John Lutz - Night kills

He knew Linda was right about the Coulter story unraveling soon. That was pretty much all he knew about what she thought. She was a mystery.

Maybe that was the thing about her that made him hers.

Palmer Stone's desk was clear, its surface polished. The cleaning woman hadn't been in for a while; Stone was responsible for the strong scent of Lemon Pledge in his office. Everything, in fact, was gleamingly clean, squared away, and in its proper place. Business profits, Stone sometimes said, were often the result of appearances. Perception had a way of becoming reality. Sometimes there was opportunity in perception. Like now.

"While the law thinks the Torso Murderer is dead," Stone said, "maybe we should get back to business."

Victor appeared surprised. "But Gloria-"

"How is she?" Stone asked.

"The same. Now and then you can see her pupils moving under her closed eyelids, but that's all that moves." The muscles in his face tightened and his eyes became moist. "I tell you, Palmer, it tears your heart out."

"I do sympathize," Stone said. "I wish there were something I could do."

"I know… It's so goddamned rough."

"It is," Stone said. "Nevertheless, we'll have to tend to business without Gloria. She would approve of that, I'm sure."

Victor looked over at him. "We talking about deleting Maria Sanchez?"

"No, we decided there was too much risk in deleting her. But we should be able to delete Jill Clark, despite the almost constant presence of her friend Jewel. If Jill disappears leaving a note saying she's left New York, who's there to question it?"

"Jewel."

"Jewel will ask Tony Lake about it. He'll be heartbroken, unable to understand why Jill left him."

"I can play that role," Victor said. "I have before. But Jewel's no dumb bimbo."

"I know, Victor. But I'm sure Jewel will buy into it, especially since she has no choice."

"What about our special client?" Victor asked. "The one waiting to become Jill Clark?"

"We can't leave a torso to be found as a signal that she can take over Jill's identity and move in. That would let the police know Coulter wasn't the Torso Murderer. We'll simply alter procedure and talk to her, make it clear it will be the only contact-ever-between us. She can be Jill for a while somewhere else, and then move back to New York, if that's where she wants to be."

Victor ran his fingers lightly over a chin that Stone was glad to see cleanly shaven today. "I don't know, Palmer. Jewel's a persistent pain in the ass. She might not accept my story. She might go to the police."

Stone made a dismissive motion with his manicured right hand. "If she does, so what? Jill decided to leave New York, like countless other young women who grew tired of the struggle. And there's always the note." Stone sat forward. "You can persuade Jill to write the good-bye note, can't you?"

"Of course. She's no problem. I can persuade her to do anything." Victor began rubbing his chin harder, as if trying to sand it smooth. "Once I-"

"Never mind that."

"Weak stomach?"

"My stomach doesn't factor into it," Stone said. "You're tasked to do something, you do it, and I handle my end of the business. We decided early that, in everyone's best interests, compartmentalization would be our business model."

"Yeah, we did." Victor thought he might have to remind Palmer of that in the near future.

"Listen, Victor, I know Jewel's a hindrance, but Jill must be deleted because of her link to the old Madeline Scott. And don't forget she's gotten at least a glimpse of the new Madeline."

Victor stopped with the chin rubbing. It had become so vigorous that it had left a red mark. "Okay, Palmer. It makes sense. You're right, as usual."

Just the kind of talk Stone wanted to hear. "It's a business decision, Victor, pure and simple. It best serves our select client, and it best serves the company. Think of it that way, and it's our only reasonable option. It's important, of course, that Jill Clark never be found."

"There's a place in New Jersey."

"I don't want to know about it. That's your department, and I trust you can manage it as well as you always have."

Stone deliberately hadn't mentioned Gloria again. Victor would be acting on his own.

"When do you want it done?" Victor asked.

"Soon," Stone said.

"How?"

"That's totally up to you."

Victor smiled.

The old man behind the desk at the Tumble Onn Inn watched the Louisiana state patrol car pull into the lot with its lights out. That made four cars.

"What're you waiting for?" he asked one of the troopers in the motel office.

There were two troopers in the office, making it feel half as big as it was. It seemed the only space to move around a little was behind the desk. That was where the old man, whose name was Ike, sat on a high stool that had a low but rigid bentwood back. He hauled his scrawny body up onto the stool now and then to ease his perpetually aching spine. It was better than standing and trying to make nice with the guests. Or with the cops. Ike had suffered in his life at the hands of the police and was wary of them.

Neither of the troopers bothered answering Ike. They were polite enough when they chose to speak. It was just that they didn't seem to think of him as someone worth answering.

Ike had misplaced his glasses, which made the two troopers look almost exactly alike. Burly six-footers with dark, flat-topped military haircuts and aggressive chins. One of the troopers had on some kind of cologne or aftershave that made Ike feel like sneezing.

Ike persisted. "She's just one woman alone, an' she probably ain't the one you're lookin' for anyways."

"You called us," one of the troopers reminded Ike.

"Well, I figured she wasn't right somehow, the way she flew off the handle when I told her no."

The other trooper smiled.

"Imagine a woman like that," Ike said, "offerin' to sell sex to an old guy like me. Hell, testosterwhatever's just a memory to me. These days, the only part of me that ain't stiff-"

"Don't tell us," the trooper who'd smiled said.

"You might not believe it to look at me, but I'm eighty-six years old. And she just up an' bold as you please said she didn't have the money to pay for her room these past two days, an' would I take a-"

"We don't need to know that part," the same trooper said. "We only need to know if it's the woman we're looking for. The description you gave on the phone makes us suspect she is."

"Lookin' for her for what?" Ike asked, raising his thick gray eyebrows, making his cadaverous face seem even thinner. "You two guys want a-"

"Hey!" the other trooper said, raising a cautioning forefinger.

"I don't understand you guys," Ike said. "Hell, I just thought a patrol car'd swing by here and you'd take her in for vagrancy or tryin' to peddle her ass. Who is she, Bonnie Parker?" He fixed his bleary eyes on them. "You two even know who Bonnie Parker was?"

"Owned a diner outside Slidell, if memory serves," the trooper on the right said. "Big redheaded woman, loud voice."

"Different Bonnie Parker," Ike said, eyeing the trooper with contempt. "I guess you ain't heard of Bonnie and Clyde."

"We know a lot of Clydes," the other trooper said.

"John Dillinger?"

"He had something to do with Enron, right?"

"Christ on a stick! You call yourselves law enforcement officers?"

The troopers were both grinning. Ike, knowing he'd been had, glared at them and shifted position on his stool. "They stayed here once, the real Bonnie and Clyde. Room number eighteen."

Both troopers were staring dead eyed at him, not buying it.

One of them turned at the soft sound of gravel crunching out in the driveway. Another car arriving. This one had its lights off, too, but Ike could see it out the window and it wasn't a state police car. It was a sheriff's department car from nearby Pool County.