Slaughter - Lutz John - Страница 20

“You need to turn the light out,” Peltz said.

Quinn did, making the room dim again. He was getting an idea of where this might be going.

Peltz went to a door, unlocked it with a skeleton key, and opened it. The door led nowhere but to an empty closet. Even the bar where clothes could be hung had been removed. The closet had an empty twelve-inch wooden shelf above and behind the clothes bar. Peltz tilted the shelf, removed it, and a narrow lance of light penetrated the dimness. Behind where the shelf had been, at its precise level, was a one-inch-round peephole.

Quinn stepped into the closet, peered through the hole, and saw two paramedics putting parts of Margaret Evans into a body bag.

“I saw what he did,” Bud Peltz said in a tremulous voice. “I couldn’t help her. When I started looking, she was already dead. There was nothing I could do to save her.”

“So you watched,” Fedderman said.

“I—I couldn’t look away.”

“You could have called us,” Fedderman said. “We could have caught the bastard. Stopped him from doing this.” Fedderman’s voice rose in anger. This voyeur scumbag had watched and done nothing.

Peltz raised both shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I told you, she was already dead. And I . . . Well, I admit, I was afraid to leave and get to a phone.”

“Did you have your cell phone?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, but he might have heard, would have killed me.”

“Not much doubt of that,” Quinn said, modulating his voice. He wanted to get on this guy’s side, become his confidant, learn what he knew. “I won’t condemn you for looking through a peephole, Mr. Peltz. You’re not the only man who’s ever done that.”

Peltz’s entire body was quaking. “I’m so damned ashamed. And Maria might leave me.”

“Did you tell her what you saw?”

“Not everything. I didn’t want to talk about some of the things the killer did. Didn’t want to think about them.”

“It isn’t easy,” Quinn commiserated.

Fedderman still wanted to toss Peltz out the second-story window, but he knew what Quinn was doing. Getting on Peltz’s good side so he could mine him for information.

Then maybe they could toss him out a window.

“I saw what he did with his jigsaw,” Peltz said. He looked as if he might break down and start sobbing any second. “Poor Maggie . . .”

Maggie?

“We need to know,” Quinn said. “Did you and Maggie—Margaret—have a relationship?”

“We were friends.”

“With benefits?”

“You mean did we have sex?”

“Yes. By any definition.”

“Twice. Three times.”

“Idiot!” Fedderman said softly, thinking of Maria Peltz.

“But it didn’t mean anything serious. Not to either of us.”

“Of course not,” Quinn said. “A woman like that, and a man like yourself . . . hell, things like that are hard to avoid.” He gave Fedderman a stern look so he’d be quiet. “They’re like ripples in a lake. Left alone, they disappear and it’s as if they never happened.”

“That’s what I wanted,” Peltz said. “That’s where we were at. The ripples were disappearing and there would have been smooth sailing except for—what happened.”

“One thing, Mr. Peltz. And I hope you won’t object to my asking this, but did you ever take photographs through that peephole?”

“Oh, God no! I swear!”

“Video?” Fedderman asked.

“Not that, either. And believe me, I could have. The bedroom was bright enough. Margaret liked it with a light on.”

Quinn tried not to show his disappointment. It would have been more than convenient to have the Gremlin’s photograph. His likeness on video or as a still would go a long way toward finding him.

“So you got a good look at him.”

“Yes. Though a lot of the time his back was turned toward me.”

Fedderman had his note pad out. “Can you describe him?”

“A small man, but very muscular.”

“Hair?”

“Black. Maybe brown. He wore it kind of long in back and on the sides, combed back over his ears.”

“Eye color?

Peltz shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t recall.”

“He have his clothes off?”

“Yeah. Everything. I guess so he wouldn’t get blood on his clothes he couldn’t wash off.” Peltz began shaking again. “Margaret was nude, too.”

“Any identifying marks on either of them?” Fedderman looked up from his note pad. “Like tattoos or scars.”

“No. Not that I saw.”

“Is there anything in particular that we didn’t ask about? Anything. Even if it seems unimportant to you, but for some reason stuck in your mind.”

Peltz pressed his fingertips into his temples to make a show of thinking. “The way he moved, maybe. He was quick and kind of hopped. And his body hair. It was dark, and he had a lot of it.” He shook his head. “God! Poor Margaret.”

“Sounds like she was attacked by some kind of animal,” Fedderman said.

Peltz said, “No. But there was something about him . . .”

“Like a leprechaun?”

“No.”

“A gremlin?”

“Yeah!” He looked momentarily confused. “However a gremlin’s supposed to look.”

“You’re sure Margaret was dead when you first saw her last night through the peephole?” Quinn asked.

The shaking got worse. There were tears now, and Peltz’s voice cracked. “Her head was detached.”

Quinn made an effort to keep calm. To at least appear calm. He was the one assigned to find and stop this monster.

“No one could blame you for being upset,” he said to Peltz.

“Jesus save me! Horrible as it was, I couldn’t look away.”

“We understand,” Quinn said. “Anyone would react as you did. Even old cops like us.”

Fedderman glared at him.

Quinn almost felt guilty about the anger he experienced on learning that Peltz was merely a voyeur and didn’t photograph or video Margaret or her killer.

He started toward the door. “If you think of anything else, Mr. Peltz . . .”

“Of course. I’ll let you know.”

“They’ll want your statement down at the precinct house.”

Peltz seemed annoyed. “Another statement? I thought that’s what this was. Why so many statements?”

“C’mon, Mr. Peltz, you watch cop shows on TV.”

“Yeah. You want to see if I contradict myself, then it’ll be my ass.”

“It’s been our experience,” Quinn said, “that people who don’t contradict themselves are usually lying.”

They were silent as they left the building. Out on the sun-warmed sidewalk, Peltz stopped as if his batteries had suddenly run down.

“We going back to my apartment?”

“No,” Quinn said. “We’ll let you face your wife by yourself.”

“All that stuff about the peephole in the closet, will it be on the news?”

“Most likely.”

“Do you photograph well?” Fedderman asked.

Peltz looked angry enough to attack Fedderman. Even took a step toward him. Fedderman didn’t back up.

“Now, now,” Quinn said, moving between them.

“It’s all your fault,” Peltz said, still zeroed in on Fedderman. “You’re supposed to catch dangerous psychos like that, keep them from killing.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Quinn said.

That seemed to calm Peltz. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. “Okay, I’m sorry. I guess I got lost in my own anger, in those images of Margaret. I couldn’t look away.”

“You told us that,” Fedderman said.

Peltz looked mournfully at him. “I’d like to think you believe me.”

Fedderman turned and walked toward the car.

When Quinn had gotten in on the driver’s side and slammed the car door closed, he lowered the window to let out some of the heat. Peltz bent down and said, “Why’s your partner got such a hard-on for me?”

“It’s that part about you wanting to be believed. He mostly doesn’t believe anyone.” Quinn smiled. “I’m pretty much the same way.”

Peltz looked enraged, his temper barely in check. “Bad cop, bad cop,” he said in disgust. He crossed his arms and stood unmoving as a rock.

Quinn said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”