F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (35 page)

           
"The police?"

           
"Right. This mentions
Kelly."

           
With a trembling finger, she dialed
Rob's number at Midtown North. While the phone was ringing, she looked at Ed
and noticed that he seemed strangely tense all of a sudden.

           
Ed thrust his suddenly sweaty palms
into his coat pockets.

           
The
police
! Couldn't he ever come here without the police getting involved?

           
He went to the table and picked up
the electric bill again.

           
And this! Were these twins a magnet
for madness?
He takes over your body and
uses it for his own pleasures
. What kind of craziness was that?

           
Kara spoke a few words into the
phone and then hung up.

           
"Rob's not in, but I left a
message for him to call when he gets back."

           
Thank
God for small favors.

           
He wanted to change the subject.

           
"Speaking of craziness,"
he said, "I was in the Waldorf late last night and I saw someone who
looked exactly like you. Was it you?"

           
"Afraid not. I went to bed
early."

           
"Yeah. I didn't think it was
you. Didn't dress like you. Had this red leather miniskirt on, black
stockings."

           
She stared at him. "What was I…
I mean
she
, doing?"

           
"She was getting into an
elevator with some towel-head."

           
"Towel-head?"

           
"Yeah. You know, a guy with a
turban. Some sort of Indian or Hindu character."

           
He smiled at her but she didn't
smile back. Instead, the color slowly drained from her face.

           
"What's wrong, Kara?"

           
She didn't answer. Instead she ran
into the bedroom. Ed followed at a discreet distance and stood in the doorway.
He watched in amazement as Kara darted about the room like a madwoman, turning
over the two night stands one after the other and searching the spaces beneath.
Next she went to the big dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Her
anguished cry drew him into the room.

           
"Are you okay?"

           
She was down on her knees before the
dresser. She had something red clutched against her chest. She looked up at him
with a look that Ed instantly recognized—the same helpless, tortured look that
he'd seen on her sister's face before she went through the window at the Plaza.

           
"Sweet Jesus!" he said.
"What's wrong?"

           
With tears glistening in her eyes,
she held up something red, something leather. He didn't know what it was. Just
then the phone rang. She dropped the red leather thing and ran into the front
room. He could hear her on the phone, talking to "Rob," asking him to
get over here as soon as he could.

           
It took him a moment but he finally
recognized the red leather thing lying at his feet. It was a miniskirt.

           
Rob stared at the note scrawled on
the back of the Con Ed bill. It was rank insanity. His skin crawled at the
thought of what kind of mind had dreamed this up— and then addressed it to
Kara.

           
"This is scary stuff."

           
"You're telling me!"

           
Kara looked spooked. Her eyes had a
haunted, hunted look as she sat at the table and twisted her hands together. Ed
the Lawyer had scooted off as soon as Rob had showed, all but falling over
himself in his hurry to get out the door, leaving behind some papers for Kara
to sign, saying he'd pick them up some other time.

           
Something about that guy…

           
"But that's not the worst of
it!" Kara said. She held up a leather miniskirt, a pair of black panty
house, and a black ruffled blouse. "Look at this!"

           
After Ed had left, she had told Rob
about her dream, and what Ed had said about spotting her last night with
somebody wearing a turban.

           
"Maybe you missed it when you
cleaned things out the other night," Rob said, not believing it himself.
Oh no, not after his Tuesday night with Kara. How could he?

           
"I didn't miss it, Rob. I threw
out every sleazy thing I found. This was
not
under the dresser when I turned in Monday night!"

           
He could see she was getting more
upset.

           
"Okay, okay. Take it easy. I
was just trying to offer an alternative explanation."

           
Her expression was bleak. "Rob,
what's happening to me?"

           
"I don't know. And I don't know
how to help you. But I'll do anything I can. You know that." He tapped his
finger on the Con Ed bill. "I do know I can do something about this,
though."

           
"What?"

           
"Show it to the guy whose
return address is on the envelope."

           
With Kara along, Rob drove back to
the precinct house. Handling them by the edges, he xeroxed the check, the front
of the envelope, and both sides of the bill. Then he sealed each of the three
in clear plastic evidence envelopes.

           
"I'll get them dusted for
prints as soon as possible. That'll be a futile exercise with the envelope,
what with all the people who've handled it legitimately since it was mailed,
but the bill may yield something useful."

           
Kara only nodded. Her mind seemed
elsewhere.

           
"I want your prints, too."

           
"Why?"

           
"To eliminate them. You handled
the letter. Even if we don't get a single print off it, that note will still be
useful in keeping your sister's case open."

           
"Really?" Some interest
began to show in her eyes. Good.

           
"Sure. The part about how
you'll 'end up like your sister' can be construed as a threat to you, plus it
implies foul play in Kelly's death."

           
"Do you think it's a
threat?"

           
"No. I think it's meant as a
warning. There's a screwed up mind out there that knows something about Kelly's
death—or things it knows something—and has sent you a warning. I don't think he
means you any harm."

           
" 'He'? How do you know it's a
he?"

           
Rob handed her the xerox of the
note.

           
"Doesn't that look like a man's
handwriting?"

           
She nodded. "I guess so."

           
He snapped his fingers. "I
ought to submit this for handwriting analysis. That could be real interesting.
But for the moment, we're going to see how the esteemed Dr. Gates reacts to
this."

           
Kara was watching him closely.

           
"You're really looking forward
to that, aren't you?"

           
Rob grinned, unable to suppress the
gleeful anticipation rising through him.

           
"Are you kidding?" he
said. "I can hardly wait."

           
"Ask the doctor to squeeze us
in between appointments," Rob told the receptionist.

           
Her tone was dubious. "I'll see
what I can do."

           
Rob gave her his best and strongest
tough cop stare. "Do. It's a police matter. Very important." They sat
in the waiting room with one other person, an attractive woman of about
twenty-five. Rob watched her read a magazine and nibble steadily at her already
well-chewed fingernails. When the current appointment exited the consultation
room, Rob nudged Kara and rose to his feet. He headed for the inner room door
without waiting for the receptionist's okay. "Just a minute, sir—"
she began.

           
Rob ignored her. He didn't want to
give Gates time to set himself up. He wanted to catch him off guard and keep
him that way. Maybe the doctor would let something slip.

           
"Dr. Gates," he said,
marching up to the desk and looking down at him, "we have a new
development in the Kelly Wade case. I need to question you about it."

           
"I resent this intrusion,
Detective Harris," he said, appearing properly indignant. "Certainly
this could have waited until after hours."

           
"No, sir, it couldn't." He
pulled the xeroxes from his pocket and unfolded them. He glanced at Kara
standing uncertainly behind him. "Ms. Wade received this today. I need
your input on it immediately."

           
Rob handed the sheets to Gates and
then seated himself in the chair closest to the desk where he could get a
better angle on the doctor's face. He wanted to watch his expression as he
read.

           
Rob had arranged the sheets in a
specific order. First the envelope face, then the check, then the front of the
electric bill, then the reverse side.

           
Gates' brow furrowed as he looked at
the first page. It remained furrowed until he reached the fourth. Then his
eyebrows shot up and he started as if someone had goosed him.

           
"This is incredible!" he
said glancing quickly at Rob and then back down.

           
He glanced once at the first sheet,
then went back to the fourth, shaking his head. Rob saw anger and outrage in
Gates' expression, which he had expected, but he saw something else that
surprised him: a sort of grudging admiration. There was even an instant when
Rob could have sworn that a rueful smile had flitted across the doctor's face.

           
Finally he put the papers down and
leaned back in his chair.

           
"Well!" he said.
"This is quite interesting!"

           
"
Interesting
?" Kara said. "Is that what you call it?"

           
Rob had been concentrating so on
Gates that he had forgotten about Kara. She was still standing behind him.

           
"Yes. Although I suppose it was
quite frightening for you."

           
"You might say that."

           
Kara settled into the other chair
before the desk.

           
"Have any idea who it is?"
Rob said.

           
"I know exactly who she
is."

           
"She?"

           
"Yes. A paranoid schizophrenic.
Delusions of being controlled by another are quite common among individuals
with that diagnosis."

           
"But this patient doesn't say
anything about herself being controlled by you. She wrote to Kara, and she
mentions Kelly."

           
"Yes. But she believes I
control her, as well. It's not uncommon for the paranoid schiz to see their
therapist as a powerful individual with mystical powers to control people,
especially themselves. After all, the purpose of my interaction with them is to
help them change their behavior through therapy and medication. It's not a big
step to interpret that as robbing them of control of their lives. That way they
can blame me for their bizarre behavior. It's quite common, really."

           
It sounded plausible to Rob, but it
wasn't getting him where he wanted to go.

           
"What's her name?" Rob
asked.

           
"You have
chutzpah
, Detective Harris," Gates said with a condescending
smile. "I will give you that."

           
"Does that mean you refuse to
identify her?"

           
"It does. You knew I would
before you asked."

           
"I can get the courts involved
in this."

           
"And I can suffer a memory
lapse."

           
An impasse.

           
"I will find her, Dr. Gates. I
know she must have regular access to you."

           
"Why do you say that?"

           
"She knows about Kelly, she has
Kara's address, and she used your personal mail to send her message."

           
He smiled that irritating smile again.

           
"In that case, detective, I
suggest you put my receptionist at the top of your list."

           
"She already is."

           
They stared at each other until Kara
broke in.

           
"May I change the subject for
just a moment?"

           
Kara knew they didn't have much time
and there was something she simply had to ask Dr. Gates.

           
"Someone said they saw me in
the Waldorf late last night."

           
Dr. Gates offered her a bland
expression.

           
"And?"

           
"I didn't go there—at least as
far as I remember."

           
"Did this person say it was
you, or someone who merely looked like you?"

           
"Looked just like me and
wearing a red leather miniskirt. This afternoon I found a red leather miniskirt
hidden where Kelly—or Ingrid—used to hide her sleazy outfits."

           
"You told me you have been
hiding the apartment key every night. This morning—was it still in the place
where you had hidden it last night?"

           
"Exactly."

           
Dr. Gates leaned back and began
twirling his key ring.

           
"Let us consider this
logically, Miss Wade. If there is only one key to the apartment and it hadn't
been used, then you could not have been in the Waldorf last night. It was
someone who
looked
like you."

           
"What about the
miniskirt?"

           
"Was it the same style as the
ones you say Ingrid had hidden?"

           
"Exactly. Same brand and
everything."

           
"Doesn't it seem rather
unlikely that your other personality, Janine, would have exactly the same taste
in what you term 'sleazy' clothing?" he leaned forward and stared at her.
"Do you see where this is leading?"

           
Obviously he wanted her to draw her
own conclusion, and when she looked at it in this light, there was only one.

           
"Well, it's possible the skirt
got jammed up under the drawer when I cleaned out the space beneath it Monday
night, but it doesn't seem likely."

           
"Does any other explanation fit
the facts as we know them?"

           
"No."

           
"Then we are left with an
unfortunate coincidence and nothing more. Please do not allow yourself to be
upset by something like this."

           
Easy
for you to say
, she thought, yet she did feel some of the tension ease out
of her. Not much, though.

           
"What if Janine knows where I
hide the key?"

           
"Multiple personalities have no
interaction. When one is in command, the others are experiencing a 'black-out,'
just as you experienced over the weekend when Janine took control. I assure
you, she does
not
know where you hide
the key."

           
Kara wasn't completely convinced,
but she had to admit she felt better. Maybe she hadn't been at the Waldorf last
night after all.

           
Dr. Gates rose to his feet.

           
"And now if the two of you will
please take your leave, I can continue with my scheduled appointments.

           
And as for this—" He held up
the xeroxed sheets. "She will not bother you again."

           
"How can you be so sure of
that?" Rob asked.

           
Dr. Gates' smile was almost
sharklike.

           
"Because I am going to have a
long talk with her."

           
"He's lying," Rob said as
soon as they got on the elevator.

           
Kara felt a sudden stab of fear.
"About what? About me at the Waldorf?"

           
"No-no," he said quickly.
"Not that. About the note you got. That's not a woman's handwriting."

           
"I didn't know you were an
expert."

           
"I'm not. But I know someone
who is." When they got to the lobby of the medical arts building, Rob
thumbed through a small address book and then made a call. As she watched him
talk on the phone, she realized that there were two sides to Rob Harris. There
was the young man she had known ten years ago—the gentle lover, the awful
amateur chef, who still existed. Then there was the other side—the cop. She had
seen that side today at the precinct house, a man who knew his job, who had
confidence in his abilities, who had the respect of his colleagues. She'd met
his partner, Augie, she'd watched him banter with the others and talk shop with
them. He was more than comfortable in the detective squad room—he
belonged
there.