John Lutz - Serial

“As long as I know about it, Harley. If I’m gonna run an investigation, I want one hand to know what the other’s doing, and whether there’s a third hand.”

“That sounds reasonable, Quinn, but you gotta understand there are political ramifications here. I got everybody on my ass about this case. You might insist on doing everything your way, but this is happening on my watch, and if things go crappy and slippery, I take the fall.”

“I wouldn’t think political ramifications would matter, considering the nature of this killer.”

“Political ramifications always matter.”

“Would Millie and the others understand that?”

“You bet they would. To make a go of it in this city, you have to step on some toes, and you have to avoid the toes of the people you got no choice but to dance with.”

“No denying that,” Quinn said.

“I can tell you that Millie and those other women wouldn’t want me slapped down by some dimwitted, deal-making sleazeball with mayoral ambitions, just because of what happened to them.”

“You’re not a dimwit,” Quinn said.

Renz leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Listen, Quinn. Two of the released rapists-”

“Wrongly convicted men.”

“Okay. Two of them have solid alibis for the times of death of at least one of the Skinner victims, if not the victim they were wrongly convicted of raping. One of them is back in prison on a burglary rap. Another hanged himself last year in a barn in Iowa. Left a hearts-and-flowers note in his pocket. Claimed he couldn’t find work, couldn’t adjust to society after prison, and the woman he was seeing jilted him.”

“Poor bastard.”

“Friggin’ loser,” Renz said. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. If you read Weaver’s notes and listen to her interviews, it starts you to thinking that maybe this Socrates’s Cavern thing is nothing but a diversion. The killer wanting to off some victims safely before he nails his primary target.”

“We’re thinking that’s the game,” Quinn said. “He’s one of the convicted rapists who were freed on DNA evidence, and he wants his particular finger-pointer and the object of his revenge to be simply one of many Skinner victims.”

“So he’d be just another face in the crowd,” Renz said. “And one who’s already been wronged and would have a dumb-ass jury’s sympathy if he did happen to get marched into court.”

“Weaver tell you this?”

“Weaver tells me facts. I pass them on. You’re the lead detective. You draw the conclusions.”

“I think Weaver is right,” Quinn said. “It’s the same conclusion we reached. And the killer is intelligent. He knows that by now we’ve figured out the DNA prisoner-release connection between the victims. That won’t stop him. The Socrates’s Cavern thing was probably just a stalling tactic anyway. He’ll continue to kill until he’s accomplished what he set out to do. Each victim will have a singular likely killer. One of them will be the Skinner, but we might never be able to separate him from his fellow suspects. Not if he plays it smart.”

“I don’t like that kind of defeatist talk,” Renz said.

“You’re the one in love with facts, and the fact is, we’ve got a new starting point because we let ourselves be led down a dead-end path by the killer.”

“ You let yourself be led.”

“It’s on your watch, Harley.”

Renz pursed his lips and nodded several times, causing his jowls to quiver. One of the little adhesive patches rubbed on his white collar and dropped from his neck to reveal a nasty razor nick. Quinn hoped it stung.

Quinn sat silently, waiting for Renz’s reaction to this new direction in the investigation.

“Science,” Renz said at last. “Goddamned science has caused all this trouble.”

Quinn didn’t want to hear any more of Renz’s lies or rationalizations. He stood up and left.

Behind him he heard Renz say, “I got a new cell phone, and I don’t even know how the damned thing works!”

Join the club.

When Quinn got back to the office, Weaver was waiting for him.

Pearl had banished her to a chair over by the coffee brewer.

“You got an emissary from Renz wants to talk to you,” Pearl said.

Weaver had seen Quinn and stood up. She’d helped herself to coffee and walked toward him, the steaming mug held in front of her in one hand, with her thumb on top of the rim to help hold it steady. Quinn smiled inwardly when he saw that Weaver was using Pearl’s personalized cup with Pearl’s initials. Weaver was holding the cup so the initials were plainly visible.

Deftly, Quinn moved into Pearl’s line of vision so she might not notice the mug, and motioned for Weaver to take one of the chairs angled toward his desk.

She swiveled neatly on a high heel and settled into the chair. She was wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, a blue blazer. It was an outfit Pearl often wore. Not today, though, thank God.

Weaver wasn’t a classic beauty, but she was attractive. Compactly built (something like Pearl only not as busty) and easy to look at, with a twinkle in her brown eyes that suggested she was up for anything. As Quinn sat down behind his desk to face her, he noticed a cinnamon scent of perfume.

“I understand you’ve been doing things behind my back,” Quinn said.

“Sex is sex,” Weaver said. There went that twinkle.

“Don’t smart-mouth me. I’ve got Pearl to deal with, and that’s enough.”

“Okay, you made your point and I’m sorry. What I’ve been doing is obeying the orders of my superior.”

“Meaning?”

“I had no choice. But that part of my assignment is over. I came here to tell you that from now on I’m acting as a liaison officer reporting to Commissioner Renz.”

“Isn’t that another way of saying informer?”

“Not in this case. Now all our dealings will be aboveboard, and I’m to be an integral part of the investigation. The commissioner figured you needed help.”

“We met this morning,” Quinn said, “and he didn’t mention anything along that line.”

“I know. He briefed me on this morning’s meeting.” Weaver took a sip of coffee, then leaned to the side and set the mug on the floor so it wouldn’t leave a ring on the desk. “Listen, Quinn, I don’t want to cause you grief. I like you. You were one of the few friends I had on the force. I’d like for us to stay friends. You always understood me. I’ve got an active libido, but so what? Other people have red hair or are left-handed. There are plenty of male cops who lead active love lives and it doesn’t seem to harm them or hurt their chances for advancement. There’s a double standard.”

“Sure there is. I thought you’d learned to live with it.”

“I have. That’s how I made lieutenant.”

Quinn didn’t want to know the details. “So Renz understands you?”

“He understands my ambition.”

“Because he’s ambitious?”

“Because we’re ambitious in the same way.”

Quinn leaned back and looked her in the eye. “Can I trust you, Nancy?”

“Of course you can’t. We both know I’m working for Renz and I’m always going to have to come down on his side of the fence. But I can promise I’ll walk that fence carefully and try to do you as little harm as possible.” She gave him a wan, helpless smile. “Those are the positions we find ourselves in.”

Meaning you can’t trust me completely, either.

“I understand,” Quinn said. He gave her a smile much like hers in return. “We can learn to coexist.”

“I would like one condition,” Weaver said. “I don’t want you to use me to feed misinformation to the commissioner.”