John Lutz - Mister X

"A less serious murder?"

"In some people's twisted view."

"But in Chrissie's view? I'm not so sure."

"Remember, Chrissie isn't thinking straight. And if you were going to choose a victim for the purpose of attracting attention so you might find the person you really wanted to kill, what kind of victim would you choose? A woman with something to live for? Or someone like poor, homeless Maureen Sanders? Someone suffering on the streets, and who might not have lived much longer anyway."

"Playing God."

"We all do it sometimes," Addie said. "In small ways and large."

"But most of us know deep down we're only pretending."

"As Chrissie might, in unguarded moments." Addie took a sip of water, little finger extended. "This is all supposing, of course, that Chrissie is a killer."

"That she killed Maureen Sanders, at least," Quinn said.

"As for there being enough hate generated by Chrissie's history with her father, I agree with the NYPD profiler Helen on that one, too. That kind of hate can take total control of a person. I think Chrissie will go for him." Addie took another sip of water. She left a crescent of lipstick stain on the glass's rim that held Quinn's attention.

Their desserts arrived, and he and Addie were quiet for a moment.

"Do you have everything set up at the hotel?" Addie asked, after a spoonful of sorbet.

"We do. And it should work, as long as Keller cooperates."

"He will," Addie said. "Partly because of his ex-wife's instructions. She knows too much. He's afraid of her."

"Relationships never really end, do they." It wasn't a question.

"Never."

Addie took another bite of sorbet. Quinn was fascinated by the pink of the raspberry melting against the red of her lips. She caught him watching, looked right into his mind, and smiled.

He was suddenly uncomfortable, perched on his miniature chair at a tiny table. He felt oversized and out of place, and trapped in a silence that badly needed to be filled.

"It's something, what we do to our children," he said. "The way it eventually comes around in pain and anger. It makes for a hell of a world."

"Is this the part of our conversation not about work?"

He grinned. "I guess it is. On the other hand, maybe it's what our work is all about. Especially this case."

She used her napkin to dab at her lips and then surprised him. "You're still in love with Pearl, Quinn."

He sat for a while without breathing.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"It's obvious."

"Does Pearl know?"

"Oh, God, yes!" Addie sat back and waited for the question he had to ask.

Quinn didn't disappoint her. "Does Pearl still love me?"

"Yes, she does. But she doesn't know it. She's in denial, just like you. Only her denial is deepened and complicated by the fact that she's grieving." Addie leaned forward and rested her fingertips lightly on the back of his hand. Her eyes held a depth of sadness that made him curious. "Whatever personal relationship we have has to take that into account, Quinn. Take Pearl into account."

"Are we headed toward a personal relationship?"

"We both know we are. That's how we came to be here."

Quinn thought about that. He'd been the one to suggest lunch together, and not only for business reasons. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"We need to be honest with ourselves," Addie said.

"And careful." Am I ready for this? Do I really want it?

"That, too."

"There's a mutual attraction," Quinn said, "but you and I can't have much of a relationship." His words seemed inadequate. They didn't nearly express what he felt about Addie. The strengthening undercurrent of conflict and confusion that made him hesitate on the brink.

"I know," she said sadly. "But we'll wait."

"For what?"

"To see what time permits."

After a few more bites of sorbet, she stood up.

"I'll walk back while you finish eating," she said. "It'll look better if we don't arrive at the office together."

"We have nothing to hide." How many times has every cop heard that?

Addie answered him with a smile.

"I'll go," Quinn said. "Stay here and finish your sorbet."

"You finish it." She bent down and kissed his cheek.

Her lips were still cool from the sorbet, but beneath the ice was fire.

"People really in love aren't hungry," she said, and walked from the restaurant without looking back.

Quinn sat and sipped his coffee for a while. He knew he was being worked. Oh, Christ, was he being worked!

Lunch with Addie had seemed like such a good idea, but it had made him uneasy. More tentative. He knew about how human experience was doomed to repetition. One fall after another.

When he closed his eyes he could almost see his toes hanging over the abyss.

He wasn't hungry.

Lisa Bolt crossed the street toward her hotel, where she'd left her luggage after checking out. Surely they must have held it while she was in the hospital. She'd registered under another name, so they wouldn't connect her with the Lisa Bolt in the news. But had the fact that she'd not returned for so long attracted suspicion? Would the hotel contact Homeland Security and have the suitcase treated as a possible bomb?

Lisa doubted it. The last thing a down-and-out hotel like hers would want is a posse of authorities searching the place with everything from metal detectors to dogs.

If anything, hotel personnel might have opened the suitcase to see what was inside-maybe to find out if there was something valuable. If that had happened, they had been disappointed. They'd have found nothing but Lisa's limited and well-worn travel wardrobe.

She was about to enter the lobby when a hand gripped her arm just above the elbow, squeezing hard enough to hurt.

"Quiet and you won't be harmed," a man's voice said.

She turned to look at who had her. A medium-height man, middle aged but trim, wearing dark dress pants, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes were barely visible behind darkly tinted glasses. They were steady and serious and made her a believer.

"I have a knife," he said. "Start a fuss and I'll use it."

The way she was bent at the waist from the pain was attracting attention. A woman came close and asked in a concerned voice if she was all right.

"She's fine now," the man said. "I won't let her fall again."

He led her away, toward a narrow walkway that ran alongside the hotel. Shaded as it was by brick and stone walls that seemed to converge above them, it was dim as evening in the confined space. There were a few plastic trash bags piled there, and a Dumpster squatted in the light near the opposite end of the passageway. She knew there was a fire door somewhere along the hotel's wall, but she didn't think they were going inside. That didn't seem to be what the man had in mind.

Though badly frightened, she tried to gather her courage.

"Listen," she said, when he'd loosened his grip on her arm. "Don't think you-"

His fist hit her ribs like a hammer, and she sagged against the wall.

"Don't have any doubts about who's in charge here," he said. He leaned in close to her, supporting his weight with one hand against the bricks, his face inches from hers. As if they were lovers.

That was what anyone glancing in the walkway would see, a lovers' tryst, away from crowded streets and prying eyes. Two people who wanted to be left alone by the rest of the world.

They stood that way for what seemed a long time while she managed to catch her breath. His breath smelled like a combination of onions and mint-flavored mouthwash.

"What the shit do you want?" she finally managed to gasp.

"That's easy," he said.

Quinn parked the Lincoln illegally in the same loading zone where he'd been parked when he'd seen Addie and called her over. His mind was still working on their conversation in the restaurant. Parsing words, reading meanings and messages that probably hadn't existed. Trying to figure out how he felt.