Slaughter

Renz came in. He’d been out in the hall, talking to one of his detectives. Qui

He walked over to Qui

“No doubt about it,” Nift said.

Renz went over and looked in at the bathroom without entering. He stayed that way about half a minute, then backed away awkwardly, but without touching the doorframe and obscuring any fingerprints.

“Killed her and let her bleed out in the bathtub,” Renz said, “then dismembered her in the tub, washed most of the blood down the drain, and moved her in here piece by piece, where he more or less put her back together.”

“Naughty Gremlin,” Nift said.

“He was reasonably neat,” Pearl said, noting that there wasn’t much blood on the bedroom carpet.

“Unreasonably neat,” Qui

Pearl was thinking how closely, and horrifyingly, the dead woman resembled a ventriloquist’s dummy.

If I sat her on my knee, would she tell me who killed her?

Renz said, “You might want to talk to the super. Name’s Bud Peltz. His is the apartment right off the foyer. He told one of the uniforms he got a good look at the killer as he was ru

Qui

“Don’t get too excited,” Renz said. “The uniform—his name is Bill Toth—says Peltz’s story doesn’t ring true.”

“He say why not?”

“It set off an alarm behind his right ear.”

“That should play well in court.”

Fedderman showed up. He looked tired and was wearing a gray suit that appeared clean but was amazingly wrinkled, as if it had been scrubbed and rubbed over rocks. The narrow end of his tie extended half an inch beneath the wide end. It didn’t matter as long as he kept his suit coat buttoned, which he never did.

Everyone glanced at him, but no one said anything as they let him walk around and take in the crime scene.

“Our gremlin,” he said.

“Nasty gremlin,” Nift said.

Pearl said, “Why don’t you shut up? Or at least think of something else to say.”

Nift gri

Qui

Pearl didn’t object to the plan. Anything to get away from Nift.

Bud Peltz was a tall, thin man with a bushy, droopy gray mustache that looked a lot like Harold Mishkin’s. The rest of him looked nothing like Harold. The super had handsome Latin features and a muscular lea

His street-level apartment was small and tidy. It was well furnished, but would have looked larger and more comfortable without such a clash of colors. He invited them to sit on the flower-pattern sofa, which they did. Springs sang softly beneath them. Fedderman had his notepad out and a short yellow pencil tucked behind his right ear. Peltz sat on some kind of woven basket chair that creaked beneath his weight. A large-screen TV sat muted in a corner near what looked like a door to the kitchen. It was showing an old Carole Lombard movie from the forties. Qui

A slender, remarkably attractive young woman entered the living room and switched the TV off. She was wearing shorts, and had a ballet dancer’s shapely, muscular legs.

“My wife, Maria,” Peltz said.

Qui

Qui

Peltz said, “My mother’s maiden name was Rodriguez.”

“And mine’s was Perez,” Maria Peltz said.

Qui

When she returned his smile she was even more beautiful. Qui

“We met when I was working for a contractor in Mexico,” Peltz said. He directed his attention to his wife. “They’re here to listen to my account I gave to Officer Toth.”

“Ah, yes, your account.”

A look passed between Peltz and his wife. Something in hot-blooded Maria’s eyes. She seemed angry, but at the same time amused.

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” she asked.

Qui

“Ice water would be good,” Fedderman said.

Qui

Toth had a good eye, or ear, for a cop. A good gut, really. That was where cops got their hunches. There was something out of tune between Bud Peltz and his wife. Would his statement contain the same discord?

“I’m going outside to shop,” Maria said. “I slept through everything last night, so I have nothing to relate. Not even dreams. I’ve already talked with Officer Toth. But if you need me . . .”

“No, no,” Qui

Fedderman glanced at him, surprised.

Maria said good-bye to them, not including her husband. Qui

“A beautiful woman,” he said, when Maria was gone.

Bud Peltz seemed unmoved by Qui

Is this guy nuts?

Qui

Peltz sat.

“Your account,” Qui

Peltz sat quietly for a few seconds, staring at the floor.

Then he sighed.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs.”

21

The door to Margaret Evans’s second-floor apartment was still unlocked, but there was a roll of yellow crime scene tape leaning against the doorjamb, and an NYPD sticker that had to be peeled off before the door could be opened. Qui

The apartment next to Margaret Evans’s was vacant and unfurnished. There were clean rectangles on the otherwise bare off-white walls where picture frames or similar objects had hung. A dead geranium sat in a green plastic pot on the living room windowsill.

Peltz led them toward the hall to the rear of the apartment, then into a bedroom. Their footfalls on the bare wood floor carried a faint echo.

They entered a bedroom with a window overlooking a side street. The room was completely bare except for a stained double mattress leaning against the window. It blocked enough light so that it was dim in the room.

Qui