Carnage: Short Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

no obvious love interest in her life, but Desoto would learn more talking to friends and relatives of the victim.
    “And of course,” he said, “we’ll keep each other informed about your detective, Pearl.”
    “More than just a detective,” Quinn said.
    “Ah. I thought so. From watching you at the pool.”
    Desoto smiled with perfect white teeth. His thick black hair was undisturbed by the breeze, nailed down with some kind of greasy pomade, but on him it looked good. The guy really did resemble an old time matinee idol. He promised to keep Quinn informed of anything that might develop with the local investigation. That didn’t mean much to Quinn, who already knew who the killer was, and that he was staying on the move.
    Where the hell is Pearl? He didn’t want to think she was with the killer. Or worse . . .
    That isn’t how the bastard works. Isn’t part of his sick pattern.
    But Quinn knew he was lying to himself. No one was completely predictable.
     
     
    When Quinn returned to where the car was parked, his cell phone buzzed.
    Sal growled, “Quinn?” in Quinn’s ear.
    “Yeah.”
    “The guy from the motel office said he got an anonymous phone call saying we should search Pearl’s room again.”
    “ Again means he was probably watching us the first time.”
    “Creepy bastard might be watching now, or listening to our phone conversation. Anyway, we’re going back in and searching.”
    “Not till I get there. I’m sitting in my car now.”
    “You got any idea of why the killer wants Pearl’s room tossed again?”
    “Not really,” Quinn said.
    “We can handle it right now, in case it might be time urgent.”
    “I want the Del Moray police in on this, assuming they’ve got a bomb squad.”
    “Christ, a bomb! I never thought of that.”
    “The killer might have.”
    “A bomb . . . Well, I can see why you wouldn’t want to miss that.”
    Quinn wondered for a moment if Sal was trying to be funny. He decided to let it pass. Probably Sal had been spending too much time with Harold.
    “I’m on my way,” Quinn said.
    He was thumbing out the Del Moray Police number on his cell as he pulled the big Lincoln away from the curb.

    Quinn parked as close as possible to Pearl’s motel room. He saw Sal, Harold, and Fedderman standing outside in the shade of a palm tree, about a hundred feet from her door. They had strung yellow tape to keep gawkers a safe distance away. People stared, but most went on their way, either to the beach or leaving it. The motel manager, a tall, slender young man with huge tortoiseshell glasses, was on a sandy path just beyond them, pacing.
    “Bomb squad’s on the way here from Fort Lauderdale,” Fedderman said.
    “Too far away,” Quinn said. His throat was dry but he felt like spitting.
    When he looked up, he saw a Del Moray police car pulling into the parking lot. The light strip on its roof was flashing a riot of color. He headed for Pearl’s motel room.
    “Where you going?” Sal rasped in surprise.
    “To Pearl’s room, while I’m still in charge.”
    The door was locked so he kicked it open.
     
     
    Quinn knew he might not have much time. He stood in the center of the room and moved in a slow circle, then he checked the closet and bathroom, anyplace a bomb might be hidden.
    The last place he decided to check was beneath the bed, where a blast would be limited by the heavy mattress and bedsprings.
    He bent over, peered into the shadows beneath the bed, and immediately saw a woman’s arm.
    Just as immediately, he knew the arm was dead.
    Quinn stood up and heaved the mattress out of the way, off the box springs. Then he gripped the limp cool arm and pulled.
    The woman wasn’t Pearl. She was Latin and matronly, and in a maid’s uniform. She had obviously been strangled, judging by her bulging eyes clouded with broken capillaries.
    Quinn heard a low moan. Another. And shoved the mattress all the way off the bed frame.
    There was Pearl, wrapped in gray duct tape.