John Lutz - Mister X

Pearl figured that was probably true or he wouldn't have been so bold about it, but she dutifully wrote down the information to be verified later.

She slipped her notebook back in her small leather purse and stood up. Slung the purse with its strap sideways across the front of her blazer. She thanked Levin for his time and went to the door.

"Maybe you would have gotten along with Lilly Branston," she said.

Levin gave her a bright smile. "A woman real estate wolf? You betcha."

Pearl wondered why she couldn't help having a shred of sympathy for this thoroughly reprehensible human being.

But she knew why, and it had to do with the diamond engagement ring on her finger.

She remembered that Yancy-she and Yancy-lived not far from here.

Levin escorted her to the elevator when she left. A real gentleman. She thought about telling him what a shallow and obvious cad he was but realized that would be unprofessional.

And useless.

He'd been her second interview of C and C clients. Neither interview had been productive.

Late as it was, Pearl decided to call it a day's work and walk the half dozen blocks to Yancy's apartment. She could call the woman who was Levin's alibi from there. Or maybe tomorrow morning she should go interview her in person. Be thorough.

As she descended to lobby level in the elevator, she found herself humming a song from long ago in her life. At first she couldn't place it, and then she did:

"Love Is Strange."

Pearl had dropped by the office to work up her report on her interviews when Fedderman came in exhausted and gleaming with sweat.

"You look like you've been sprayed with WD-40," Pearl said.

"It's damned hot out there."

"Have any luck?"

"Naw! I drew a lover boy named Gerald Lone. Only I followed every avenue and there is no Gerald Lone. Well, I take that back. There's one in Queens who's ninety-three years old. Not our man. It's a dead-end search for a guy using a made-up name and address so he can make out."

"You shoulda been able to get to him some way."

"I tried every way. He used an Internet cafe or library computer to register his alias on C and C. Then they did the rest for him, secure as the CIA. He's covered his tech tracks like a terrorist hacker. He might as well not exist."

"To the law, maybe."

"More likely to his wife, when he's out being whoever he's pretending to be to get in somebody's knickers."

"Knickers?"

"Yeah. They're catching on again, I hear."

"Only with you, Feds. And whatever it is you're dating." Pearl finished her word processing and shut down her computer. She could print tomorrow. "Speaking of long shots, what do you think of this computerized dragnet?"

"I think it doesn't work, because the computer nerds at C and C are smarter than the ones at the NYPD."

Pearl nodded. "Love will find a way."

Quinn took his yellow legal pad to study after eating an early and light dinner at the Lotus Diner. He ordered a second cup of coffee. He wanted to smoke a cigar but didn't. The other diners might turn on him.

He was reading where he'd left off on the pad: Shadow woman appears again at crime scene.

As he was about to put pencil to pad, Thel arrived to top off his coffee. She squinted down at the pad as she poured.

"What's that? You writing a book?"

"Sort of," Quinn said.

"Either you are or you ain't," Thel said.

"Who said that? Plato?"

"Plato's our Greek salad, right at the top of the menu."

The coffee ran over, and Quinn had to move the pad fast to keep it dry.

"Sorry," Thel said. "I was philosophizing."

Quinn hadn't had any dessert. "Are there any doughnuts left from this morning?"

"Sort of," Thel said, and retreated with the glass coffeepot.

Quinn returned his attention to his legal pad, figuring either he'd get a doughnut or he wouldn't.

He wrote: Pearl engaged to Yancy B.

Then he crossed that out. It had nothing to do with the investigation.

He took a sip of coffee and resumed writing with his stubby yellow pencil: Lilly Branston's body found. Carver's M.O. Witness-Stephen Elsinger. Telescope. Shadow Woman caught. Lisa Bolt. Coma. One Chrissie accounted for. Geraldine Knott, Addie Price, same person. C amp; C site found on Branston's flash drive. Comp. nerd's software program, seven names.

Thel reappeared and placed a plate containing a damaged cake doughnut in front of Quinn.

"Last one," she said.

"It looks as if mice have been at it."

"They know what's good," Thel said. "You want a warm-up on your coffee?"

"No thanks." He was staring at the legal pad, trying to pull some sort of pattern or meaning from it.

"Book got you stumped?" Thel asked. To her, the pad was upside down. "Looks like a mess. Like you don't know how it's gonna end."

"I don't," Quinn said.

"What kinda book's it gonna be?"

"Mystery."

"Right up your alley."

"Should be," Quinn said.

"I wouldn't try to dunk that doughnut."

The uniformed doorman at Yancy's building was half a block down the street, chatting with a woman trying to control a huge fluffy dog on a long leash. The leash was looped around one of the doorman's legs. Some security, Pearl thought, as she pushed through the glass double-door entrance to the lobby.

Yancy was due back later tonight. He'd be surprised to find her in his bed, but he wouldn't mind. He liked those kinds of surprises. He'd no doubt wake her up. That was the kind of surprise she didn't mind.

As she rode the absolutely silent elevator, she mused that she was moving up in the world literally as well as figuratively. Yancy had money and, like Fred Levin, would probably always have it. The similarities between the two charm dispensers were still kind of unsettling. But she loved Yancy. She was sure that would be impossible with Levin. The differences between the two men might have to do with the heart. Something about Levin hinted that he harbored malice, that he found a subtle sadistic enjoyment in being detached and purely pragmatic. Yancy might have the substance of shadow, but there wasn't the slightest hint of maliciousness in his carefree soul.

After stepping out of the elevator, she walked soundlessly down the carpeted hall. There was no one else in sight. She still hadn't met her and Yancy's neighbors on either side. Hadn't seen them in the halls or even heard them through the walls. Maybe rich people were like that, leading lives insulated by their wealth.

She keyed the apartment door and pushed it open. It made a soft brushing sound over the thick throw rug in the foyer in a way she liked. Careful not to muss her hairdo, she lifted her purse strap over her head and laid the purse on a small, marble-topped table. Then she removed her blazer and held it in her right hand, planning on draping it over the sofa arm before going to the kitchen and getting something cold to drink.

Two steps off the foyer tile and onto the living room carpet, Pearl knew something was wrong.

But she didn't know what. Didn't know how to react.

She did know with a thrill of fear that she wasn't alone.

Something struck her hard just above the small of the back, causing the breath to whoosh out of her, momentarily paralyzing her. She dropped to one knee, bending over as if trying to find something on the floor. She tried to breathe but couldn't. Her brain was struggling to work, to comprehend what was happening.

…Gun's in my purse.

She was thinking self-preservation and self-preservation only. All she knew for sure was that she was in deep trouble. The rest of her mind was a muddle.

A hand from behind cupped her chin and yanked her hard so she was lying on her back on the floor. She involuntarily drew up her knees, still trying to breathe.