In for the Kill by John Lutz

boobs. It's a science, you know. The blood stops flowing and they don't look so great, but I can tell."
    Pearl felt herself flush. If this wasn't bad enough, a horrible little prick like Nift could make it worse.
    "You're sick," was all she said. Admirable restraint.
    "She's right," Quinn said. He didn't want Pearl getting out of control. Her temper was what had hamstrung her in her career, even before the missing knife incident that had resulted in her leaving the department.
    Even awkwardly stooped over as he was, Nift somehow shrugged and made it look nonchalant. "Well, whatever I have, it isn't fatal."
    He straightened up all the way and stretched his back, sighing and sticking out his stomach. Like a lot or short men, he stood with rigid posture, as if to make every inch count. Pearl saw that he was getting a little paunchy. He was wearing suspenders so his suit pants draped well. "To answer your question," he said, "my guess is we'll find water in her lungs, like with the other victims." He pointed at the mottled bleached skin, some with bone protruding. "You can still find traces of adhesive from where he taped her." He shifted around the aim of his index finger. "There, and there."
    Quinn nodded, but Pearl looked and saw nothing.
    "The width is right for duct tape," Nift said. His vision was better than Pearl's. Also, he knew what to look for.
    "She looks older than the other three," Quinn said. Like Pearl, he was wondering about the variance in type.
    Nift nodded. "She was well into her forties. And good tits or not, she wasn't a looker. I think what really killed her was her name started with an N. Funny how serial killers like to play games. This one even went out of his way to murder a woman not his preferred type, just so he could spell your name right, Quinn."
    "Maybe, but there are plenty of attractive young brunettes whose surnames start with the letter N. "
    "So something else could have attracted the killer to this victim. Maybe he's a guy can't resist a great rack. We might know more when we get to those boobs."
    Liking Nift less and less, Pearl backed out of the bathroom and left Quinn to deal with the obnoxious little medical examiner. As she did so, she couldn't help but notice Nift's shoes, gleaming black and as meticulously clean as what was left of Florence Norton. Strange how images stuck in the mind. Pearl knew that when she was an old lady she'd be able to recall those polished black wingtips contrasting with the clean tile floor and chalk-white body parts stacked neatly in the tub.
    "Did you close her eyes?" Quinn asked, as Pearl backed into the hall.
    "Sure did," she heard Nift answer. "I didn't like the way she was looking at me."
    So sensitive.
     
    Pearl walked over to a small desk that was situated near a window so Florence would have natural light to work by during the day.
    "Done with this?" she asked one of the techs.
    He nodded. "We got what we can. Your turn."
    Pearl put on her evidence gloves anyway, before opening the top desk drawer. Maybe Florence knew who'd killed her and had his name in her address book. It had happened.
    But not this time. There was a dog-eared address book, but it contained almost exclusively the phone numbers of merchants or fellow employees. Or women. It seemed Florence Norton hadn't had much of a love life.
    Still, the numbers would prove useful.
    Other than the book, the desk contained only the usual pens, pencils, stamps, stationary, paid bills, and canceled checks for utilities or credit cards. There was a self-inking stamp with the victim's name and address, a stack of old checkbook pads (which Pearl placed off to the side with the address book and checkbook), and a tangle of rubber bands and paper clips in a plastic drawer divider. Unpaid bills indicated that Florence still owed more than five thousand dollars on her MasterCard.
    One way to beat them, Pearl thought, reminding herself that her own monthly payment was due.
    Staying out of the techs' way, she