Urge to Kill

Nift grinned. “People I work on never complain, so why should you?”

“Because you’re a—”

“Pearl!”

Quinn’s hand was on her shoulder, holding her back, and she realized she’d been advancing on Nift.

“Let’s keep it professional,” Quinn said. Then, to Nift: “Is everything there?” If only you could put her back together.

The cocky little ME seemed surprised by the question. Then he understood. “Yeah, I looked and made sure. And the organs have to be cut away from the peritoneum differently from the way it was done here if they’re gonna be reusable. Nobody’s doing this so they can get healthy organs to sell on the black market.” He glanced at Pearl. “Shame. The killer’s missing a bet, and he could maybe save somebody’s life whenever he killed someone.”

The stench in the stifling little room was beginning to get to Quinn. The stench and Nift.

He led the way, and they returned to where Sal and Mishkin were standing, watching the techs go over the living room.

“They won’t find anything we can use,” Mishkin said. “The guy works clean.” He had so much mentholated cream all over his mustache he looked as if he had a bad cold.

Vitali noticed Quinn looking at his partner and said, “Harold does what works for him, just like the rest of us, even if he does smell like a walking meth lab.”

“He smells better than the corpse,” Quinn said.

“That’s absolutely the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me,” Mishkin told him. He had a deadpan, dry delivery. Quinn made a mental note that the innocuous-looking little guy might occasionally sting.

“Let’s go out in the hall,” Quinn suggested, in deference to Mishkin’s weak stomach.

They dodged the techs and left the apartment, then moved down the hall so they were out of earshot of the cop posted at the door and the distraught young woman on the bench.

“Her name’s Martha Swann,” Vitali said. “She’s the one found the body. When the victim, Terri Gaddis, didn’t show up for work at one of those Office Tech stores and didn’t answer her phone, they sent Martha here to see if Terri was all right.”

“Terri wasn’t,” Mishkin said.

“You wanna talk to Martha?” Vitali asked. “That’s the only reason we were still keeping her around.”

“You got her full statement?” Quinn asked.

“Sure.”

Quinn nodded to Pearl, who went down the hall and sat next to the woman, calming her and telling her she could leave, that a squad car would drive her back to work, or to where she lived, if she preferred.

“Poor kid won’t forget this,” Mishkin said.

“Her friend Terri already has,” Vitali said. There was venom in his voice.

“Lighten up, Sal,” Mishkin told him.

Partners for a long time, Quinn thought. He was glad they were on the Slicer end of the investigation and under his command. “Nift said all the organs are there,” he said. “You guys check that on the other victims?”

“We did,” Vitali growled. “Nobody’s out there selling livers or kidneys. That’d make it too easy, give us a motive.”

“Hunting,” Mishkin said. “The bastard likes to stalk and kill, then field dress his game.” He swallowed and absently moved his right hand across his stomach.

Pearl was back. Quinn looked down the hall and saw that Martha Swann was gone.

“She decided to go back in to work,” Pearl said.

“Gutsy young lady,” Fedderman said.

“Or one who needs the money,” Vitali said.

There was a flurry of activity down the hall. Terri Gaddis was in a body bag on a gurney, being maneuvered out of her apartment. Also on the gurney was a black plastic bag twist-tied at the top. Quinn knew what was in it and thought it looked too much like a trash bag. Another defilement of a beautiful young woman.

“We told them they could take her after you had your look,” Vitali said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Quinn said he didn’t.

As the remains of Terri Gaddis were wheeled past them, Nift, following the gurney, glanced over at the detectives.

“My examination told me there were times the lady looked a lot better on her back,” he said, flashing his practiced leer at Pearl.

As the death procession was trying to fit itself into the elevator, Pearl said, “I wonder what makes Nift such an asshole.”

“He makes those nasty cracks in an effort to stay sane,” Mishkin said. “It isn’t working.”

“How’s the other end of the investigation going?” Vitali asked.

Quinn filled him in.

“I thought we were gonna hold back that Becker was shot inside his hotel, then moved outside,” Vitali said. “It’s in all the papers.”

“We tried,” Quinn said. “The information leaked, and a reporter we had on our side double-crossed Renz.”

“Cindy Sellers,” Mishkin said. “Only a snake would trust somebody like her.”

“Uh-huh,” Pearl said.

“We can still use her,” Quinn said. “Sometimes it works in our favor that she has no scruples.”

“Any ideas as to why Becker’s body was moved?” Vitali asked.

“None. Do you?”

“No tengo ni noción.”

The reply in Spanish was surprising, coming from the most Italian-looking man Quinn had ever seen.

The diversified city. He loved it.