John Lutz - Night kills

But Jewel knew he had heard.

"These cream puffs are delicious," Jill said. She swallowed a bite and licked chocolate icing from her finger.

"They sure are, hon," Tony said, though he hadn't yet taken a bite of his. He came out of his distraction for a few seconds to glare at Jewel.

Jill finished her second cream puff. "Mmmm! These are sinful."

"Dangerous," Jewel agreed, thinking things couldn't go on much longer as they were. Tony was one of the sharper knives in the drawer. He was getting suspicious and might make some kind of move.

She made a mental note to get on the Internet, check and see how many double murders occurred every year in New York City.

A lot, she bet.

Both of them knew the other was awake.

Quinn lay beside Linda in his bed, listening to the nearness of her breathing. He knew the breathing of complete relaxation from the breathing of sleep. So did she, he was sure.

He watched the morning sun brighten the rectangular outline around the tightly closed blinds, then send lances of light to lie in narrow rhomboids on the rug and the sheets near the foot of the bed. Faint traffic sounds were building up outside, in another world. Jackhammers, the urban equivalent of woodpeckers, clattered away in the far, far distance.

"What are you thinking?" Linda asked. Her words seemed to linger with effort in the still room.

"Honestly?"

"Sure. What else? Even if it's something as prosaic as wishing you didn't have to get up and relieve the pressure on your bladder."

"You talk a lot like a doctor," Quinn said.

"Act like one, too, I'm sure." The sheets rustled and a bedspring poinged as she shifted position beside him. "Is that a turnoff?"

"Turn-on."

"Really?" She sounded genuinely amazed.

"Men pay money to have women dress up as nurses and have sex with them," Quinn said. "So why not doctors?"

"Some of the men probably are doctors."

"You know what I mean." He tried to give her bottom a gentle slap, but she wasn't where he'd thought.

"Doctors like Nift," she said.

"Nift's got a wife."

Linda made a slight huffing sound. "Like that stops men from paying prostitutes."

Quinn looked over at her. "You know something about Nift?"

"More than I'd like."

"Most anyone who knows him would say that."

"He isn't normal, the way he moons over female corpses."

"I guess it is out of the ordinary." Quinn sat up in bed and worked himself sideways, feeling the cool hardwood floor on the bare soles of his feet where the carpet ended. "I thought he might only do that at crime scenes. He acts the same way at the morgue?"

"He's almost always good for an insensitive remark or two."

"Could be he's just like the rest of us, trying to stay sane."

"Or it could be he's just got a nasty mind and can't help expressing himself."

"What about during the actual autopsies?"

"To be honest, he's very professional then. Despite what I say about the guy, he's a skilled physician. But if we have an attractive dead female not yet on the table, he can't seem to control himself. Other than that, he's all business."

"Other than that."

"When he's not ratting somebody out."

"That's business, too," Quinn said. He stood up.

"Where you going?"

"What I'm thinking right now is-"

"Never mind," Linda said.

Victor watched the nurse outside Gloria's critical care unit trade whispers with a doctor so they wouldn't be overheard. With a backward glance at Victor, the nurse scurried away down the hall. The doctor, a tall, blond, shambling man in baggy green scrubs, headed in the general direction of where Victor sat in the furnished alcove that served as one of the hospital's waiting areas. He was one of those very tall men with a perpetual forward lean, as if he'd adapted to low ceilings.

In the waiting area, there were a sofa, a couple of matching black herringbone wing chairs, and a wall-mounted TV playing a rerun of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Regis was blue on blue on blue in this one. Victor thought, who wants to be monochromatic?

Victor had assumed the doctor was going to walk past; he seemed preoccupied. Then he appeared to snap back to reality and made a sudden turn toward Victor, holding out his hand.

Victor stood up from the sofa and shook the cool, dry hand.

"You're the patient's brother?" he asked Victor, with a concerned expression. He had a pale complexion, red-rimmed blue eyes.

Victor said he was.

"I'm Dr. Polanski. The nurse said you've been asking for an update on your sister's condition."

"Nobody wants to tell me anything," Victor said.

Dr. Polanski nodded, as if he'd heard the complaint many times before. "She's still in a coma," he said. "Her hip and leg injuries are serious but under control and pose her no danger. It's the head injury we have to keep an eye on."

"But she's going to be okay?"

Dr. Polanski took a deep breath. "She should be. It's difficult to know for sure with this kind of head injury. There's still significant hemorrhaging, causing blood seepage between the skull and the membrane covering the brain. This is causing pressure that has to be relieved. As of now, there's no way to know for sure whether that pressure's done damage to the brain itself."

"She looks calm. Is she suffering?"

"No, she's sedated, and we're going to keep her in an induced coma for at least another few days."

"Induced? You mean you've deliberately put her in a coma?"

"It's what we do in cases like this, Mr…?"

"Lamping. Victor Lamping."

"Your sister has no other family?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I'll tell the nurses to keep you informed," Dr. Polanski said. "And to notify you when your sister is conscious and you can visit her."

He extended his hand again, and Victor shook it.

"With a little luck," Dr. Polanski said, "your sister's going to be okay."

Victor watched the doctor stride swiftly down the hall and disappear through two wide swinging doors that parted for him automatically, seeming to hurry themselves because they knew he wasn't going to slow down. They leisurely closed behind him so that their NO ADMITTANCE message was again on display.

After checking the nurses' station to make sure they had his cell number, Victor left the hospital and took a cab to the offices of E-Bliss.org.

Seated behind his desk, wearing flower-patterned suspenders over a white shirt today, Palmer Stone looked properly concerned as Victor filled him in on Gloria's condition.

"So the coma's induced," he said thoughtfully when Victor was finished.

"I've told the nurses I want to be there when they bring her out of it," Victor said. He let himself fall back into the leather sofa, making air swish from the cushions like a sympathetic sigh. "I've never trusted nurses."

"Nor I," Stone said. The air from the cushions caused a stirring that brought a whiff of Stone's expensive cologne to Victor. Stone laced his fingers on the desktop. "How are things progressing in the Jill Clark matter?"

"Not well," Victor said. "Her upstairs neighbor and new best friend-that bitch Jewel-is complicating things. She's on Jill like a spandex suit. Sometimes I think she's hot for her; other times I think she wants a menage a trois."

Stone calmly regarded Victor. "That hardly seems likely."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just that the two women have become so close I can never get Jill alone. And when and if we are out of Jill's apartment, we can't get our client in without worrying about Jewel showing up. I think Jill gave her a key to the place."

"Hmm. They are close friends. That could be problematic."

"One thing's for sure," Victor said. "Jewel's never gonna buy into a new Jill. No way to fool her when they're like sisters. And we can't delete both of them without making the cops suspicious."