John Lutz - Night kills

Quinn glanced at the Times folded on the table. In it he'd read with satisfaction that the latest polls showed Harley Renz was the most popular police commissioner in the city's history. There actually were rumors concerning a mayoral bid, most of them probably generated by Renz. Quinn figured Renz had come out of the Torso Murders case better than anyone.

Fedderman had also come out okay. He was back in Florida, continuing his uneasy retirement, waiting for another call from Quinn. From time to time he sent Quinn citrus fruit.

Palmer Stone and Gloria Lamping had lawyered up, but in truth they were helpless now. The system had them in its teeth, and the system would shake them and chew them to a fineness that was nothing.

Two weeks ago the dead body of Maria Sanchez had been discovered in a bathtub in a Tijuana motel. Her tongue had been cut out and her mouth stuffed with cocaine.

The Torso Murders had ceased.

Jill Clark had reclaimed her life.

Quinn noticed a bobbing, dark-haired head in the oncoming stream of pedestrians and stood up so he could be seen.

He grinned. Pearl was here.