Mister X (26 page)

Quinn joined the group huddled around the woman lying partly on the grassy median of Park Avenue and partly in the street. She wasn’t moving, and there was a lot of blood puddled along with rainwater around her head.

Quinn stood in the cool mist and found himself looking down at the face of the woman who’d impersonated Chrissie Keller, the client who’d hired him in the first place and set all the pieces in motion. The woman who wasn’t Chrissie Keller. Not according to Chrissie’s mother, anyway.

Fedderman was kneeling next to her, feeling for a pulse.

He found one.

“Not dead,” he said, sounding somewhat surprised. Her bloody head injury suggested something serious enough to be fatal. But then head injuries tended to bleed a lot.

“Could have fooled me,” a uniformed cop from the patrol car said.

Quinn had to agree. The woman was pale, her eyes closed, with no apparent movement beneath the lids. Her features were peaceful and composed, and there seemed already to be about her the waxlike stillness of the dead.

“We got a call in for EMS?” Quinn asked.

“They’re on the way,” Mishkin said.

Fedderman peeled off his wrinkled suit coat and laid it over the woman, as if, since he’d been the one to run her to ground, he was responsible for her. Quinn understood. It could be that way sometimes, and logic had nothing to do with it.

Sirens were closing in, and an ambulance preceded by two more radio cars turned the wide corner onto Park Avenue. They put on quite a light show.

While Fedderman was straightening up from spreading his coat, Quinn noticed something lying in the street, pinned partly beneath the woman’s right thigh, as if it might have fallen from a pocket or had been tucked beneath her sweatshirt. He pointed, and Fedderman dipped low on shaky knees and pulled the object free. It was a small, zippered purse with a faded beaded design on it.

They backed away from the body and let the paramedics take over, two husky guys with incredibly gentle hands, charged with getting the injured woman to a hospital.

Fedderman handed the purse to Quinn, who unzipped it and examined its contents. There was a wadded tissue (as there seemed to be in every woman’s purse he’d ever examined), comb, lipstick, pen, notepad, cell phone, and worn leather wallet.

Quinn searched through the wallet. Sixty-four dollars in bills. Credit cards in the name of Lisa Bolt. A Blue Cross card. Various other forms of identification, including an Ohio driver’s license, all in the same name. And there was a dog-eared business card that surprised Quinn.

Stuffing everything back in the wallet, then the wallet back in the purse, Quinn handed the bundle to Fedderman, along with his car key.

“Our shadow woman and mystery client is one Lisa Bolt,” he said, “a private detective from Columbus, Ohio. Take the purse and stay with her at the hospital, Feds. Use my car. I’ll ride with Sal and Harold and catch up with you there later.”

The paramedics were unfolding a gurney with practiced efficiency and would soon have the woman in the ambulance.

One of them had a roll of thick blankets tucked under his arm.
Better than a body bag
, Fedderman thought. He recovered his damp suit coat. Holding it and the purse well away from him in one hand, he began trotting back toward the parked Lincoln.

Over his shoulder he yelled back at Quinn, “You better call Pearl.”

It was as much a warning as a suggestion.

While he watched Lisa Bolt being loaded into the ambulance, Quinn called Pearl on his cell. She wouldn’t like being woken at 2:10 in the morning. She’d like it even less if he
didn’t
wake her.

He remembered her saying Yancy Taggart was on a lobbying junket or some such and she’d be at her apartment.

Pearl’s home number was familiar enough to Quinn that he didn’t bother with speed dial. He pecked it out rapidly without even having to glance at his phone’s keypad.

Pearl ran true to form. She didn’t at all like it when the chirping of the phone near her bed dragged her up from uneasy dreams. She pulled the damned, noisy thing to where she could grasp the receiver, fitted cool plastic to her ear, and emitted a sound something like a growl.

“Pearl?”

Quinn’s voice. She squinted at the luminous numerals on her clock. Said, “Who the hell did you think?”

“Sounded like something fighting for food,” Quinn said.

“Fighting for sleep,” she said. Then in a clearer, deliberately more alert voice, knowing something important must have happened or was happening: “So why’d you call me as if I were somewhere in Europe where it’d be much later but still too early to call if it wasn’t damned important?”

“I didn’t follow that,” Quinn said. “How about if you tell me your Social Security number so I know you’re wide enough awake to understand what I’m saying?”

Pearl expended considerable effort and sat up in bed.
The old Social Security number thing.
It went back to their early days together. She knew Quinn would keep picking at her until he was sure she was all the way awake before he unloaded on her.

She said, “Forget my Social. Get to the goddamned point.”

Quinn did, filling her in on the Lilly Branston murder and the Lisa Bolt development.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Pearl said when he was finished.

“I just did call you.”

“I mean earlier.”

“It’s two-fifteen a.m., Pearl. There is no earlier.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted at least one detective tomorrow who was more than half awake. Then things developed fast, and I didn’t have time. Get dressed. I’ll find out what hospital Lisa Bolt’s gonna be in and call you back on your cell so we can meet up there.”

“If she’s our shadow woman, make sure somebody keeps a close watch on her so she doesn’t disappear again.”

“If she disappears this time,” Quinn said, “it’ll be where nobody can follow. See you soon, Pearl. And, oh yeah, call Addie Price and alert her to what’s going on.”

“Yeah,” Pearl said, “I’ll be sure and do that.”

She hung up the phone and then climbed out of bed and stumbled through darkness toward where she knew the door to the hall and the bathroom was located.

The geography of the night escaped her. She missed the door by several inches and stubbed her big toe so painfully she thought she might pass out. She stood still for a few minutes on one foot, propping herself dizzily on the door frame and holding the throbbing toe, uttering a string of obscenities that would certainly have earned the shock and disapproval of her mother.

The pain brought her all the way awake, and she got smart and flipped a light switch.

Owww!

There was her world in an abrupt illuminated clarity so brilliant that it hurt.

Squinting and blinder than before she’d flipped the wall switch, she limped on toward the bathroom, hoping not to stub the toe a second time. That would be unbearable. If that happened again…

What?

She made it all the way into the shower and stood beneath the miracle of the water.

It was almost three o’clock when Pearl got to Roosevelt Hospital at Tenth Avenue and West Fifty-ninth Street. She joined Quinn and Fedderman in a nicely furnished waiting room handy to Critical Care. On the opposite side of the long room sat two large black men with their heads in their hands. One of them appeared to be silently sobbing.

Quinn was standing holding a paper cup of coffee. Fedderman had a cup, too, and was slouched almost horizontally in a gray upholstered chair with wooden arms. On a TV mounted to a metal arm above Fedderman, a guy in jeans and a black T-shirt was silently leaping around, holding himself and making faces as if he’d just been injured in the testicles. There were occasional close-ups of people in the audience laughing hysterically. The Comedy Channel. Oh, yeah. Pearl noticed that a damp heap of material on the floor appeared to be Fedderman’s suit coat. It had blood on it.

“You two look like you’ve had a hell of a night,” Pearl said.

Quinn said, “You call Addie?”

“Damn it! I forgot.”

He glanced at his watch. “Too late now. Let her sleep.”

Let her sleep all damned day
, Pearl thought. She said, “So what’s the latest on this Lisa Bolt, private eye?”

“Condition critical but stabilized. Internal injuries, fractured skull. She’s in a coma.”

“Anything in her possessions that provides a way to contact family?”

“Nothing,” Fedderman said. “She was traveling light. If she has family, she probably didn’t want them getting mixed up in whatever it was she was doing.” He sounded down, so weary he might doze off any second. But more than that, Pearl thought. He sounded depressed.

“Doctors say how long the coma’s gonna last?” Pearl asked.
Lisa Bolt’s coma, not yours.

Fedderman used the tips of his forefingers to massage the corners of his eyes. “Not only can’t they say, they’re not even sure she’ll ever regain consciousness.”

“But they know we need to talk to her if she does regain consciousness,” Quinn said to Pearl. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Let me guess.”

“That’s right. Feds and I are calling it a day—a night. Somebody’ll relieve you later this morning. Then if you want, take the morning off and catch up on your sleep. If Lisa Bolt does regain consciousness, call me immediately.”

“Any news?” a voice asked.

Addie Price walked into the waiting room. She was wearing tight jeans and a soft cotton blue sleeveless sweater with a neck so wide it had slipped down over a shoulder, making one of her bra straps visible. Her thick blond hair was mussed but looked styled rather than slept on.

No bed head for this cutesy
, Pearl thought.

“How’d you know we were here?” Fedderman asked.

“Mishkin phoned and let me know. Probably Renz told him to. You get that coffee out of a machine?”

“Down the hall,” Quinn said, and motioned with his head. He looked over at Pearl. “Now you’ve got company. You can fill in Addie; then the two of you can sit watch in case Lisa Bolt comes around and talks. It’d be better if two people heard whatever it is she might say.”

Pearl glared at him.
Fill in Addie and make her job of spying for Renz easier.

Fedderman raised himself in weary sections from his chair, scooping up his wrinkled mess of a suit coat as he stood.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Quinn said.

He and Fedderman trudged from the waiting room. Fedderman was too weary even to throw a parting verbal jab at Pearl.

Addie said, “Those two look like train wreck survivors.”

“No,” Pearl said, “not the survivors.”

“I’ll go get some coffee,” Addie said. “Then you can let me know what’s going on. You want some?”

“Why not? We have to stay awake. At least one of us does.”

While Addie was gone, a young nurse came in and picked up an empty glass coffeepot that Pearl hadn’t noticed on a table over in a corner by the two black guys who were still silently fretting. She smiled brightly at Pearl as she flounced out with the empty pot, leaving a full one behind on the burner. It was probably better coffee than what Addie was getting out of the machine.

She and Addie could discuss that.

Pearl thought it was time that the two of them discussed a number of things.

Addie settled with her coffee into a leather chair and curled her long legs beneath her. Pearl was glad to notice that she had rather large feet.

Pearl was sitting nearby in a corner of a sofa, feeling tired but edgy. Now and then a hushed bell tone would sound and someone—usually a doctor—would be summoned to one part of the hospital or another. The occasional nurse or custodian would pass nearby in the hall. The two despondent black men had conferred with a doctor in scrubs and then left. Pearl and Addie were pretty much alone.

Pearl was wondering how to broach the subject of Addie’s obvious flirting with Quinn when Addie spoke up.

“Congratulations again on your engagement,” Addie said. “Yancy Taggart must be an interesting man.”

“To be engaged to me, you mean?” Pearl asked.

Addie smiled. “Well, yes, that is what I mean. I don’t imagine that you give of yourself very easily, Pearl, or to just anyone.”

“Just anyone?”

“I didn’t mean that how it might have sounded, or how you might have interpreted it.” Addie sipped her coffee carefully, knowing by the almost untouchable cup that it was still almost too hot to drink. “I don’t imagine that you end a relationship easily.”

“No,” Pearl admitted, “I don’t.”

“There isn’t any reason for you to worry,” Addie said.

“Worry?”

“About Quinn. You’re worried that I might hurt him.”

Pearl held her hot cup with both hands and looked at Addie over the rim. “My, my, you
are
a psychologist.”

“It’s obvious that you’re still fond of Quinn. Not to the point that you won’t marry someone else, but he’s a good man and you know it and don’t want to cause him pain. Or for me to cause him pain.” Addie sipped, less cautiously. “The instant he learned you were engaged he became jealous, and on a certain level, you had second thoughts. That’s only natural, for both of you. Now you’re afraid I might be taking advantage of Quinn, amusing myself by getting him on the rebound.”

“I’ll admit to all of that,” Pearl said. “So what?”

“So I want us to be honest with each other.”

“That would start with you being honest with me,” Pearl said.

“Okay. I’m extremely ambitious, Pearl. Maybe more ambitious than anyone you ever met. I’m drawn to Quinn, but that isn’t going to stop me from using him to advance my career. I’m using him. I freely admit that to you and to no one else. I’m leading him on, but I don’t intend to let him get too close.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him hurt badly when I drop him. He’ll feel despondent and betrayed, but not for long. He’ll realize I was just a conniving bitch. He’ll tell himself that his thinking I was doing anything other than stringing him along should be a lesson learned. He’ll be right. Within a few weeks after I’m gone, he won’t even give me much thought.”

“Meanwhile you’re going to continue teasing him. There was a term for women like you when I was growing up.”

“Prick teaser?”

“That’s it,” Pearl said.

“That’s what I am,” Addie said. “I use the elusive promise of sex to manipulate men.”

“But you never come across.”

“There would go the elusive promise,” Addie said. “You’re a big girl. You understand manipulating men, using them as stepping-stones to get ahead in life. You’re not above that kind of thing yourself.”

“True enough, though I can’t say I’m always successful.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“Thus our professions,” Pearl said.

“Quinn’s a big boy. He’ll understand just as you do, after he has a little while to think about it. I know you’re fond of him, and I’m telling you not to worry so much about him. He might get bumped when I drop him, but he won’t be bruised.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I don’t bruise easily.”

“I didn’t mean that. Women like you, it’s your inaccessibility that attracts. And once you deliver, that’s gone. So you’re afraid to deliver. You continue to tease because you’re insecure.”

Addie nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, on a certain level, that’s true. But we know it and are used to that particular rough road. Having the ability to tease our way through life is our compensation for our insecurity.”

“Hell of a realization.”

“It’s a realization that comes to most women, in one form or another. If we too freely lend ourselves, we might not maintain our value.”

“We’re not Swiss francs,” Pearl said.

“Aren’t we?”

“Let’s not think about the answer to that,” Pearl said.

“However Quinn views us—me—I can promise you he won’t be badly hurt when our relationship ends.”

“When it isn’t consummated,” Pearl said.

“I can promise you that, too.”

“Insofar as anyone can promise such a thing.”

“Insofar,” Addie agreed. She took a long sip of coffee and smiled. “I’m glad we had this talk, Pearl. It clears things up between us.”

“Yes,” Pearl said.

“You’re an honest woman and I’m not.”

“Just so we’ve got that straight,” Pearl said.