John Lutz - Mister X

"It's your other little bird," he mumbled impatiently, waiting for her to pick up. She must know from caller ID who was on the other end of the connection.

When she did pick up, she said, "What've you got, Quinn?"

"Lisa Bolt checked herself out of the hospital yesterday. She's in the wind again."

Cindy let a few moments pass before replying. "You read City Beat this morning?"

"Haven't had time," Quinn lied.

"Pick up a copy and read it. Learn all about Lisa Bolt checking out of the hospital and dropping from sight again. The shadow woman's back in the shadows. If she really is the shadow woman. You gotta do better, Quinn. You got scooped on this one."

"You're serious?"

"Sure am."

"Damn!" Quinn said.

When he got to the office, Pearl was already at her desk. Her coffee mug was steaming away alongside her computer, and he realized he'd left his to-go cup in the car.

"Renz dropped a word in Cindy Sellers's ear already," he said, sitting down behind his desk and swiveling the chair this way and that as if to fasten it firmer to the floor. "Doing damage control."

"No surprise," Pearl said, eyes still on her computer monitor as she maneuvered and clicked her mouse.

"Anything?" he asked.

"World of knowledge, but none of it any help."

Quinn got up, walked over to the brewer, and poured some coffee into his initialed mug. He was returning to his desk when Fedderman walked in. He looked overheated and rumpled already, and it was still three hours till noon.

"The windows on your car are all steamed up," he said to Quinn. "Looks like just the place to lose the crease in your trousers."

Quinn nodded. "Been having trouble with that," he said, not wanting to explain, thinking nobody but Fedderman still said trousers.

He settled back down in his desk chair with his coffee. Sipped. Yuk!

"Erin's got form," Pearl said.

Quinn and Fedderman looked at her.

"Not the kinda form you guys are dreaming about," Pearl said. "She got into trouble in a little town in Florida twelve years ago when she was on vacation with her girls. Assault charge. A small-town cop pulled her over for speeding, and they got into a spat. Erin broke his nose."

"She doesn't seem the type," Fedderman said.

Pearl smiled at him. "She said it was self-defense, that she was trying to push him away and hit him accidentally."

"While she was swinging at him," Quinn said.

"Twelve years ago," Fedderman said. "And it could have happened to anybody. Doesn't mean much now."

"You're cutting her a lot of slack," Pearl said.

"Jesus, Pearl! She lost a daughter to a monster. You don't understand how that feels."

"I think I might," Pearl said.

Fedderman sighed. "I'm sorry, Pearl. I mean, about Yancy."

Pearl's eyes teared up, and Quinn thought she might leave her desk to go into the half bath, or at least use a tissue. She simply continued working her computer, maybe reading more about the old assault charge. Tough Pearl. Quinn felt a swelling admiration for her.

His desk phone rang. As he leaned forward to reach for the receiver he glanced at caller ID and recognized Edward Archer's cell phone number.

"Mr. Keller," he said, when he picked up.

"Archer," Keller corrected. "Until I get to New York. That's part of the deal."

"There's a deal, Mr. Keller?"

"I'll rearrange my schedule and fly in to LaGuardia tomorrow morning."

"That would be fine."

"How long will I be staying?"

"That's impossible to say. Bring plenty of clothes."

"You don't make it easy."

"It isn't going to be easy. It's what you should do."

"Have to do," Keller said. "Where do you want me to stay?"

"The Belington Midtown. It's on Twenty-fourth Street."

"That isn't Midtown."

"Few things are what they seem," Quinn said. "Remember to check in as Edward Keller. I'll be in touch."

"I don't want Chrissie harmed," Keller said. "That's why I'm doing this."

"Of course."

Quinn hung up on Keller before Keller's cell phone could be shut off. It felt good.

"We've got him," he said, thinking, Thank you, Erin Keller.

Pearl was grinning. Fedderman looked glad but thoughtful.

Quinn had a connection at the Belington. He remembered when it had been a flophouse. Then it had become gentrified. Now it was on the way again toward becoming a flophouse, but hadn't gone so far that it wasn't still respectable. Years ago Quinn had saved the manager's son's life in a shoot-out in a Chinese restaurant. The manager at the Belington would provide a room for Keller, and whatever else Quinn might want.

Vitali and Mishkin had to be brought in on this, and soon. Before that happened, Quinn knew he had to make a phone call to Cindy Sellers.

She'd been using Quinn and his team to sell papers. Now it was time to use her.

As Quinn was parking the Lincoln across the street from the office the next morning, he saw Addie walking on the other side of the street. She was wearing blue slacks, a white blouse, and a tailored gray blazer.

He turned off the engine and sat for a moment admiring her walk, the play of leg and derriere muscle beneath the taut blue material. Half walk, half dance. Did women know what they had-really had-that was rooted in time and desire that went back to before the first scratches in the sand on some distant shore? The depth and timelessness of their simple but powerful magnetism reached through the ages with the power of ancient goddesses. It was a wonder more people weren't killed as the result of passion gone wild.

It was a wonder there weren't more Carvers.

On impulse, Quinn tapped the horn.

Addie turned and saw him and smiled, making the early afternoon brighter.

When she saw he wasn't getting out of the car, she looked both ways and crossed the street toward him. Another symphony of motion. He pressed a button, and the window glided down.

"Going in to the office?" he asked, knowing it was an inane question. She hadn't taken a leisurely stroll and happened to find herself right outside the building.

"I was," she said. Her smile widened. "Am I still?"

"Depends on whether you've had lunch." He raised his wrist and glanced at his watch. "It's already five minutes to eleven."

"Is this Honk if you like the Early Bird Special? Or is it work?"

"Some of each."

She nodded and walked around to get in on the passenger side.

"It's still cool in here," she said. "You must have just arrived."

"You were the first woman I honked at."

"You must be hungry."

He drove three blocks to Simone's, a French restaurant that specialized in desserts. Scents from the kitchen teased the appetite. The tables were round and impracticably small, and there were polished wood partitions that lent privacy and created a maze for the servers. Silver and crystal glinted on white tablecloths.

"This is nice," Addie said, glancing around. "Did you and Pearl come here?"

"Never," Quinn said.

"Ah!"

She seemed to catch a meaning he hadn't yet discerned.

A waiter arrived, poured water, and offered to take their drink orders. Addie stayed with water. Quinn ordered a coffee. Neither of them was really hungry, so they agreed to go straight to the desserts.

When the waiter returned with Quinn's coffee, Addie ordered raspberry sorbet. Quinn chose the creme brulee.

"I thought we might talk," Quinn said, when the waiter was gone.

"That'd be nice."

"About work," he said.

"Only work?"

"No. But you never did weigh in on what you thought about setting up Ed Keller as a method of luring Chrissie. Or even whether Chrissie's guilty of murdering in the manner of her twin's killer in order to kick-start the Carver investigation."

Addie didn't hesitate. "I think Chrissie could well have killed Maureen Sanders precisely for that purpose. Sanders was a homeless woman. Chrissie might have thought she didn't have as much value as other potential victims."