John Lutz - Night kills

"What time did she come home?" Stone asked, from behind his desk.

"She didn't. Not all night. I gave up watching for her about six this morning."

"That's bad," Stone said. "Maybe she's on the run."

"Why would that be?"

"A cop was stabbed to death in the Village last night."

"I don't see the connection," Victor said. "My guess is she really was hooking and spent the night with a client."

"She doesn't need the money," Stone said.

"Maybe she needs the sex," Victor said. "Some people like it too much."

Stone stood up from his chair and ran his hands through his meticulously styled gray hair, considering a nymphomaniacal Maria-Madeline Scott. His hair miraculously fell back into place. "I suppose it's possible."

"Drugs and sex. Maybe even something else."

"I don't even want to think about the something else," Stone said.

"What with the cops thinking the Torso Murders are stopped, maybe we should take Maria Sanchez out," Victor said.

Stone knew he didn't mean out on a date. "Delete her?"

"If you'd rather put it that way."

Stone would rather. He didn't like altering the nomenclature of their business. "Let me think on it."

"She's a loose cannon, Palmer."

"I don't want to take any unnecessary chances."

"Madeline Scott will have a fatal accident. Who the hell cares about her enough to even notice? Hardly anyone in New York even knows who she is. And you know she's dangerous. She's getting more and more unstable, and she runs off at the mouth. I mean, with Maria, the transformation was never completed. She's not like our other special clients. She never really became Madeline Scott."

Stone thought Victor was making a pretty good case against Maria Sanchez-Madeline Scott. And with the police assuming the late and unlucky Tom Coulter was responsible for the Torso Murders, there wouldn't seem to be any connection between them and her death. Not as long as Sanchez-Scott's death was thought to be accidental.

Stone wished Gloria was out of the hospital and well. She was the expert on accidental death. Victor…Well, the changes in Victor lately had to be taken into consideration. His increasingly sloppy appearance. His apparent streak of sadism. Emotion shouldn't be mixed with business. And of course there was the stress of Gloria's serious injury. More emotion. Would Stone be sending a loose cannon to delete a loose cannon?

"Let me think on it," Stone said again.

Victor shrugged. "You're the boss."

Lately Stone had been wondering about that.

Two days later, Victor was back in Palmer Stone's office. He was more neatly dressed this time, in a medium blue suit made from some kind of light material that gave it a graceful drape. And he no longer needed a shave. The scraggly beginnings of his beard were history. Stone liked him much better this way.

"Remember our conversation about Maria Sanchez?" Victor asked.

"Let's refer to her as Madeline Scott," Stone said.

"Okay. Whichever she is, I've been watching her."

Stone wasn't really surprised. "Why?"

"You said you were thinking about deleting her. I thought it would be a good idea to make some preliminary plans."

"And now you want to know my decision," Stone said.

"No, I don't think we should go near her."

"Really?" Stone had been leaning in exactly the opposite direction. Victor had convinced him. He just hadn't been sure Victor was the man for the job.

"I found out the police are watching her. And around the clock."

"Question is," Stone asked, "were the police watching you while you were watching Madeline Scott?"

"Not a chance. I'm sure about that, Palmer. I'm a pro."

"So are the police. Especially Quinn."

"We're okay on this," Victor said. "When the cops lose interest in her, then maybe we should delete her."

"Maybe," Stone agreed.

"I know," Victor said, with a smile. "You'll think about it."

But what Palmer Stone was actually thinking about was the police surveillance of Madeline Scott. How long had she been under observation? Why would they be watching her?

What did it mean?

"Som'un's out there," Cathy Lee said sleepily.

It was a warm, muggy Louisiana morning, and the drone of swamp insects was almost louder than the sound of the car rolling over muddy ruts to park outside the ramshackle house.

Cathy Lee looked over at Joe Ray, who was snoring lightly, lying on his stomach with his face half buried in his pillow. Juan was in the other bedroom, quiet for a change. Usually he snored loud enough to rattle the leaves on the trees, which was why Cathy Lee had her and Joe Ray's door shut.

Cathy Lee crawled out of bed, crossed the bare plank floor, and peeked out the window.

Her heart gave a jump.

A sheriff's department car was parked out there in the shade of the big willow tree. She knew there was enough incriminating evidence in the meth lab to get all three of them locked up for years. She glanced behind her. Maybe she could slip out the back, run out on Joe Ray and Juan. She was sure they wouldn't hesitate to run out on her. The truck was parked out in back of the house, and she could get in and drive away.

But the big engine turning over would make a lot of noise. Somebody would surely hear it. And the sheriff's car might give chase.

She watched the car door open and a tall, broad-shouldered sheriff's deputy got out and looked around. It was hot, and he'd left his Smokey hat in the car. A young guy with a buzz cut, real good-looking. Kathy decided maybe she could handle him, go out and see what he wanted (not that she didn't know), and divert him from looking in the outbuilding.

Careful not to wake Joe Ray, she put on her white terry-cloth robe, making sure it was open enough to reveal cleavage. Then she did what she could with her hair and sidled out onto the porch without slamming the door.

The deputy looked at her and smiled. It made him look ten years younger. Maybe this would be easy.

"Mornin', ma'am," he said. "I'm Sheriff's Deputy O. E. Simmons."

"Mornin' to you, Sheriff's Deputy O. E. Simmons. I'm Cathy Lee Aiken, an' I'm at your service." She almost smiled and saluted, but figured that might be too much.

He didn't respond as she thought he would. His smile stayed stuck on but dimmed, and she realized he simply had one of those faces, was one of those people who smiled through everything because that was the way their features were set. And on second glance, he didn't look so young. Not if you paid attention to his eyes.

"Anybody else in the house?" he asked.

She was looking at the big 9mm handgun perched on his hip. The eyes and the gun. Best not to lie to this man. "Two fellas. Joe Ray an' Juan."

"That's three."

"No, sir. Joe Ray is one fella."

"Uh-hum." He moved in closer to her. There were crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes, as if he'd squinted into the sun too much.

He didn't react as she took the three sagging wood steps down off the porch to meet him, letting the robe part to reveal a lot of leg. His eyes told her he wasn't interested in her in the way she wanted. Out of the shade of the porch roof, she was the one squinting into the sun, at him. Are you gay, Deputy O. E. Simmons?

"You come here to see one of 'em?" she asked.

"If one or both of 'em might own the truck we found out in the swamp."

Cathy Lee breathed easier. When they'd gotten the F-150 retitled and painted a dark blue (her favorite color), Joe Ray and Juan had ditched the rusty old Dodge off the road in the swamp about a mile from the house. That shoulda been the end of it. Something given up to the swamp you could put out of your mind as gone for good. She guessed there hadn't been enough time for the saw grass to grow up where the truck had mashed it down, and somebody'd spotted the old hulk and reported it to the state police.