Sibs. Part 31

Jill made a sour face. "Eeeeuuuuu!"

Kara watched Rob rock his head back and laugh. She had to tell him about his daughter. And soon. Before he figured it out on his own.

2:55 P.M.

Rob sat in Gates' waiting room and surveyed some choice photos of the murder scene. The best was a close-up of the writing on the floor. Rob had made sure the photographer had set the lamp so that the light reflected off the still-wet letters. He was anxious to show this to Gates and watch how he reacted to seeing his own name written in blood.

Kara was innocent and Gates was guilty. He firmly believed that. He had no right to. He hadn't a shred of evidence to back that up. It was a gut feeling.

Or was he fooling himself? This was why cops were supposed to stay away from cases in which they were emotionally involved. Emotions clouded judgment. Were his feelings for Kara clouding his?

Rob began to turn the photo over on his lap, then snapped it back to face up. From this angle, the smears to the right of "Gates" had looked like an "equals" sign, followed by a "K."

The hairs at the back of his neck began to rise. Gates is Kara Gates is Kara? Rob stared at it from all angles. Was that what Bannion was trying to say? That Gates was in Kara? Like the note on the electric bill had said? Like Kara had said less than an hour ago?

The number of people who believed in that crazy idea seemed to be growing. Was it possible that-?

Rob shook off the thought. No. Couldn't be. Something like that simply wasn't possible. The smeared end of Bannion's scrawl-the "=K" part-had to be a trick of the light. People did a lot of awful things to each other in New York, but they didn't take over each other's bodies.

When Gates' patient came out, Rob scooted into the consultation room as he had done before, without waiting for the receptionist to warn the doctor.

"Detective Harris," Gates said in a bored tone. "What brings you back?"

"Your friend Edward Bannion is dead," Rob said without preamble.

It had the desired effect. Gates stiffened and blurted: "My friend?"

Any uncertainties Rob had harbored about Gates being involved in Bannion's death evaporated with those two words. He took grim satisfaction from the fact that Gates' first response was not to ask who was Edward Bannion or what the h.e.l.l Rob was talking about, but to challenge the idea that he was a friend.

He shoved a particularly gory crime scene photo under the psychiatrist's nose.

"Sure. Don't you recognize him?"

Gates took the photo and studied it. The blood and the corpse did not seem to faze him.

"I've never seen this man before in my life."

"Really?" Rob handed over the close up of the scrawl. "The last act of his life was to write your name."

Gates was clearly jolted by the sight of his name written in blood. But Rob had to hand it to him: he recovered quickly.

"This could mean anything. It doesn't say 'Dr. Gates' and it doesn't say 'Lawrence Gates,' it just says 'Gates.' That could mean anything."

"Yeah," Rob said softly, staring at him, "but you know and I know that he means you."

"Are you accusing me of murder?" Gates said.

"You said it, not me."

Gates leaned back and smiled. He picked up the key ring from his desk top and began twirling it on his finger.

"All right, Detective Harris. Let's a.s.sume you are accusing me of the murder of a man I have never even heard of until this very moment. Let's play this game through. I have no motive, and no opportunity."

"Can you account for your whereabouts at the time of the murder?"

"Which was?"

"Approximately two-thirty A.M. Sunday morning."

"I was here, in my office, working on patient charts. And I have the best witness in the world."

"Really. Who's that?"

"A member of the city's police department. You."

Rob felt the surprise break through onto his face.

Gates's smile broadened.

"Come now, Detective Harris. Did you really think your pathetic attempts to shadow me went unnoticed? I know you've been watching me. It's been quite amusing, really."

But I wasn't outside your place all night! Rob thought. He had been at Kara's before the murder and at Bannion's after. Plenty of time for Gates to sneak out and kill Bannion.

But he wasn't going to tell Gates that. Not yet.

"If you think you were shadowed before, pal, you wait."

The smile faded from Gates' face, replaced by a look of cold contempt.

"Don't look for trouble, detective."

"I won't be looking for trouble-just looking for you. No matter where you go, you're going to look up and see me. I'll connect you to Bannion, and then you'll be mine. You can file hara.s.sment charges, but that won't stop me."

"Hara.s.sment charges? Do you think I'd have to stoop, to that? Against you you? Do you really think I couldn't lose you any time I wished? Do you actually believe that someone like you would be any sort of match for a man with my intelligence and knowledge of the human mind? Don't make me laugh!"

"That's the last thing I want to make you do, pal," Rob said.

He gathered up his photos. The guy was guilty. Rob could smell it. A grim, cold determination crowded out the anger that had built up during their exchange. He was going to nail Gates, or lose his badge trying. He headed for the door.

"Be seeing you."

At last! The punishment is over!

This was by far the worst ever. So weak I can barely write. Not physically weak, but weak in the spirit, in the mind. This time he brought me to the precipice of madness. I know my grip on sanity has been tenuous at best, but this time nearly undid me. A few hours more of his torture and I fear I'd have been irretrievably mad.

And I failed! That's the worst part. Got my warning to her but she didn't heed it! Maybe the little fool deserves what's happening to her! Maybe- No. That's unfair. It's too much to ask anyone to believe something so far beyond her own capabilities, something without precedent in her own experience or knowledge, something that should be impossible.

But perhaps I haven't failed completely. He's disturbed about something. Something's gone wrong. Don't know what it is, but he's upset. Detect ripples on the customarily serene surface of his sublime indifference to the world. His supreme confidence in his ability to deal easily with whatever the lesser mortals around him might do appears to have been challenged.

Am I responsible for that? I pray so.

Also sense that tonight he will answer that challenge. I hope his opponent is mentally agile. A survivor.

I'll be cheering for him. I hope the opponent kills the swine! Or maybe I'll get the chance. If I can, I'll do it. I know I can do it now!

I won't be punished again!

February 24 12:10 A.M.

Gates was playing it cool. He came out of his townhouse and didn't even glance around. Walked up to Seventh and down to his office, just like every other night since Rob had been watching him.

Which made Rob a little uneasy. Gates was going to pull a stunt tonight. He could smell it in the air. When and how were both up to Gates, which put Rob at a disadvantage. He had to be ready for anything.

Rob parked on Seventh and settled in for his watch. He locked his car doors and checked to make sure the safety strap on his holster was undone.

12:25 A.M.

You enter her mind so easily now, like sliding down a smooth, lubricated chute into a warm spring. You settle into a familiar groove within that warmth. It fits you perfectly. But of course, it should. It's custom made to your personal specifications. You lock her consciousness into sleep and take over.

There's an instant of shock when you open her eyes. You're not in Kelly's apartment. You turn on the light. It's a small room, tastefully and expensively furnished. Is Kara staying over at the Aunt's she talked about? That would seem to be the case.

Well, that should present just a minor difficulty. If everyone in the apartment is asleep, you can slip out and be on your way.

You're going to miss this body. It's the best you've ever had. Not that you're going to harm it in any way. That would be a sin. But what you've got planned for it tonight will take it out of circulation indefinitely.

For you've decided how to take care of the impudent Detective Harris. A suitably ignominious end. Not only will he be stabbed in exactly the same manner as the man whose murder he is investigating, but it will be by the very same hand-the hand of the woman he seems to care so much about.

The irony of it appeals to you. And as he's dying you will tell him in the voice of his lover who you really are, and what you can do, and why it is impossible to follow you when you do not wish to be followed.

And then you will laugh in his face.

After that, Kara Wade will undoubtedly be tried for murder. She may get off on an insanity plea, and you will gladly testify on her behalf about her multiple personality disorder, but even so, she will be inst.i.tutionalized. She will not be free to come and go as you wish. However, you might look in on her from time to time to see if there are any interesting s.e.xual experiences to be had in a maximum security inst.i.tution.

You throw on some clothes and glide to the door. If the apartment is dark and quiet you'll slip to the kitchen for a knife then out into the city. You turn the handle and pull.

The door won't budge. You rattle it-not too loudly-and pull again. It's locked. You look and see that it's one of those old fashioned doors with a keyhole and a lock bolt. And the key's not there.

It's got to be somewhere. You turn the room upside down but you can't find it.

Has Kara had herself locked in her room for the night? You wouldn't put it past her. It's an ancient, simple, and effective solution. And it has you stumped.

You're tempted to punish her body, damage it, even disfigure it as you abandon her, just to show her who's boss. But that will interfere with your plans. You need her in good condition. If you stay away for a few days, she'll let down her guard. And then you'll make your move.

But now it's time to return to Chelsea where Detective Harris is watching. You don't need your special ability to outwit a cretin like Harris. There are other ways short of killing him to demonstrate that he is no match for a mind of your caliber. This might be an even better way to prepare him for his end. Humiliate him first. Confound him. Lose him when he tries to follow you. Night after night, demonstrate his impotence against you.

And when he's completely demoralized, then then you drive the knife home with Kara's hand. you drive the knife home with Kara's hand.

This will be fun. You can start tonight.

You neaten up the room, turn off the lights. You hurry back to bed and leave Kara Wade's body in sleep.

1:08 A.M.

Rob raced down Twenty-first Street. He sighed with relief when he saw Gates walking up the steps to his front door. The doctor had left his office unusually early tonight and Rob had been afraid he had something sneaky planned. If he did, he would have pulled it during Rob's end run with the car. But there he was. Home sweet home.

Was this it for the night? Rob didn't trust Gates enough to think so. He'd give him another couple of hours before quitting.

He got the car settled into its customary spot by the fire hydrant and zipped up the battered, fleece-lined leather bomber jacket to ward off the cold. He was just lighting a cigarette when he saw Gates bounce down his front steps and head back toward Seventh again.

Maybe he'd left something at the office. Rob started up the car. He wasn't going to let Gates out of his sight this time. He didn't wait for him to get to the end of the block but pulled out and crept the car along behind him. No need for subtlety anymore. Each knew where the other stood.

At the corner, Gates suddenly turned right instead of left. He began hurrying up up Seventh Avenue. And the traffic ran downtown only. Seventh Avenue. And the traffic ran downtown only.

Here we go!

Rob found another hydrant on the corner and pulled in next to it. He jumped out and sprinted after Gates.

The doctor had a half-block lead. At the corner of Seventh and Twenty-second he got into the rear of a waiting cab. It lurched away, heading east on Twenty-second.

Rob grinned. That sly b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Must have called from his home and had a radio cab waiting for him! Rob paused long enough to get the cab's number off the roof light, then he searched Seventh Avenue for a cab of his own. None in sight. He kept running, past Twenty-second on to Twenty-third which was a two-way. Better chance to find a cab there.

He did. He flagged it down and flashed his shield as he leaped inside.

"Police. Put on your 'Not in Service' sign and move it up to Sixth! Fast!"

The driver was dark, his voice thickly accented.

"Begging your-"

"You'll get paid. Move it Move it!"

The driver moved it. The card on the visor said his name was Achmed Moustaffah. Rob didn't care if he was Colonel Qadaffi as long as he could handle his rig and knew the streets.

The light was green ahead at Sixth. Rob directed Achmed to the curb at the corner. Now the hard part. Was Gates continuing east or turning uptown? When the red came, he watched. He'd give the other cab twenty seconds to- Suddenly a radio cab went by on Sixth, heading uptown.

"See that cab?" Rob said. "Forget the light and follow it."