway. In Claire’s living room, reading by one of those lights you clip on a book, was a tough, reliable cop named Ryan Campbell. Quinn knew him from the old days, when Campbell had once taken two bullets in the arm and still hauled down a stickup artist who’d just shot a bartender. Campbell had held the man in the iron vise of his uninjured arm until help arrived.

Claire had shown herself several times at her apartment windows so it would be evident she was home. Home and vulnerable. She was being brave about this. Or acting brave.

Quinn checked with his two-way to make sure everyone was in position; then he settled down and smoked a cigar, making sure its glowing ember was shielded from sight by his cupped hand.

Stakeout mode. One of the things about police work he hadn’t missed. Wait, wait, wait…and almost always nothing happened until the next night, or the next, or the next.

Then suddenly everything might happen.

Sometimes Quinn sat, and sometimes he stood so he wouldn’t fall asleep.

But even standing and leaning against the wall in the black vestibule, he was in danger of dozing off.

He looked away for an instant, changing position to rest his weight on his other leg, and didn’t notice the darkly dressed figure that appeared from deep shadow beneath a neighboring awning and entered Claire’s apartment building.

Pearl had seen the man, almost rubbing her eyes to convince herself she was awake and hadn’t imagined him. He’d suddenly appeared out of darkness, strolling casually but quickly, and entered the building as if for the thousandth time, as if he belonged there. Cops can move like that after a lot of years on the job, as if they belong wherever they happen to be at the moment. Pearl knew she hadn’t yet reached that point and wondered if she’d be a cop long enough to achieve such natural invisibility.

She used her two-way to contact Quinn.

He came awake all the way and alerted everyone: “Somebody in the building. Might be our guy.”

Who else, at two forty-five in the morning?

“Got him,” Fedderman said softly from his vantage point in the storage room. “He’s crossing the lobby.”

He watched as the man pressed the up button and stood seemingly relaxed, absently rolling something minute between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

It must have been on a low floor, because it didn’t take long to reach lobby level.

Fedderman was patient and waited until the elevator door had slid closed behind the man before making any more noise.

Fedderman, louder: “He just stepped into the elevator.”

Quinn made sure everyone else knew what was happening, then left the shelter of the dark vestibule and crossed the street.

Half a block down, Pearl climbed out of the unmarked and moved toward him at a fast walk. This part made her nervous. The Night Prowler would be out of the elevator soon, might even glance out one of the windows at the ends of the halls and check the streets below. Pearl definitely didn’t belong in the neighborhood, a lone woman cutting across the street diagonally to save time.

Don’t fuck up now.

Quinn was already in the building. She picked up her pace.

Campbell, likewise, knew what might be coming and was ready for it.

He left the lights out in the apartment, and in the dimness moved quietly down the hall and into Claire’s bedroom. He didn’t want to wake her, have her hysterical before anything happened. Most of all, he didn’t want her harmed. He’d make damned sure she wasn’t harmed!