Mister X Part 22

"It's Addie," the woman said. "I'm glad to meet you all, and doughnuts sound all right to me."

Pearl didn't like the husky, s.e.xy voice, like a cat seducing mice. She also didn't like the way the two mice were staring at the woman.

"I'm a.s.suming Commissioner Renz contacted you about me," Addie said.

Quinn seemed to drift up out of his trance. "He did, Addie, but I haven't had a chance to fill in Pearl and Feds-Fedderman."

"Just Feds is okay," Fedderman said to Addie. Got him a smile.

Addie Price sat in the client's chair while Quinn explained to Pearl and Fedderman that she was now part of the investigation as a crime psychologist and profiler. She'd had plenty of experience with the Detroit police and as a freelancer and media personality. She'd written a book. Without being too obvious, he made it clear to them that this was Renz's idea and they had no choice.

"I've already met Vitali and Mishkin," Addie Price said, when Quinn was finished.

"Great," Quinn said. "I've got a desk coming for you, Addie, but it won't get here till this afternoon. Pearl and I will be in the field this morning, and Feds can bring you up to date on the case."

"I'm already somewhat up to date on it," Addie said. "I have a special interest."

"Renz explained that," Quinn said.

Pearl waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Neither did Addie Price.

"We're becoming quite a task force," Pearl said in a neutral tone.

A profiler a.s.signed by Renz. One who'd be taking an active part in the investigation. Pearl didn't like this a bit.

"Whatever it takes," Fedderman said. He was not going to be on Pearl's side when it came to Addie Price. "We can use my desk," he said to Addie, "and we need to get you a coffee mug with your initials on it."

"Gold ones," Pearl said.

Addie gave her a look. It was easy to read: We're sisters in a man's world. For G.o.d's sake, give me a chance. We're sisters in a man's world. For G.o.d's sake, give me a chance.

"What's with this book?" Fedderman asked.

Addie made a pa.s.s at looking modest. "Oh, it's one of those dry academic things. Crime Profilng in the Context of Modern Society. Crime Profilng in the Context of Modern Society. It's a padded version of my doctoral dissertation." It's a padded version of my doctoral dissertation."

Pearl thought, Jesus H. Christ! Jesus H. Christ!

"Pearl and I will be down in Chelsea," Quinn said, "seeing if we can find somebody who knew Maureen Sanders or saw or heard anything unusual. Maybe some of the other street people around there knew her."

He got his suit coat from where it hung on a wire hanger and draped it over his arm. A few long steps and he was at the door.

"Good to meet you, Addie," he said. He held the door open for Pearl.

"Welcome aboard, Addie," Pearl said, with a wide, warm smile. "We can use all the help we can get."

Thinking, Spy. Spy.

They took Quinn's Lincoln for the drive downtown. He got behind the steering wheel as Pearl opened the door on her side and slid in to sit next to him. She fastened her seat belt and stared straight ahead.

Quinn didn't drive away immediately. They sat with the engine running almost silently, the car's air-conditioning fighting the good fight against the heat. Pearl didn't feel like a caution from Quinn, but she could sense one coming.

"She seems nice," she said, not looking over at Quinn. Perhaps she could divert this conversation with a modic.u.m of bulls.h.i.+t.

"This is Renz's idea," he said. "He's the unseen hand running the investigation."

"I didn't notice his name on our stationery. Or Addie Price's."

"Or Vitali's or Mishkin's," Quinn said. "We find ourselves working for the city, Pearl. Not just for our periodically disappearing client."

"Think there might be a conflict of interest there?"

"Not unless our client's involved in a crime."

"Hmph," Pearl said. She finally looked over at Quinn. "You do do realize Addie Price is probably Renz's way of keeping tabs on us. His own personal Mata Hari." realize Addie Price is probably Renz's way of keeping tabs on us. His own personal Mata Hari."

"Yes, I realize that. I also realize she can be a valuable conduit for feeding whatever information we want to Renz."

Pearl couldn't help laughing, partly in disgust. "You are such a devious b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Quinn."

"You probably forget from time to time." He slipped the s.h.i.+ft lever into drive and pulled the big Lincoln away from the curb. "Something else about Addie Price, Pearl, is she might be d.a.m.ned good at her job."

"She's good at something," Pearl said, and settled back in her seat.

Halfway down Broadway to Chelsea, dark clouds blew in, and vast shadows moved against the buildings and across the wide street. Thunder rumbled like distant lions. People on the sidewalks began walking slightly faster and sneaking looks at the sky as if they might be caught at it and punished with a bolt of lightning. Shop owners with sidewalk displays busied themselves lowering awnings or steel shutters to keep merchandise dry. Judging by the spotless winds.h.i.+eld, not a drop of rain had fallen, but already several street vendors were hawking umbrellas. The kind that flipped inside-out with the first brisk wind and were useless ever after.

"Storm coming," Quinn said.

"You think?" Pearl said, each word like a splash of acid.

"Jesus, Pearl, lighten up."

Pearl said, "You're looking at the light me."

37.

Holifield, Ohio, 1994 Hardware Hill had started out the cold winter morning with a frozen crust on the surface of five inches of snow. By the time Jerry Grantland got there with the American Flyer sled he'd almost outgrown, the kids who'd gotten a snow day off school and used it for winter hijinks had made an icy mess of things.

The hill was city property, a wide thirty-degree plane leading to a shallow lake. But for the prospect of an icy dunking at the bottom, it might have been designed for sledding.

During the winter the city stacked bales of straw along the lake's edge to keep overenthusiastic sled riders from zooming onto the frozen surface or into the frigid water. Often there were bonfires at the edges of the hill to warm those who stayed long or managed to find their way beyond the straw-bale barrier. At the top of the hill was the back of Munger's Hardware Emporium, where many of the wooden sleds, plastic saucers, even skis were sold. During winters with lots of ice and snow, Munger's did very well and paid the city a lot in taxes. Everybody enjoyed themselves sledding, battling in s...o...b..ll fights, or making money.

Jerry was dragging the sled behind him by steering ropes he'd fas.h.i.+oned from clothesline. He was wearing his old green parka with the fur-edged hood, a black watch cap, thick corduroy pants, and rubber boots with metal clasps.

He waited for a clear path all the way down the hill, then held his sled with both hands off to his right side and ran. With each stride he bent his knees a little more until he was running in a crouch. He flung himself forward and at the same time brought the sled around so it was beneath him. He landed on it and lay on his belly, gripping the steering rope that was fastened to the sled's wooden yokes. All very smooth.

The sled moved slowly at first and then began picking up speed. It was going to be a good run.

He glided past two girls seated on a slower sled. Hit a slick spot and flashed past some little kids rolling in the snow. He was really traveling now. The cold breeze was getting inside his hood, causing his ears to sting.

At the bottom of the hill, he chose not to crash the sled into the hay bales, as did many of the sledders. Instead he yanked the rope back with his left hand and s.h.i.+fted his weight to the right, raising the leading edge of the sled's left steel runner. The sled veered sharply to the left, dug into the snow, and tipped abruptly to the right, spilling Jerry off and into the soft bale.

Perfect!

He stood up and brushed snow off his coat and pants, then wiped away some that had sneaked under his collar.

That was when he saw another sled bearing down on him. A slight figure in a blue parka was lying flat on it. Chrissie Keller, staring up at him, grinning widely and screaming for him to get out of the way. He knew it was Chrissie even at a distance. She was the twin who wore her thick stocking cap rolled up at the bottom. He had cataloged in his mind details like that about the girls.

"Jerrrry! Move!"

He could have, but why? Her sled wasn't traveling that fast, and if he lifted his feet and pretended he was trying to dodge the sled, he might land against the bale in a bundle with the sled and Chrissie. The prospect created a familiar tightening in his groin.

He yanked his right foot back just in time so the sled's runner wouldn't glide over it, then acted as if he'd lost his balance and landed on top of Chrissie and the sled. They rolled and lay in each other's arms at the base of a bale. The sled was upside down on top of them.

Everything but the sled was soft. n.o.body hurt.

They were both grinning.

"You okay?" Jerry asked.

"Nothing broken," Chrissie said.

"You sure?"

They struggled to their feet, helping each other up, and brushed away the snow.

"I'm sure," Chrissie said. He could see her breath fogging in the cold air.

"Sometimes you can't tell till you feel," Jerry told her. He pulled her close and slid his hand beneath her parka. Her sweater had come untucked, and he felt the warm soft flesh of her firm belly.

To Chrissie, the hand might as well have been carved from ice. "Jerry, d.a.m.n it! Stop!"

But he didn't want to stop. And right now didn't even care if someone noticed.

She gripped his wrist and pushed his arm and hand away. The effort caused her to lose her balance and fall, dragging him down with her. They sat in the snow with their backs against the bales.

"You afraid somebody might see?" Jerry asked.

Chrissie made no attempt to get up. "It isn't right. I don't want you to do that again."

"We all have our secrets," Jerry said, watching his own breath fog in front of his face.

"You and me aren't gonna have that one."

"I know your secret," Jerry said. He swallowed. "I've got the same one."

She looked horrified for a few seconds; she knew what he meant, and briefly thought about confiding in him. He could see the indecision in her eyes.

Tell me, Chrissie. We'll tell each other. That'll make it all right. Or at least better.

Her lips parted slightly, and then her expression hardened.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jerry."

"Yes, you do." He took a deep breath, gathering courage, and tried to kiss her.

She shoved him away violently and attempted to stand, but her feet shot out from under her and she fell back down.

"d.a.m.n you, Jerry! Don't try that again! Ever!"

"I didn't know you cussed. Knew you did other things, though."

"You're too old for me, Jerry."

"What? A year?"

"You'd be too old for me if I was thirty and you were thirty-one."

He gave her a look that scared her. "If we were those ages..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She stood up on her own and stayed on her feet, brus.h.i.+ng the snow off her parka. "Keep that in mind, Jerry. Nothing. Not if you were the last boy on this earth."

"We're the same," he said.

She acted as if she didn't know what he was talking about, but she did know. He was sure she knew that he watched sometimes at night. Both twins knew.

"We're the same," he said again. "You, me, and Tiffany."

And suddenly Tiffany was there, on a sled that looked brand new. Its curved steel runners were still painted bright red. The red was so vivid against the white snow.

Almost in the instant she appeared, Tiffany deftly turned the sled sideways and dragged her boots in the snow. She came to a smooth stop and stood up, holding the sled on end and leaning on it.

"You, me, and Jerry what?" she asked her twin.

But Chrissie was gazing beyond her, toward the top of the hill.