“They still would have gotten to him,” Beam said, protecting Nell. “And when he isn’t playing chess, Kolinsky likes to talk.”

“The media’s gonna be in swarm mode,” da Vinci said. “Hell of a story, a cop who’s also the Justice Killer.” He looked over at Helen, who was seated slightly sideways in a chair and resting her chin on her fist.

“The odds are still against him being a cop,” she said.

“This is a killer who figures screw the odds,” da Vinci said. “Maybe one that’s smarter than the cops trying to chase him down.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” said the imperturbable Helen. “He’s trying to pressure you.”

“He’s doing it.”

Beam thought da Vinci did look pressured. His hair was mussed, his eyes hollowed, and there was a slight razor cut on his chin, as if his hand had trembled while he was shaving this morning.

“And he feels pressured,” Helen said. “From within and without. At a certain point, he’ll want to be caught as badly as you want to catch him. Maybe more so.”

“Psychology bullshit,” da Vinci said.

Beam thought he was probably right. But Helen might be right about one thing: “There’s no guarantee the killer’s a real cop,” he said.

“Since when’s the media need a guarantee?” da Vinci asked.

“He’s got a point,” Helen said. “There’ll be more pressure applied by the press and pols and NYPD brass to stop the killings. Might as well be ready for it. And we’ll probably hear again from Adelaide Starr.”

“Unless she’s too busy writing her book,” da Vinci said.

“She’s probably got sample chapters by now,” Helen said. “Somewhere in them she’ll point out that the Justice Killer’s achieving his goal. Since the deaths of Cold Cat and Aimes, potential killers will know it won’t be only the courts weighing their guilt or innocence—or their punishment.”

“They already know it,” da Vinci said. “The assholes saying the city’s safer are right. Latest violent crime statistics, the murder rates, everything’s in free fall.” Jabbing a finger at stat sheets on his desk that he’d ordinarily be proud of, he looked mad enough that Beam thought he might actually spit. “If it weren’t for the Justice Killer, we’d hardly have any murders at all.”

“Put us all out of work,” Looper said.

Da Vinci gave him a black look. “Why don’t you go someplace and smoke a friggin’ cigarette.”

“Andy,” Helen said, “you’ve gotta take it easy, let things work for you. Remember, the killer’s feeling the same kind of heat you are.”

Beam was careful not to glance at da Vinci or Helen. Andy?

“I don’t think so,” da Vinci said. “Things seem to be going his way. The press, the public, they don’t want this sicko caught. They’re against us.”

“Bradley Aimes was part of the public,” Beam said.

“Who cares about that prick? He should’ve gotten the needle years ago. This killer’s doing what his name implies. He’s executing people who deserve it.”

“What about Cold Cat?”

“That was Knee High’s fault. And Knee High paid the price.”

“I’ve been thinking about the cop who was spotted at the crime scenes,” Looper said. “The jacket, the cap that doesn’t fit right. Maybe the officer has breasts. Maybe the cap’s too small or crooked because it has long hair tucked up under it.”

“You think the killer might be a woman?” Beam asked.

Da Vinci was looking at Looper with cautious contempt. That the Justice Killer might be female was something they hadn’t considered.

“Female cop?” Helen asked.

“Maybe, or a female civilian in a cop uniform.”

“Not much chance of it,” Helen said. “Serial killing is something women don’t do. Something cops don’t do. Not normally, anyway.”

“Who’s thinking about normal?” da Vinci said.

“All I’m saying,” Helen said, “is the odds are so long it’s not a hunch worth pursuing.”

“There really isn’t much evidence pointing that way,” Nell said.

Da Vinci grinned. “So the two women present agree.”

“What do you think?” Beam asked him.

“Helen’s right. As usual. And as usual, Looper’s—”

The desk phone buzzed. Beam thought it was a break for Looper.

“I know what that is,” da Vinci said, “only call I’m letting straight through.” He snatched up the receiver.

After a series of “yeahs” he said, “You’re sure?” Then he grunted and hung up.

“More bad news?” Beam asked, looking at his face.

“I ordered a rush on the Aimes postmortem,” da Vinci said, “told them to call me as soon as possible. That was Forensics.”

“And?”

“Cause of death, a bullet to the brain, thirty-eight caliber. This bullet doesn’t match the others.”

“Shit!” Looper said. “He’s switched guns.”

“I’m sure he’s trying to help us out, right, Helen?” Da Vinci slumped down in his chair and stared at nothing on his desk.

No one said anything. The silence took on weight.

After a while, da Vinci said again, “He’s smarter than the cops trying to chase him down.”

“He’ll screw up,” Nell said. “We’ll be there.”

“Then go there,” da Vinci said dejectedly. “Find there. Go.”

Beam nodded toward the door, then led his detective team from the office.

Behind them, Helen said, “Andy.”

67

It was amazing how easy they were with each other now that the dam was broken. Nola enjoyed Beam’s slow and attentive lovemaking, and the guilt he felt from being with a woman other than Lani had fled his mind.

Not that Lani didn’t intrude in his dreams sometimes, as Harry must do in Nola’s dreams. But Beam and Nola both understood that every day, when they were awake and alive and together, was precious.

Finally, for both of them, the present outweighed the past.

They lay side by side in Nola’s bed, listening to New York slowing down outside the window. The scent of their lovemaking was still in the air despite the rose sachet Nola had dangling from the corner of her dresser mirror. Beam, who had always associated roses with funerals and death, now associated them with love and sex.

He had never talked much with Lani about the Job, but he did discuss his work with Nola. Especially the Justice Killer investigation. Part of it, he knew, was because he wanted her to better understand what he did for a living, a calling, so she might understand the symbiotic relationship between cop and snitch. Beam and Harry.

And now, Beam and Harry’s wife.

But Nola was also part of the case. The Justice Killer had made her that, had used her antique shop, Nola herself, to divert the investigation and taunt Beam.

Nola smiled over at him and ran a fingertip down the ridge of his nose. “What are you thinking, Beam?”

“About what Helen the profiler said, that the killer taunts me because secretly, even to himself, he yearns to be caught. And the more he taunts, the closer we are to finding him.”

Nola said, after a while, “Makes a crazy kind of sense.”

A fly had gotten into the room. It buzzed the bed, then began flinging itself repeatedly against the nearby window-pane. They watched it.

“Frustration,” Nola said.

“The NYPD with wings.”

“I didn’t mean the police. I meant the Justice Killer. He wants to kill, he wants to be stopped, he wants to be anonymous, he wants to be famous. He can’t get enough of any of it. It must be making his heart beat faster and faster.”

“That’s more or less how Helen sees it.”

“And you seem to be relying more and more on Helen.”

“Because da Vinci is.”

“Why?”

“He’s frustrated, too,” Beam said. “Like that fly and the rest of us only more so.”

“Maybe he’s afraid the killer will stop taunting and come after one of you.”

“Helen said it isn’t likely. We’re his reason for being. Only she has a French phrase for it.”