Switch by John Lutz Page A

Female
    Â 
    *Serial
    Â 
    *Mister X
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    *Urge to Kill
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    *Night Kills
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    *In for the Kill
    Â 
    Chill of Night
    Â 
    Fear the Night
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    *Darker Than Night
    Â 
    Night Victims
    Â 
    The Night Watcher
    Â 
    The Night Caller
    Â 
    Final Seconds (with David August)
    Â 
    The Ex
    Â 
    *featuring Frank Quinn
    Â 
    Â 
    Available from Kensington Publishing Corp. and Pinnacle Books

SWITCH
    JOHN LUTZ

    PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

    All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

PROLOGUE
    May 9, 10:40 a.m.
    Â 
    â€œThere’s a finger in her,” Nift said, watching Pearl Kasner’s face for a reaction.
    She didn’t show much of one.
    Quinn and Pearl watched Medical Examiner Dr. Julius Nift, crouched low near the woman’s body, move his shoulders and arms, probe with what looked like long, thin tweezers, then stare and shake his head. Before him, lying between the corpse’s widely spread legs, was a small, bloody object.
    â€œWhat do you mean,” Pearl asked, “a finger?”
    Nift held up his rubber-gloved left hand, fingers spread. “One of these.” He made a fist except for his extended forefinger. “This one, to be exact. Or one like it.” He grinned. “It was lodged in her vaginal tract. Wanna take a look?”
    Pearl did. So did Quinn.
    Quinn said, “Man’s finger?”
    â€œAlmost certainly. Right size for a man’s. Nail’s trimmed close. No polish. Lots of stuff under it. Maybe rich with DNA.”
    â€œFingerprint?”
    â€œShould be discernible. Once we get it cleaned up.”
    Quinn nodded, standing with his fists propped on his hips, and glanced around Alexis Hoffermuth’s luxurious penthouse apartment, amazed anew by the vastness of the room they were in and the obvious wealth that showed in every facet of the place.
    He had met Alexis Hoffermuth here just two days earlier, when she was alive.
    Her body had been discovered scarcely an hour ago after she didn’t show up for an eight o’clock appointment (so unlike her), and failed to answer either her cell or land line phone.
    The doorman had admitted the woman she was scheduled to meet in regard to a political fund-raiser, and there Alexis Hoffermuth was, in her altered state.
    Pearl and Quinn looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking: money and murder were such close friends.
    â€œStrange calling card,” said Nift, who liked to play detective, “a forefinger in her twat.” He glanced at Pearl to see if he’d gotten a rise out of her. “Whaddya make of it, Pearl?”
    â€œIf he’s a serial killer, he’s limited to nine more victims.”
    â€œUnless—” Nift began.
    â€œShut up,” Pearl said, and he did.
    â€œShe was over fifty,” Quinn said, nodding toward the victim. “You’d never know it, even like this.”
    The dead woman stared wide-eyed back at him, flecks of blood visible in the white around her pupils, the way eyes were after someone’s been strangled. In this instance, strangulation appeared to have been caused by the Burberry scarf around her neck. Yet the expression of pain and bewilderment frozen on her face wasn’t quite like that of a strangulation victim.
    â€œThere are a lot of imitation scarves like that floating around New York,” Nift said. “You think that one’s real?”
    â€œIt’s real,” Pearl said.
    â€œThe boobs aren’t,” Nift said.
    â€œYou would notice that.”
    â€œExpensive job, though. But then, it would be.”
    â€œNo need to wonder about cause of death,” Quinn said, changing the subject before Nift and Pearl clashed. They often played this game. Nift seemed to regard making Pearl lose her temper a challenge. Not that she was his only target.
    â€œDon’t be too sure,” Nift said. “Cause of death can be