Mister X Part 46

"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 a.s.sault 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?" 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 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.

71.

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 sh.o.r.e? The depth and timelessness of their simple but powerful magnetism reached through the ages with the power of ancient G.o.ddesses. It was a wonder more people weren't killed as the result of pa.s.sion 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 b.u.t.ton, 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 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 pa.s.senger 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 appet.i.te. The tables were round and impracticably small, and there were polished wood part.i.tions 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."

"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 really wanted to kill, what kind of victim would wanted to kill, what kind of victim would you 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." 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 G.o.d."

"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 gla.s.s'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."

"Relations.h.i.+ps 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 h.e.l.l 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, G.o.d, 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 relations.h.i.+p we have has to take that into account, Quinn. Take Pearl into account."

"Are we headed toward a personal relations.h.i.+p?"

"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? 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 relations.h.i.+p." 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? How many times has every cop heard that?