John Lutz - Night kills

Greeve seemed comfortable with the silence.

"Dr. Chavesky…" Nobbler said at last. "I think I know which one she is over there."

"Nice-looking woman," Greeve said.

"We need to find out more about her."

"Definitely. I've heard rumors she's got a past. Has to do with the bottle. Not here in New York, though."

"That we know of," Nobbler said.

Greeve smiled. "So far."

Nobbler shook his head, causing his fleshy jowls to quiver. "Quinn oughta know better."

"You'd think," Greeve said. "For now, I'll spend some time trying to find out more about the postmortem. See if there's anything pertinent there that's being kept secret, since these two have gotten so close."

"No. Just stay on Quinn."

Greeve nodded. "Your call."

"I can catch up on the postmortem," Nobbler said. "I've got a confidential contact in the medical examiner's office. Guy named Nift."

Greeve smiled mournfully. "Confidential contact. That the same thing as a snitch?"

"It's a difference without a distinction," Nobbler said.

Greeve nodded. "You see a lot of that these days."

He sat on a stool in Has Beans coffee bar and watched her approach on the other side of the glass door.

She was attractive enough that almost every male reacted in some way when she came through the door. Very well built under that blue sweat suit, he thought. Medium-length blond hair cut in some kind of layered way so it would always look slightly mussed, just the right amount of makeup. Her jaw was strong-what used to be called mean-but her full lips took away its severity. There was a slight angularity to her blue eyes that made them interesting. She looked a little like that sexy movie star Charlotte Rampling, only younger. Just the right age.

He slid off his stool at the bar, moved toward her with a smile, and gestured with his arm toward one of the vacant tables near the back of the place, where it was less crowded. Not coming on too strong, but already taking charge. Friendly and firm. They liked that, or they wouldn't have sent in the questionnaire in the first place.

She smiled back, nodded, and their paths converged at the table. He saw that she had a small galaxy of light brown freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Charming. He made a mental note to memorize their pattern.

Jill liked it that he sort of took charge of the meeting but waited until she'd sat down before he sat. And he had a wonderful smile that dissipated much of her nervousness. He certainly was handsome enough, and he was tastefully dressed in tan pants and a darker brown sport jacket. His cream-colored shirt beneath the jacket was open at the collar, revealing a few dark chest hairs. The hair on his head was parted and neatly combed and there was no beard stubble on his face, so he wasn't going for the macho need-a-shave look.

Jill decided there was nothing here not to like. So far so good.

When he'd sat down opposite her, he said, "Tony Lake," and extended his hand.

She laid her hand in his and felt a gentle pressure. Just right. "Jill Clark."

"As advertised," he said, with the smile again.

"You too," she said, not knowing how else to respond. She raised her chin and a look of pleasure moved over her features. "It smells terrific in here," she said. "I love the aroma of roasting coffee."

"Me too. And there's a touch of cinnamon in the air. Makes it smell all the better."

"I agree." My, don't we already have a lot in common?

He nodded toward the oversized gray mug he'd brought with him to the table. "I'm having a Honduras," he said. "It's a caramel latte. They've named their coffee drinks after Central and South American countries."

"I know," she said. "I've been here a few times before." Then she quickly added, "By myself, though."

"Could be the countries are where the beans come from," he said.

That had never occurred to her. "You think?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea." He seemed amused by the detour their conversation had taken. First-date talk. "So which piece of geography do you want to order?"

"I like their El Salvador."

He went to the bar and returned a few minutes later with a large mug topped with creamy froth.

"I'll have to try one of these sometime," he said, placing the mug before her on the table and sitting back down. He took a sip of his Honduras and studied her over the mug's thick rim. "So tell me about yourself, Jill."

"I guess you read my online profile."

"Sure. Like you read mine. They go only so deep. People tend not to confide in computers. Being online isn't like sitting across from someone and talking face-to-face."

"You're right. We should do some confiding." She sampled her El Salvador, found it too hot, and set the mug back on its coaster. Foam might be sticking to her upper lip. She dabbed it gently with the back of her knuckle and felt no dampness. "I hope you won't find me too dull."

"Not hardly. You already cleared that hurdle by just walking in the place. A lot of Central America came to a boil."

She laughed. "Well, let's see. I haven't been in town all that long. Like a lot of other people, I came to New York for a fresh start. There are more possibilities here."

"Opportunities."

"I haven't run into too many of them yet."

"Maybe this is one."

She put on her best smile. "Maybe it is. I've been working for Files and More. That's a temp place. And for the past week I've been a temp at Tucker, Simpson, and King, a law firm on the East Side that specializes in traffic violations and domestic disturbances."

"AWD. Arguing while driving."

She laughed. "Fixing traffic tickets, actually. As for the domestic cases, from what I've seen they go further than arguing."

"Yeah, I suppose they do." He appeared genuinely concerned. "It's a problem."

She tried the El Salvador again. Better. "All I'm doing there is filing, which gets old fast. And you know how temps get treated-especially at the smaller companies, like this one. When they know you'll be leaving at the end of the week, no one bothers to get to know you."

"Jill, I can't imagine someone not wanting to know you better. Especially people of the male persuasion."

"Uh-huh. They want to know me in the biblical sense, and skip the Old Testament."

He threw back his head and laughed. She approved of his sense of humor, and he seemed to approve of hers. She'd been afraid he was going to be a dry stick. Who could tell from an online profile that might be 90 percent lies? She glanced around at the place she'd chosen to meet him. Strangers around them who were supposed to provide some sort of comfort and assurance.

Am I really doing this? What do I actually know about this man?

"So what do you do?" she asked.

"For a living? I sell advertising space in international publications. There's some traveling involved, but I don't mind. Kind of enjoy it, in fact."

"Sounds interesting."

"About like Files and More."

"Oh, I think not."

"You a religious person?" he asked.

Where'd that come from?

She answered carefully. "Not particularly. There should be plenty of time to get around to that."

"So you want to have fun first."

Ah, there's where he was going.

"I didn't exactly mean it that way," she said. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression. A toss between the sheets she could have in this town any time; she was, after all, a woman who could bring Central America to a boil. She wanted to be clear she was looking for something more here. And wanted him to be looking for more than casual sex.

"I hope you didn't take what I said the wrong way," he told her. "I mean, you know, about having fun…" He looked terribly concerned that he might have offended her.

She smiled and patted the back of his hand. "Not to worry, Tony. I'm neither a bimbo nor a nun, nor a combination of the two."