Night Kills. John Lutz

      That was all he said or had to say. He knew locks were seldom a problem for Greeve, who had been an officer in the old Safe and Loft division investigating burglaries. In fact, locks were something of a challenge to Greeve, who would probably pay a late-night visit to the office on Seventy-ninth. Late night was his time, and darkness his good friend. He could see like a cat in the dark, which was another reason for his nickname. Greeve was viewed by his fellow officers as being a little spooky.

      “What about my caseload?” Greeve asked. He removed the toothpick and reinserted it, this time in the right corner of his mouth.

      “I’ve reassigned it. You’ll be on this more or less full-time. Report to me daily, or if anything notable needs to be shared.”

      “Understood,” Greeve said.

      “Needless to say, for now this is just between the two of us.”

      “Needless,” Greeve agreed.

      Nobbler felt a slight twinge. He couldn’t be sure sometimes if Greeve was taking him seriously or secretly making fun of him. Well, that was simply Greeve’s personality, or lack of same. One way or another, the man was useful and reliable.

      Nobbler picked up a blue ballpoint pen and started playing with it using both hands, his elbows on the desk. He stared at the pen as if he’d never seen any kind of writing instrument before. He often did that with common objects. It gave the impression he was thinking of something other than what he was talking about, and was speaking in the abstract. “To be something like frank,” he said, “I’m not sure a police commissioner should run his own team of detectives, brought in and controlled by him as temporary employees of the NYPD.”

      “I know others in the department who feel the same way, sir.”

      Nobbler held the pen vertically and studied it, as if gauging it for angle. “Damned shame, but there it is.”

      “Yes, sir. And splashed all over the media for everyone to see. There’s not much you can say, though. As a politician and media darling, Renz is golden.”

      “There might be plenty we can do without saying anything,” Nobbler said. “It’s just a matter of deciding what, how, and when. There’s not much question about why.” He pressed the top of the pen and the point clicked out. Here was magic, his expression seemed to say. “I guess we’d both better get busy, Sergeant. The bad guys never take time off.” He dragged over some papers from the corner of his desk so he could sign them.

      The conversation was over. A conversation that would never be referred to, because it hadn’t taken place. Like the tree that had fallen in the woods without anyone there to hear it. Anyone who mattered.

      Greeve had experienced several such conversations with Deputy Chief Nobbler. The toothpick did a little dance and he almost smiled as he moved toward the door. “We’re on the same page, sir.”

      Which didn’t mean they were going by the book.

      8

      Two weeks earlier

      What the hell?

      Shellie Marston stood before her open closet door and stared at her meager wardrobe. The black dress with the gray polka dots was still in its plastic bag from the dry cleaners, but she was sure she’d hung it yesterday on the opposite side of the closet rod.

      In fact, some of her other clothes seemed to be out of place. The white blouse with the lace collar—she wouldn’t have jammed it between the two business blazers she seldom wore these days. And look, one of the lapels was bent.

      This was damned odd. In fact, it made her flesh creep.

      She recalled now the morning a few days ago when her cosmetics seemed to have been rearranged. Not drastically. Maybe a jar or bottle transposed or otherwise out of place. A can of hairspray she recalled as still useful had been dead when she picked it up, without the usual sputtering and irregular spray that could go on for several more uses.

      She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. What? Was she getting paranoid? No one was getting in here. No one had the key, except for the super, a man in his sixties. She had to smile. Mr. Mercurio would hardly be wearing her clothes and using her cosmetics. He’d split all the seams if he tried to wriggle into the polka-dot dress. A vision of the dignified, mustached, and paunchy Mercurio struggling with her wardrobe almost made her laugh out loud. No, he was definitely not a suspect.

      Of course, you never knew about people.

      Yeah, she thought. Some people suspect things that never happened.

      She had to admit it was possible that she’d hung her clothes in the closet exactly as they were. Same way with the cosmetics. The mind could play tricks. Memory was a joker.

      The phone jangled, jarring her out of her thoughts. Not her cell phone. She ran to the table near the sofa, where the land line phone rested.

      It was David.

      The receiver pasted to her ear, she dropped onto the sofa and sat slumped in a cushioned corner. “The oddest thing just happened,” she said. “When I opened my closet it struck me that some of the clothes weren’t where I’d hung them.”

      “Never mind that,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

      She smiled. “I should hope so.”

      Their journey from acquaintances to lovers had been smooth and natural, and Shellie couldn’t imagine being happier. Their personalities meshed perfectly, which added to the sexual sparks. He left nothing to wish for, in any respect. David was a gentleman who knew his way around, both in and out of bed.

      Especially in bed.

      “I want you to move in with me,” he said.

      She was pleased but surprised. This was so fast. “I don’t know….”

      “I didn’t think you’d hesitate.” He sounded disappointed.

      “I mean, this is so sudden. I’ve been stuck in a routine: my apartment, my job—whenever I work.”

      “You won’t have to worry about a job, darling. I’ll support you. I can afford it easily. I’d say I won’t even notice you’re around, only I’ll notice you all the time, even when I’m not home.”

      “I don’t know, David….” But she did know. She’d already made up her mind.

      “Two apartments,” he said. “All that money unnecessarily spent on rent.”

      She laughed. Didn’t he know she was already convinced? “We’ve left the subject of love and we’re talking about money now.”

      “I didn’t mean—”

      “I’m only kidding, David. Of course I’ll move in with you. It makes perfect sense. Why should we rotate where we spend our nights?”

      “I don’t care where they’re spent as long as we’re together. I thought about giving up my apartment and moving in with you, taking over the rent payments.”

      “This place is a broom closet compared to your apartment.”

      “That’s what I decided. You deserve better, darling.”

      “David, I’ve got better. You.”

      “You know I love you.”

      “I do know that. It’s more important than my address.”

      “Tomorrow?”

      “Nobody makes up their mind and then moves tomorrow, David. I need time to pack, decide what I want to keep, put things in boxes.”

      “Get busy. I’ll come over and help you.”

      “Why so fast?”

      “I don’t want you to change your mind.”

      Within