"Yet you would marry without such approval?"

"Well, yes."

"You were always headstrong and in some ways heart weak, Pearl."

"The wedding will be in Las Vegas, Mom."

"Too far away for your mother to attend, even if, G.o.d willing, I am alive at that time and not dead of broken wishes for my only daughter. Wishes that she would come to her senses, and see before her a man like Captain Quinn."

A bitter column of bile rose in Pearl's throat. "He isn't a captain, Mom."

"Nor is he a reptile, dear. And neither is Dr. Milton Kahn."

"Now there we disagree," Pearl said.

"Perhaps if you would stand back from your unfortunate betrothal and truly a.n.a.lyze the situation, our disagreement would blow away like smoke. An engagement can be a wonderful thing, dear, or it can be a steel trap about to spring shut."

"Mom, Yancy and I-"

"Love can be can be such a trap, Pearl." such a trap, Pearl."

"Mom, please reconsider how you feel about this."

"I have considered and reconsidered, Pearl. How I feel, what I see, is a reptile in the marriage bed alongside my daughter. The thing has a reptile's greedy eyes, a reptile's sharp teeth, a reptile's tongue."

Pearl felt herself getting excited. "Sometimes two people, even if one of them is a reptile-"

"My heart is heavy, Pearl."

"So is the phone, Mom. I'm hanging up."

And Pearl did.

A gift, Gerald thought, as they walked from the restaurant, Lilly weaving ever so slightly and leaning on him from time to time, he with a brown paper bag tucked discreetly beneath an arm. She was smiling slightly.

He kept his antic.i.p.ation-and his thoughts-nicely hidden.

Why not tonight?

There were times when things were made unexpectedly convenient, and one had merely to make slight adjustments. Maybe luck. Maybe destiny. He believed in both.

He did not believe in spurning a gift from fate.

Seize opportunity when you find it.

He could act on short notice. He could improvise.

He hailed a cab, and they kissed long and pa.s.sionately in the backseat. His arm snaked around her, and his hand found its way beneath the low and graceful neckline of her dress, found the softness of her breast and the sensitive tender nipple.

By the time they got to her apartment he could convince her of anything.

While she was undressing in the bedroom, he told her he'd get the wine ready for them, put it on ice so it would be cooling while they were doing everything but that. She giggled and agreed and directed him to her high-tech European kitchen.

He glanced around the kitchen. Very nice. White pine cabinets that matched the paneling, brushed aluminum twin ovens, lots of pale green floor tile laid on the diagonal. There were three dark green oval rugs with brown strands woven through them. Throw rugs. Usually the most dangerous thing in the home. Not tonight, though.

Gerald knew he had to remember everything he touched. Everything. He was careful to stay in the center of the room and let his eyes explore.

There was the refrigerator, looking like part of the paneling. He didn't bother opening it, but instead placed the wine bottle, still in its paper sack, on the granite sink counter. Using a decorative dishrag for a makeshift glove, he rummaged around for a few minutes more in Lilly's kitchen before finding what he'd really come for.

The drawer where she kept her knives.

50.

Pearl didn't really believe in G.o.d, not all the way. But she felt blessed. Lying in her bed with the light out, she contemplated why.

Not everything was going perfectly. The investigation seemed to present more of a riddle every day. Her mother figured to be a bigger pain in the a.s.s even than Pearl had antic.i.p.ated. And Quinn was taking her engagement to Yancy harder than he might have.

What right had Quinn to feel any remorse or regret? He and Pearl had been good together, but only sometimes. Other times...best not to think about those.

It was the sometimes that still bothered her. She turned over violently in bed, fluffed her pillow as if it were a pinata, and clenched her eyes shut. Her feeling of benevolence from above was fast dissipating. A person shouldn't think too much about life.

Pearl had always regarded life as a predicament. Lately, because of Yancy, it had seemed less so. Pearl had decided she could cope. The one sharp stone, the one thing in her new reality that prodded and bothered her, was Quinn. Why wouldn't he grow up? They'd been lovers, and now she was going to be married to someone else. That was the profound and simple fact. She could live with it, and Quinn would have to learn.

Her problem, though she seldom confronted it directly, was that despite her engagement to Yancy, the crashing finality of her relationship with Quinn, wasn't...well, final. Somewhere in her heart was an indestructible fondness for Quinn, and, try as she may, she couldn't ignore it.

She was alone in her bed, the one she'd once shared with Quinn. Yancy was in Albany at some kind of meeting or convention about alternative energy sources. Right now he was probably charming people and yammering about wind power, she thought. She smiled into her pillow. Thinking of Yancy-that was the antidote for Quinn. If her mother liked Quinn so well, let her her marry him. marry him.

The thought appalled Pearl, and she rolled over again on her back.

She stared at the ceiling and tried again to feel blessed. Couldn't quite make it.

She didn't like sleeping alone. Never had.

It was something genetic, maybe. Like being human.

The Carver was impressed with this one. Lilly Branston was uncommonly strong. Kneeling on her arms had failed to prevent her from struggling. He'd had to knock her about, then rip some strips off a sheet and use them to bind her. Then, when he'd stuffed her panties into her mouth, she'd attempted to bite him. No quit in Lilly.

Breathing hard from his efforts, he a.s.sumed his kneeling position, his knees pressing down on her bound arms. He was safely back within the ritual.

In control.

He held up the thin-bladed boning knife he'd found in her kitchen drawer so she had to look at it. Grinning down at it, he pretended to pluck a hair from his head and slice it with one quick stroke of the blade.

He aimed his grin at her.

She glared up at him without fear. Without curiosity. She knew what was going to happen. She'd been tricked. She'd been had. There was going to be a penalty. As they locked eyes, a subtle glow came into hers. He recognized it easily as hate. Deep down from the depths of h.e.l.l hate. It amused and excited him.

He moved the knife closer to her face so it was almost blocking her vision, but not quite. He wanted to see her eyes.

He smiled before her hate, and he knew that if she could break free she'd attempt to kill him.

He waved the knife from side to side. "I'm going to explain a few things to you while I'm doing them," he said.

When he deftly removed the first nipple she began to scream. Firmly gagged as she was, the sound could barely be heard in the bedroom, much less outside the condo walls. He adjusted the gag. He didn't want her to inhale any of the rich silk material and choke on it.

He placed the nipple in a small plastic bag, letting her see he was leaving the bag unsealed, and talked to her some more, taking his time, stringing out the enjoyment. There was no hate in her eyes now, only horror.

When he was finished, he was pleased to see that while Lilly had bled profusely, there was little blood on him. He'd been nimble and escaped most of the arterial blood when he'd slit her throat.

He was surprised to notice that he was sweating. Lilly's still body also was coated with perspiration where it wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y.

Hard work. She'd managed to make it hard work for both of them.

Well, she'd paid the price.

He climbed out of bed and went to the window, parting the drapes he'd closed before beginning Lilly's final ordeal. Then he opened the window as wide as it would go. This was part of his plan. The only facing windows were blocks away. It was highly unlikely that anyone would happen to glance out of one of them and into this particular window. He returned to the bed and stood by Lilly's body, noting as before with satisfaction that the angle of the drapes made it impossible to see the bed from outside.

There was a slight breeze in the room now, which he enjoyed as it played over his damp body. The open window would serve another purpose; he didn't want this one to be discovered too soon, and the stench of putrefaction and feces from the relaxed sphincter wouldn't be noticed right away in the building if some of the odor escaped through the window.

He began the methodical process of wiping away his fingerprints. He'd been careful as always, his mind neatly filing away in his memory everything he'd touched. When that was finished he'd go into the bathroom and use the shower, nude but for a pair of white latex gloves. When that was done he'd place the fresh lily he'd brought with him in his victim's hair. The finishing touch and a riddle for the police.

Then he'd get dressed and be on his way. Into the city. Into the night. Part of the dark.

He had to admire Lilly. She'd never really given up until her last, paper-thin breath. She'd been a fighter.

He bet Pearl would be, too.

51.

Addie came bustling in out of the night, surprising Quinn.

She was surprised herself. She hadn't expected to see him sitting behind his desk, bending over paperwork in the narrow island of light from his lamp.

"Go ahead and smoke your cigar," she said, surprising him again.

They were alone in the office. She'd come in to work late, as she often did, and he'd come in to reread and reorganize some of the case files. He'd been contemplating how nice it would be to light up a Cuban cigar and lean back in his desk chair. It would help him think. He hadn't realized that, to Addie, his thoughts were so transparent.

She was smiling as she walked over to her desk. Hers and Fedderman's.

She leaned back with her haunches against the desk and crossed her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The way she stood made her skirt hike up so a lot of leg showed. Quinn had noticed before how small-breasted women sometimes tried to compensate by taking pride in and showing off their legs.

s.e.xist thought. He mentally slapped his wrist.

"You've been absently feeling your shirt's left breast pocket," she said, "as if there should be something in there. You've been licking your lips, and your eyes keep going to the drawer where you keep your cigars."

"You notice a lot of detail," he said.

She gave a small shrug, still smiling. "My job."

"So what else have you noticed?"

"That this place is set up more like precinct squad room than an office."

He glanced around and laughed. "I guess that's natural. NYPD blue runs in my blood."

"The past keeps its hold on us," she said. "You're the major partner and run the place, so maybe you should have your own private office."

"I wouldn't like that. I might lose touch."

"You could at least smoke a cigar whenever you wanted one."

"There is that."

"And maybe if you broke more from the past it might help you to accept change."

"You mean quarters, nickels?"

"You know what I mean. Treating a serious problem lightly is one way not to face up to it."

He reached into his desk drawer and drew out a cigar. It was in a brushed aluminum tube that looked like some kind of ammunition. He closed the drawer but didn't yet part the sections of the tube to get to the cigar. He regarded Addie, knowing where the conversation was going.

She didn't seem to mind being regarded. She sat all the way up on the desk now, with the heels of her hands on its flat surface so her arms were propped straight and made her shoulders high and narrow. The skirt had worked even higher. One of her legs was rhythmically pumping so the back of her high-heeled shoe barely struck the desk and made a repet.i.tive soft b.u.mping sound in the quiet office.

"We're talking about Pearl's engagement," he said.