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both know this guy will kill again, and probably soon. The way he… the things that were done to Millie, that kinda asshole is gonna be a repeater.”
    “Probably,” Quinn conceded.
    “And this case interests you. It needs you like you need it. Like I need you. It’ll be like before. We’re not bypassing the NYPD. The city will employ you and your agency on a work-for-hire basis to aid in the investigation. Of course, you’ll be running it.”
    Quinn knew that what Renz needed or wanted, he would get. Renz was the most popular police commissioner the city had ever known. Not to mention that he had something on almost everyone above him in the food chain. In New York, even if it meant going to jail later, a popular police commissioner with that kind of leverage wielded real power.
    But Quinn did have some reservations.
    “Because of Millie, I’ve got a serious personal interest in this case, Harley. We’ve never done anything like this exactly.”
    “Nothing is ever like anything else exactly. Think snowflakes.”
    Quinn sat drumming his fingertips on the table. There really was little doubt that Millie’s killer would strike again.
    “Don’t give me all that contemplation bullshit,” Renz said. “We both know you’re in. I’ll write up the contract we had before, only for more money. I want this bastard in the worst way, Quinn.”
    “I can see that, Harley. But you don’t want him more than I do.”
    “So we got a deal?”
    Quinn stopped with the fingers. “Yeah.”
    “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
    “Let it.”

5
    It was almost 2 A.M. when Quinn let himself into his apartment on West Seventy-fifth Street. The apartment comprised the first floor of a brownstone that was two buildings down from the building where Quinn had lived for a while with his now ex-wife May, and then for a shorter period of time with Pearl.
    He was trying to get Pearl to leave her tiny apartment and move into the brownstone with him. She wasn’t high on the idea. She would spend time with him there, and had even slept over a few times on the sofa, when it was late at night and the subway had stopped running. She’d never had sex with him there, or anywhere else, since her fiancé Yancy Taggart had died saving her life.
    Quinn was moving slowly and carefully with Pearl. She was still grieving for Yancy, even though almost a year had passed since his death. Quinn understood that, and he took it into account whenever Pearl acted up.
    Yancy had been a good man. And he and Pearl might have made a go of their marriage. Quinn had been sorry about what happened to Yancy, too. But time passed, and life continued beyond the point where Yancy had died saving Pearl’s life.
    And though it might be bad form and a mistake, the truth was that Quinn wanted Pearl back.
    Something rattled upstairs. Then came a metallic ping, and what sounded like a board dropping flat on the floor. Quinn chose to ignore the noise. He’d investigated such things before and found nothing. The old building was prone to make unexpected, unexplainable sounds.
    The brownstone had been built in 1885, and it showed its age. Quinn had bought it with some of his settlement from the city. He’d seen it as an investment, and was rehabbing the upstairs, converting it to two spacious apartments that could be rented out to make the mortgage payments. However, if Pearl eventually moved in with him, only the top floor would be rented. The second floor, with its turned oak woodwork and beautiful original crystal chandelier, would be theirs on a daily basis.
    Quinn had even from time to time considered offering one of the apartments to Pearl to rent. It would bring her physically closer. Another step toward them moving in together.
    Sometimes even Quinn wondered if that eventuality was possible. He didn’t underestimate the obstacles.
    He and Pearl were both difficult to live with, because neither could completely overlook the other’s faults.
    Or maybe they were