Alex Cross 02 - Kiss the Girls (32 page)

They pulled us aside before the update on the Casanova investigation. The stress had gotten to them, cooled their jets a little.

“Listen, you two have worked big, bad cases like this before,” Ruskin said. As usual, he was doing most of the talking. Davey
Sikes didn’t seem to like us any better now than he had the first day we met.

“I know that my partner and I got a little territorial at first. I want you to know, though, all we want to do is
stop the killing now.
”

Sikes nodded his large, blocklike head. “We want to nail Sachs. Trouble is, our brass has us chasing our tails as usual.”

Ruskin smiled, and finally so did I. We all understood departmental politics. I still didn’t trust the Durham homicide detectives.
I was certain they wanted to use Sampson and me or at least keep us out of the way.

Also, I had the feeling they were still holding evidence back.

The Durham homicide detectives told us they were mired in an investigation of medical doctors in the Research Triangle, doctors
with any kind of criminal record or associations. Wick Sachs was the chief suspect, but not the only one.

There was still a strong chance that Casanova would turn out to be someone we hadn’t even heard of. That was the way it often
worked with repeat-killer cases. He was out there—but we might have no idea who he really was. That was the scariest part
of all, the most frustrating, too.

Nick Ruskin and Sikes took Sampson and me over to the suspects board that had been put up. There were seventeen names on it
at this point. Five were doctors. Kate had originally believed that Casanova was a doctor, and Kyle Craig did, too.

I read off the doctors’ names.

Dr. Stefan Romm

Dr. Francis Constantini

Dr. Richard Dilallo

Dr. Miguel Fesco

Dr. Kelly Clark

I wondered again if several people could somehow be involved with the house of horror. Or was Wick Sachs our man? Was he Casanova?

“You’re the big guru,” Davey Sikes was suddenly leaning over my shoulder. “Who is he, my man? Help us local yokels out. Catch
the bogeyman, Dr. Cross.”

L
ATE THAT night, Casanova was on the move again. He was hunting again. He had missed the thrill these last few days, but this
was going to be an important night.

He easily penetrated the security of the sprawling Duke University Medical Center complex through a little-used gray-metal
door in the private parking area reserved for doctors. On the way to his appointed destination, he passed several chirping
nurses and serious-faced young doctors. Some of the doctors and nurses nodded, and even smiled at him.

As always, Casanova fit in perfectly with the surroundings. He could go anywhere—and he usually did.

As he hurried down the sterile white hospital corridors, his head was busy figuring out complicated, important calculations
about his future. He’d had a hugely successful run here in the Research Triangle area and the Southeast, but it was definitely
drawing to an end. Starting tonight.

Alex Cross and the other dreary plodders were getting too close to him. Even the Durham police were becoming dangerous. He
was
a “territorial rec.” He knew their inadequate terminology for him. Eventually, someone would find the house. Or worse, someone
would probably find him through dumb luck.

Yes, it was time to move on.
Maybe he and Will Rudolph should go to New York City,
he thought.
Or sunny Florida, which had drawn Ted Bundy? Arizona might be pleasant. Spend the fall season in Tempe or Tucson… bustling
college towns filled to bursting with prey. Or maybe they could settle in near one of the huge campuses in Texas. Austin was
supposed to be nice. Or Urbana, Illinois? Madison, Wisconsin? Columbus, Ohio?

He was leaning toward Europe actually, either London, Munich, or Paris. His version of the grand tour. Maybe that was the
right concept for the times. A truly grand tour for the whiz kids. Who needed to go watch
Dracula
when there were real monsters roaming the countryside day and night?

Casanova wondered if anyone had managed to follow him into the Medical Center maze. How about Alex Cross? It was a possibility.
Dr. Cross had relatively impressive staying power. He had bested that unimaginative child molester, that garden-variety psycho
killer, up in D.C. Cross had to be eliminated before he and Will Rudolph left the area for bigger and better things. Otherwise,
Cross would follow them to hell and back.

Casanova passed into Building Two of the Byzantine hospital maze. This was the way to the hospital morgue and maintenance,
so the foot traffic was usually lighter.

He peered down the long, off-white corridor behind him.
No followers.
No one willing to lead in this gutless, witless age, either.

Maybe they
didn’t
know about him yet. Maybe they hadn’t figured anything out. But they would eventually. There
were
clues. It could all be traced back to Roe Tierney and Tom Hutchinson. The unsolved golden couple murder. The very beginning
for him and Will Rudolph. God, he was glad his friend was back. Rudolph always made him feel better when he was around. Rudolph
truly
understood
desire, and ultimately, freedom. Rudolph understood
him
as no one else ever had.

Casanova began to jog down a brightly polished corridor in Building Two of the Medical Center.

As he quickened his pace, the sound of his slapping footsteps echoed in the empty halls. In a few minutes he was in Building
Four, all the way over on the northwest side of the hospital.

He looked back one more time.

Nobody had followed. Nobody had guessed right yet. Maybe they never would.

Casanova came out into the brightly lit, almost orangish, parking area. A black jeep was parked close to the building, and
he nonchalantly climbed inside.

The vehicle had MD plates, state of North Carolina. Yet another of his
masks.

He was feeling strong and sure of himself again. He felt wonderfully free and alive tonight. This was exhilarating; it could
be one of his finest hours, actually. He felt as if he could fly through the silky black night.

He took off to claim his victim.

Dr. Kate McTiernan was next
again.

He missed her so much.

He loved her.

T
HE GENTLEMAN Caller was on the move. Dr. Will Rudolph passed inexorably through the night toward his unsuspecting prey. His
juices were surging.
Sloshing.
He was going to make a house call, as an outstanding doctor should, at least a doctor who really cared.

Casanova didn’t want him out roaming the streets of Durham or Chapel Hill. He’d
forbidden
it, in fact. Understandable enough, admirable, but not possible. They were working together again. Besides, the danger was
minimal at night and the rewards far exceeded the risks.

This next scene in the drama had to be done just right, and he was the one to do it. Will Rudolph was certain of that. He
had no emotional baggage. No Achilles’ heel. Casanova did… Her name was Kate McTiernan.

In a strange way, he thought, she had become his competition. Casanova had bonded with her in a special way. She was very
close to the “lover” he claimed to be obsessively searching for. As such, she was dangerous to his own special relationship
with Casanova.

As he drove into Chapel Hill, he thought about his “friend.” Something was different and even more satisfying between them
now. Being torn apart for almost a year made him appreciate the strange relationship. It was more powerful than ever. There
was no one else he could talk to, not one person.

How very sad,
Rudolph thought.

How droll.

During his year in California, Will Rudolph had remembered all too well the searing loneliness he had experienced as a boy.
He’d grown up at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, then in Asheville. He was a bird colonel’s boy, an army brat, a true son of the
South. Right from the beginning, he had been clever enough to keep up a façade: honor student; polite, helpful, social graces
to beat all. The perfect gentleman. No one had guessed the truth about his desires and needs… which was exactly why the loneliness
had been so unbearable.

He knew when the loneliness had ended. Exactly when and where. He remembered the first dizzying meeting with Casanova. It
had taken place right on the Duke campus, and it was a dangerous meeting for both of them.

The Gentleman remembered the scene so well.
He had a small room, like any other student on campus. Casanova had shown up one night well past midnight, closer to two.
Scared the shit out of him.

He seemed so sure of himself when Rudolph opened the door and saw him there. There was a theatrical suspense movie called
Rope.
The scene reminded him of the movie.

“You going to invite me in? I don’t think you want what I have to say broadcast out here in a public hallway.”

Rudolph had let him in. Shut the door. His heart was thundering.

“What do you want? It’s almost two in the morning. Christ.”

The smile again. So cocksure.
Knowing.
“You killed Roe Tierney and Thomas Hutchinson. You were stalking her for over a year. You have a loving remembrance of Roe
right here in this room. Her tongue, I believe.”

It was the most dramatic moment in Will Rudolph’s life. Someone actually knew who he was. Someone had found him out.

“Don’t be frightened. I also know there’s no way they’ll ever
prove
you committed the murders. You committed perfect crimes. Well,
near perfect.
Congratulations.”

Acting as well as he could under the circumstances, Rudolph had laughed in his accuser’s face. “You’re completely out of your
mind. I’d like you to leave now. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, it is,” the accuser said, “but you’ve been waiting to hear it all your life… Let me tell you something else you’ve wanted
to hear. I
understand
what you did and why. I’ve done it myself. I’m a lot like you, Will.”

Rudolph had felt a powerful connection immediately. The first real human connection of his life. Perhaps that was what love
was? Did ordinary people feel so much more than he did? Or were they deluding themselves? Creating grandiose romantic fantasies
around the mundane exchange of seminal fluids?

He was at his final destination before he knew it. He stopped the car under a towering, old elm and switched off the headlamps.
Two black men were standing on the porch of Kate McTiernan’s house.

One of them was Alex Cross.

A
T A little past ten, Sampson and I rode down a dark, winding street on the outskirts of Chapel Hill. It had been a long day
in the tank for both of us.

I’d taken Sampson to meet Seth Samuel Taylor earlier that evening. We had also spoken to one of Seth’s former teachers, Dr.
Louis Freed. I gave Dr. Freed my theory about the “disappearing house”; he agreed to help me with some important research
for the investigation on where it might be located.

I hadn’t told Sampson too much about Kate McTiernan yet. It was time for them to meet, though. I didn’t know exactly what
our friendship was about, and neither did Kate. Maybe Sampson could add a few thoughts after he saw her. I was sure he would.

“You working late hours like this every night?” Sampson wanted to know as we eased down Kate’s street, Old Ladies Lane, as
she called it.

“Until I find Scootchie, or admit that I can’t,” I told him. “Then I plan to take a whole night off.”

Sampson chortled. “You devil, you.”

We hopped out of the car and went to the door. I rang the bell. “No key?” Sampson deadpanned.

Kate flipped on the outdoor light for us. I wondered why she didn’t keep it on all the time. Because she would save five cents
a month if she didn’t use the light? Because the light would attract bugs? Because she was stubborn, and maybe wanted another
shot at Casanova? That was more like it, knowing Kate the way I was starting to. She wanted Casanova as badly as I did.

She came to the door in an old gray sweatshirt, tatered, holey jeans, bare feet with playfully red toenails. Her dark hair
was bobbed at shoulder length, and she looked beautiful. No getting away from that.

“It’s like a damn bughouse out here,” Kate commented as she looked around her porch.

She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I had a thought about the two of us holding each other the night before. Where
was this going? I wondered. Did it have to be going anywhere?

“Hi, John Sampson,” she greeted him with a pumping handshake. “I know a few things about you, ever since you two met when
you were ten. You can fill me in on the rest over a cold beer or two. Tell your side.” She smiled then. It always felt good
to be on the other side of one of her smiles.

“So you’re the famous Kate.” Sampson held on to her hand, and stared into the deep pools of her brown eyes. “I hear you worked
your way through medical school at a truck stop, or some such apocryphal nonsense. Second degree black belt, too. A Nidan.”
He started to smile and bowed respectfully.

Kate grinned at Sampson as she bowed back. “Come in out of the eternal bugs and the infernal heat. Looks like Alex has been
talking behind our backs. We’ll get him for that. Let’s both gang up on him.”

“That’s Kate,” I said to Sampson as I followed him inside. “What do you think?”

He looked back at me. “She likes you for some strange reason. She even likes me, which makes a lot more sense.”

We sat in her kitchen and the talk was easy and comfortable, the way it usually was around her. Sampson and I drank beer,
and Kate had several ice teas. I could tell that Kate and Sampson liked each other fine. There was nothing not to like about
either of them. They were both independent spirits, very smart, generous.