"Maybe he planned it that way."

"But probably he's just a guy," Fedderman said. "Mighta found a hair in his food and started eating someplace else. Could happen to anyone."

"So could what happened to Joyce House."

Quinn seated himself at his desk in his den that evening. He already had a cigar burning, and was carrying a gla.s.s containing Famous Grouse over ice with a splash of water. He was in his socks, and his shirt was unb.u.t.toned halfway down and untucked. Comfortable.

When he was settled, he slid open the desk's middle drawer and withdrew his yellow legal pad. He didn't see a pen, so he picked up a reasonably sharp pencil that had toothmarks and a worn-down eraser. He noticed it was the exact yellow as the legal pad.

Beneath (Trust no one.) (Trust no one.) he began to write in his sloppy but legible hand: he began to write in his sloppy but legible hand: Enter Addie Price. Renz spy?Enter Erin Keller. Sees Chrissie photo-not Chrissie. Our Chrissie not even related to Tiffany.Two Chrissies missing now. Fake Chrissie and real one.Joyce House body found.Shadow woman appears again at crime scene.

Quinn dropped the pencil and leaned back, studying the legal pad. It told him nothing, but it raised an uneasy feeling. There was a lot about this case that wasn't right. Nothing fully formed in his mind yet, but not right. He couldn't quite grasp the solution to the puzzle, but it was there ahead of him. He could sense its amorphous presence even if he couldn't see it.

He concentrated on his cigar and scotch and felt oddly satisfied. He was getting somewhere, even if he wasn't sure where.

It had to be soon. A person could wait only so long, could only fight off such a compulsion so long. Not to give in to it was to be devoured by it. He'd never dreamed it could be like this, that the need need could come on so suddenly and be so powerful. could come on so suddenly and be so powerful.

The bothersome thing was that the times, the women, were coming closer together and without predictable intervals. Predictable intervals made it easier to plan. To be in control.

Control was what it was all about. Control bestowed by destiny. Once begun, if it was meant to happen, it would.

Not to give in to it was to be devoured by it.

Joyce House had been the best. She'd struggled with her fate enough to make it interesting, to satisfy the need, but not so much as to make things truly difficult and perhaps more dangerous.

The change in her eyes hadn't occurred too soon, and when it came it was complete. She was already dead and knew it. All that was necessary then was the acting out, and she readily gave herself up to that. She was ready to end it, to end herself, to end the future, past, and present, and to begin the forever.

Perhaps because Joyce had been so satisfying, the need was back sooner than antic.i.p.ated. Not a demon fully formed, but forming.

Joyce's image played on the screen of the mind, her eyes when she saw the knife and understood the inevitability of the blade, when she felt the caressing point of the blade, the course of the blade.

The blade.

Her eyes.

Her eyes.

It had to be soon.

44.

They'd had dinner and red wine at Orzo's, near Pearl's apartment. She'd had the four-cheese ravioli special, and Yancy the lamb and new potatoes. Before leaving the restaurant, Yancy had gone to the bar and bought a second bottle of merlot. He carried it in a plain brown paper bag as they walked toward Pearl's apartment.

Pearl let Yancy set the pace, which was moderate. It was a calm, cool evening, with a light fog that had settled in while they were inside the restaurant. The glow of streetlights was starred, and there was a halo around the service lights of cabs. Pearl thought it would make a nice ill.u.s.tration for a don't-you-wish-you-were-in-New York card.

When they came to an intersection and stopped walking to wait for a traffic signal, Yancy shifted the paper bag to his other hand, as if it was heavy.

"There gonna be a celebration?" Pearl asked, nodding toward the bag.

Yancy grinned down at her. "Could be. I've got a surprise for you."

The signal changed, and they crossed the street.

"I'm glad you didn't ask what," Yancy said.

"I don't believe in pointless questions," Pearl said.

"I'll ask most any kind. Is your mother getting any more used to the idea of me?"

"She doesn't get used to ideas. She's still dismayed that I'd take up with a scoundrel like you, and frankly so am I. But we don't always have a choice in these matters."

"Good thing for scoundrels like me." They were silent for a few paces. "Did she really call me that-a scoundrel?"

"I don't think so," Pearl said. "It might have been wastrel."

"Ah. Better."

"You are are a lobbyist," Pearl said. a lobbyist," Pearl said.

"For green power."

"Does it really matter to you what kind of power you represent?"

"Actually, not in the slightest. I'm a hired advocate. I believe everyone should have the chance to have his or her case made. Every organization or special interest group. I do that professionally. Like a lawyer."

"There are a lot of lawyer jokes."

"Lots of cop jokes, too."

"Ouch."

Half a block of silence followed. It was a silence heavy with expectation. Pearl realized the palms of her hands were sweating. Something about that d.a.m.ned Yancy. Maybe her mother had a point.

They were almost to Pearl's apartment.

Yancy said, "A good dinner, some wine...I thought it would lighten the mood."

"The mood is light," Pearl said.

"Doesn't feel like it."

Pearl stopped walking and moved around in front of Yancy. She kissed him on the lips, used her tongue, felt his hand close tightly on the nape of her neck.

She drew back, smiling up at him.

"There's the mood," she said.

He bent and kissed her on the forehead. "Perfect."

They held hands the rest of the way.

As soon as they entered the apartment, Pearl kicked off her shoes.

Yancy stooped and placed the bag with the bottle of wine on the floor and then pulled her to him, and they kissed as they had out on the sidewalk. He worked the zipper in the back of her dress as smoothly as if he'd practiced it hundreds of times.

With a faint rustling sound, the dress slid down, and she lowered her arms so it would fall all the way and puddle at her feet. He hugged her to him again, and his right hand slid beneath her panties and over the smooth contours of her hips and b.u.t.tocks. His left hand was at her back. Her bra strap came undone, and the bra slid down and almost off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Jesus! Does he have three hands?

The bra slipped all the way off seemingly of its own volition, so its straps were at the crooks of her elbows, and he bent his body and kissed both her nipples. He stepped back, smiling at her, and she lowered her arms so the bra dropped to the floor with the dress.

Yancy left her panties on-for now. Before she knew it, he'd picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. She heard the soft crinkling sound of paper and realized that somehow he'd managed to pick up the bag containing the wine bottle.

After laying her gently on the bed, he removed the bottle from its bag. She saw that it had already been uncorked to the point where the stopper would slide from the neck with minimal effort. Two plastic winegla.s.ses from the restaurant were also in the bag.

"For later," he said, arranging the bottle and gla.s.ses on the nightstand.

"Let's think about later...later," Pearl said.

For a brief moment she wondered again if her mother might be right.

Then she forgot all about her mother.

Afterward Pearl lay on her back, gazing sideways across her pillow at Yancy. He was still breathing hard from the exertion of their lovemaking, staring up at the ceiling as if in deep thought.

"We've reached later," Pearl said.

He looked over at her and smiled. Then he sat up and swiveled on the mattress so he could reach the wine bottle and gla.s.ses. He poured one gla.s.s, for her. She sat up and scooted so her back was against her wadded pillow and the headboard. She accepted the plastic winegla.s.s and sipped. The wine tasted, even felt felt good, on her tongue and throat, after the way they'd made love. It was a good combination, she thought, s.e.x and wine. Probably people had been enjoying it for centuries. good, on her tongue and throat, after the way they'd made love. It was a good combination, she thought, s.e.x and wine. Probably people had been enjoying it for centuries.

Yancy stood up from the bed and stared down at her with a combination of admiration and careful consideration, as if pondering whether to ask her to pose for a photograph.

Then he turned and walked from the room.

"Aren't you going to have a gla.s.s?" Pearl asked.

"First the surprise," he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

Pearl sighed, sipped, and waited.

It was such good wine, and strong. And relaxing. She tilted back her head and breathed deeply of the scent and warmth of both their bodies, and felt contentment. Yancy, she had to admit, knew how to treat a lady.

When he returned to the bedroom, still nude, he held one hand behind his back. Carrying something as he approached the bed.

Pearl smiled at him, but he didn't smile back. He had an odd, serious look on his handsome face. Seriousness didn't look right on him, like a hat that was way too big.

"Yancy?"

He raised his forefinger to his lips to signal silence and then sat down near her on the bed.

He brought his hand out from behind his back.

With a crash of knowledge that took her breath away, she saw what he was holding and knew exactly what it meant.

He opened the small, square box with rounded corners, removed a diamond engagement ring, and slipped it on her finger.

45.

Holifield, Ohio, 1996 Summer and Sat.u.r.day night at Holi-Burger. It was the place to cruise. The restaurant itself was a gla.s.s and brick box of a building, mostly gla.s.s, brightly lighted inside. It was as if it had been set up as a display case to show the workers in their yellow T-shirts buzzing about like bees behind the counter, and the two lines of customers waiting patiently to pick up or place their orders.

The restaurant was set in the center of a large blacktop lot. Parking s.p.a.ces were marked with yellow lines along the lot's perimeter, leaving room to drive in a circle about the building without going out onto the county roads or the street of small commercial buildings that bordered the north side of the lot. Always there was a trickle of show-off vehicle traffic at Holi-Burger, but especially on Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights.

Holi-Burger was neither a drive-in nor a drive-through. Though there were a few tables inside, most of the food served there was carryout, and people usually ate it sitting in their parked cars. Those who wanted to watch the cruisers would back their cars into parking spots.

The vehicles that were actually owned by teenagers were usually customized. Cars were chopped to create lower roof-lines or raked forward on jacked-up suspensions. Pickup trucks sported oversized k.n.o.bby tires that looked as if they belonged on a tractor. The family cars borrowed for the night were generally less interesting, the newer ones looking as if they'd just been driven home from the dealers.

Jerry Grantland sat parked in his mother's eight-year-old green Chevy Impala, definitely not cruiser material. It was sc.r.a.ped and dented along one side from when it had been sideswiped two years ago. Jerry's mother, Miriam, had chosen to keep the insurance payment and leave the car unrepaired. It ran just as well with its exterior damage, and she needed the money.

Idly chewing on a cheeseburger and sipping a large fountain c.o.ke from a soggy waxed cup, Jerry watched the slow and proud parade of vehicles. As a vintage red Mustang went past, its driver, a fat kid with a military buzz cut, glanced over and gave Jerry the finger. The gesture of disdain was for no reason Jerry could figure out. Most of the other drivers stared straight ahead, imperious in their art projects on wheels.

A jacked-up Ford pickup cruised past, deep maroon and gleaming in the sodium lights r.i.m.m.i.n.g Holi-Burger's lot. Adam Clement was behind the steering wheel. He was a year older than Jerry, tall and painfully skinny, with scruffy blond hair and thick gla.s.ses with oversized frames.