"Marie?"
The possibility had never occurred to Hawes. She had seemed so honestly grieved by her husband's disappearance and death. But now that Brown had mentioned it mdash;
"I mean, what I'm looking for is some motive here," Brown said.
"The guy could've just gone beserk, you know. Threw those tricks all over the driveway, ran off in the Citation hellip;"
"Yeah, I'm curious about that, too," Brown said. "Let's try to dope out a timetable, okay? They come into the city together, Brayne in the van, Marie and her husband in the Citation hellip;"
"Got to the school around a quarter past three."
"Unloaded the car and the van hellip;"
"Right."
"And then Brayne went off God knows where, said he'd be back at five, five-thirty to pick up the big stuff."
"Uh-huh."
"Okay, they finish the act around five-fifteen. Sebastiani changes into his street clothes, goes out back to load the car while Marie's getting out of her costume. She comes out later, finds the stuff all over the driveway and the Citation gone."
"Right."
"So we got to figure Brayne dumped the van on Rachel Street sometime between three-thirty and five-fifteen, grabbed a taxi back to the school, and cold-cocked Sebastiani while he was loading the car."
"That's what it looks like," Hawes said.
"Then he chops up the body mdash;where'd he do that, Cotton? Blood stains in the Citation's trunk, you know, but nowhere else in the car."
"Coulda done it anywhere in the city. Found himself a deserted street, an abandoned building hellip;"
"Yeah, you could do that in this city. So he chops up the corpse, loads the pieces in the trunk, and starts dropping them all around town. When he gets rid of the last one, he leaves the car behind that A P and takes off."
"Yeah."
"So where's the motive?"
"I don't know."
"She's an attractive woman," Brown said.
Hawes had noticed that.
"If she was playing house with Brayne in that apartment over the garage hellip;"
"Well, you've got no reason to believe that, Artie."
"I'm snowballing it, Cotton. Let's say they had a thing going. Brayne and the woman."
"Okay."
"And let's say hubby tipped to it."
"You're thinking movies or television."
"I'm thinking real-life, too. Hubby tells Brayne to lay off, Brayne's still hungry for her. He chops up hubby, and him and the woman ride off into the sunset."
"Except Brayne's the only one who rode off," Hawes said. "The woman's hellip;"
"You think she's home yet?" Brown asked, and looked up at the clock.
Ten minutes past eleven.
"Half hour or so to Collinsworth," Hawes said. "She was catching the ten forty-five."
"Whyn't we take a ride out there?" Brown said.
"What for?"
"Toss that apartment over the garage, see we can't find something."
"Like what?"
"Like maybe where Brayne's heading. Or better yet, something that links him to the woman."
"We'll need a warrant to toss that garage."
"We haven't even got jurisdiction across the river," Brown said. "Let's play it by ear, okay? If the lady's clean, she won't ask for a warrant."
"You want to call her first?"
"What for?" Brown said. "I love surprises."
Kling waved so long to them as they headed out of the squad. He looked up at the clock. The graveyard shift should be here in half an hour or so mdash;O'Brien, Delgado, Fujiwara and Willis Fill them in on what had gone down on the four-to-midnight grab one of the sedans, and head for Calm's Point. Make himself invisible in the Zone, just another John looking for a little Friday-night sport. But keep an eye out for Eileen.
He thought she was dead wrong about this one.
His being there in the Zone could only help an undercover situation that had been hastily planned and recklessly undermanned.
This time,he was the one who was dead wrong.
They sat at the table talking in whispers, just another hooker and a potential trick. Negotiating the deal, Larry figured. Never seen the guy with the broken arm in here before, wondered who'd be on top in the sack, might get a little clumsy with that arm in a sling. Wondered about that and nothing else. The place was still busy, there was booze to be poured.
"Howie Cantrell is his real name," Shanahan whispered. "Used to be with Vice in Philly, that's all straight goods. Went off his rocker six years ago, first started beating up hookers in the street, then began preaching salvation to them. The Philly P.D. didn't so much mind the beatings. Worse things than beatings go down in Vice. But they didn't like the idea of a plainclothes minister on the force. They sent him up for psychiatric, and the shrinks decided he was under considerable stress as a result of his proximity to the ladies of the night. Retired him with full pension, he drifted first to Boston, then here, started his missionary work all over again in the Zone. Everybody calls him the Preacher. He looks for the young ones, spouts Jesus to them, tries to talk them out of the life. Takes one of them to bed every now and then, for old times' sake. But he's harmless. Hasn't raised a hand to anybody since Philly let him go."