Sibs F Paul Wilson

by Sibs (lit)

  Murder!

  He'd almost dropped his margarita! Even now it sent a sick shudder through him. How could they think it was murder? She went through that window entirely on her own!

  Ed had sat there wanting to retch, wanting to get up and run from the restaurant. He'd seriously considered excusing himself to the men's room and not coming back. But he'd made himself stay calm while his mind raced, and had then come up with an idea. Only time would tell if it was the craftiest or stupidest act of his life.

  His card.

  If he could stay in touch with her, she could keep him abreast of where the police investigation was headed. He had to know. So far it sounded as if he and Phil were safe. Nothing to link either of them to the girl or to the Plaza. But they were hardly home free. And if something new turned up, he wanted to know. If the case was being downgraded to inactive, which he prayed it soon would be, he wanted to know that, too.

  But then there was something else.

  Ed found himself strangely attracted to this Kara Wade. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. He felt oddly close to her. As if… as if he already had a relationship with her. Because of her sister, he felt as if he'd already made love to her.

  Pretty weird.

  He had a feeling that his life was never going to be the same again. Something within him had changed last Tuesday night, as if he'd passed through a flame and had come out a different person on the other side. He was going to have to take charge of things a little more instead of simply letting them happen to him. And he felt protective toward Kara Wade, as if he owed her something.

  Maybe he did. Maybe he owed her a sister.

  An odd thought.

  Whatever happened, he fully intended to see more of Kara Wade.

  ▼

  Kara had left Jill on the couch watching tv while she straightened up some of the mess she had made of the apartment. When she was done, she found Jill sound asleep. The thought of spending the night here in Kelly's apartment gave her a mild case of the creeps, but she didn't have the heart to wake Jill and drag her over to Ellen's. Something ghoulish about sleeping in Kelly's bed, so she curled up beside Jill on the couch. Besides, it wouldn't be so bad staying here if they were together.

  Kara closed her eyes and fought off the intense loneliness that pressed in on her. Even snuggled up close to Jill, she felt so alone.

  Kelly was gone. How would she ever get used to that? It had always been the two of them. When they had come to New York together they used to sing that Paul Williams song, "You and Me Against the World." She remembered how she liked the Helen Reddy version and Kelly preferred Paul Williams' because she liked the bridge that Reddy had left out. And even when Kara had returned to Pennsylvania, leaving Kelly behind, her twin had only been a phone call or less than two hours' drive away. And even if she'd been in Pago Pago, just knowing Kelly was somewhere she could be reached had made all the difference.

  Now Kelly was out of reach forever.

  Kara bit back a sob and hugged Jill tighter.

  You 'n' me, kid. Just you 'n' me.

  February 10

  11:45 A.M.

  Kara arrived early at Dr. Gates' office—on the third floor of a brick and glass office building on Seventh Avenue in Chelsea. She was surprised at the size of his waiting room. So tiny. But then, one psychiatrist seeing one patient an hour wouldn't need much space. It was decorated like a comfortable den in someone's home— warm colors, soft furniture, subdued lighting, and a glowing tropical fish tank built into one of the walls.

  Jill headed immediately for the fish tank. Kara headed for the secretary-receptionist seated at the desk in the corner, typing on a computer keyboard. Directly to the receptionist's right was a heavy wooden door marked "CONSULTATION."

  It hadn't been easy to worm her way into Dr. Gates' appointment book, but through a persistent series of calls starting early this morning during which she refused to take no for an answer, Kara had managed to extract a promise of a few minutes with him on his lunch hour.

  The receptionist told her that the doctor was with his last patient of the morning and would see her when he was through.

  "Would it be all right if I left my daughter out here with you while I talk to Dr. Gates?" Kara said.

  The receptionist's expression was sour when she looked up from her keyboard.

  "We do not provide baby-sitting services here."

  "I realize that," Kara said. "But I'm from out of town and have no one to leave her with. This was a last minute arrangement. My appointment's only for a few minutes. She'll be no trouble, I assure you."

  "Well…" She glanced over to where Jill was quietly counting the fish in the tank. "Since it's only for a few minutes. But don't make a habit of this."

  "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

  Kara seated herself on the sofa and wondered if Kelly used to sit in this same spot before her appointments. The now-familiar wave of sadness washed over her.

  Kelly, Kelly, Kelly… what was torturing you?

  Kara hoped Dr. Gates knew.

  An attractive woman in her mid-twenties came out of the consultation room. Her expression was grim. She did not look at Kara or Jill; instead she stopped at the receptionist's desk. While she arranged her next appointment, Kara called Jill to her side.

  "Okay, Jill," she said, putting an arm around her waist and hugging her close, "I'm going to go into that room and talk to the doctor about your Aunt Kelly."

  "When are we going to Aunt Ellen's?"

  "Right after this. I'll only be a few minutes so I want you to stay here and read or look at the fish."

  "Can't I come?"

  "This is grown-up talk. Boring stuff. Besides, I think Dr. Gates will only want to talk to me. Maybe you can look at these magazines."

  "They look boring."

  "Mostly they are," Kara picked up a copy of the New Yorker and flipped through the pages until she found a cartoon. "But this one has some funny drawings in it. And if you're lucky, you may even find the Addams Family."

  "Really?"

  She took the issue and began flipping through it page by page. Kara guessed it would take her at least half a day to go through all the issues in the waiting room.

  "The doctor will see you now," the receptionist said.

  Kara's stomach constricted as she rose from the chair.

  "I'll be right next door, Jill," she said. "Don't budge."

  "I won't, Mom."

  Kara walked through the door into a much larger office. It was decorated in a comfortable fashion similar to the waiting room. A large picture window took up most of one wall; daylight filtered through the drapes. Rows of books, some so old their spines were cracked and warped, lined the walls. A couple of upholstered chairs, something that looked like a recliner, and an antique mahogany desk that had to be six feet long.

  Where's the couch? she thought.

  A man was sitting at the desk, writing. He glanced up at Kara and froze for an instant, then he shot to his feet.

  "Eeshtenem!"

  "What's wrong?"

  He recovered quickly and motioned her forward.

  "Come in, please," he said. There was a trace of an unidentifiable accent in his voice. "I must apologize for my reaction, but you took me by surprise. This is extraordinary, most extraordinary! The resemblance is incredible!"

  Kara was impressed with Dr. Gates' appearance. He looked to be about fifty, tall, very trim, with soft blue eyes, sandy hair graying at the temples, and a neat, sandy mustache. He was expensively dressed, wearing a camel hair sports coat, dark brown slacks, a yellow shirt and brown knit tie.

  "We were twins."

  "Yes, I know. She mentioned you many times."

  Kara was immediately curious about how Kelly had spoken of her. As if reading her mind, Dr. Gates told her.

  "She had a deep affection for you."

  Kara felt her throat constrict. It was mutual.

  "Please sit down," Dr. Gates said, indicating a
chair in front of his desk. "And let me express how shocked and saddened I was by Kelly's death. It was a terrible blow, and the sensationalized coverage in the press only made it worse. After nearly a year and a half of seeing her as a patient, I'd come to think of her as almost a friend. She deserved far better treatment than she received."

  "Thank you, Doctor Gates. I'm sure then you can appreciate the need that has brought me to you. I need to know what you were treating Kelly for."

  His smile was sardonic. "That seems to be a popular subject these days. The police are after the same information."

  Good, Kara thought. At least they haven't given up.

  "And you must believe me, Ms. Wade," he continued, "That I am sincerely sorry to say that my answer to them will be the same as to you: No comment."

  "She was my sister, Doctor Gates. My twin. This is not idle curiosity on my part. I must know what it was that led Kelly to the Plaza and got her killed."

  "I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you, Miss Wade. It's privileged information."

  "I've never heard of such a thing!"

  "Nevertheless, that is my policy."

  ▼

  Crosstown traffic was a killer, as usual, so Rob Harris arrived at Dr. Gates' office a little later than he had intended. He introduced himself to the receptionist and was relieved to find that the doctor was still in his consultation room.

  Dr. Gates had refused to cooperate over the phone. Rob knew from experience that many doctors automatically refused to divulge medical information on their patients, even when foul play was suspected; some did it as a power play, and others actually thought they were protecting a dead patient's rights. Psychiatrists were the most stubborn. But he had learned over the years that the mere physical presence of a detective flashing his badge in the office often had a tongue-loosening effect on these docs.

  "Please have a seat," the receptionist said. "The doctor should be through in a few minutes."

  Rob glanced at the little girl sitting in the corner flipped through a magazine at breakneck speed, then back at the receptionist.

  "Kind of young for psychotherapy, isn't she?" he whispered.

  The receptionist did not smile.

  "Her mother is with the doctor," she said coldly. "Please be seated."

  "Sure. Right."

  He checked out the tropical fish in the tank. He didn't know what kind they were, but they were bright, beautiful, and graceful. He took a seat on a couch against the far wall and glanced at the little girl a few feet away. She was tearing through that magazine, stopping only to look at the cartoons. A skinny little thing dressed in Oshkosh overalls and a plaid flannel shirt, with long, dark brown hair twisted into a single braid. Cute. Rob had never been crazy about kids—usually they were pests—but this one was pretty well behaved. She seemed oblivious to him. So much the better.

  For some reason, Kara popped into his mind. Rob leaned back on the sofa and sighed. In a way he was glad she was in Pennsylvania and not in the city. That made it a little easier telling her on the phone that the investigation was just spinning its wheels. But damn it, he didn't have diddlyshit to work with. Two unmatchable completes and a partial off a hotel water glass; a description of two white males that could fit one out of every four guys on the Upper West Side. And Forensics saying there was no evidence of foul play. He was glad he hadn't been sitting in front of Kara when he'd told her that.

  This psychiatrist was his last lead. Rob had picked up from one of Kelly's co-workers that she'd been seeing Dr. Gates regularly for a year or more, ever since she went through a nasty break-up with some guy she'd been seeing for awhile. Rob had checked out the guy— married with children, no less—and his whereabouts last Tuesday night were accounted for. So Dr. Gates looked like the last hope for a solid lead. And not a very bright hope.

  Rob picked a magazine off the top of the nearest pile. It was Cosmopolitan. He was about to toss it back when the vast exposed areas of smooth skin on the cover model caught his eye. Next to her left arm was a heading: "10 Ways to Keep Him Satisfied!" That sounded interesting. As he opened the issue, he heard a little voice from the corner.

  "My mother says Cosmo exploits women."

  He looked up. The little girl was still concentrating on her own magazine, rapidly paging through it. Since there was no one else around…

  "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

  "Cosmo exploits women," she said without looking up.

  "Really?"

  "Yep. My mom says."

  She still hadn't looked up.

  "So you said. But what do you think?"

  "I think so, too."

  Oh, great. A feminist munchkin.

  "How come?"

  Finally she looked up. Her eyes were a pale, pale blue, and she was more than cute. Adorable. Rob's heart warmed instantly at the sight of her face.

  "Look at that cleavage," she said, pointing to the cover.

  Rob bit his lip to keep from laughing. Cleavage? What did this little thing know about cleavage?

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm nine."

  "No, you're not. You're thirty-nine, at least. Maybe forty."

  She smiled, showing straight, white teeth that seemed too big for her mouth.

  "I'm nine. And a half." She pointed at the Cosmo cover. "And that's cleavage."

  Rob looked down at the cover.

  "Oh, my!" he said. "You're so right! Look at that cleavage! It's awful."

  He quickly pulled out his pen and began scribbling on the cover.

  "What are you doing?" the girl said, craning her neck to see.

  "Getting rid of the cleavage!"

  She hopped out of her chair and plopped down next to him. Her expression was concerned as she watched him filling in the model's exposed pectoral areas with black ink. She glanced at the receptionist who was busily typing out the dictation coming through her earphones, then back to Rob.

  "You can't do that!" she said in a loud whisper.

  "Of course I can!" He scribbled harder. "I'll teach them to exploit women!" He opened the magazine, then slapped it closed. "Oh, no! Full of cleavage! Cleavage everywhere!"

  The little girl was giggling. Rob found that he loved the sound. He didn't want her to stop. He handed her his pen and began pulling magazines at random from the pile.

  "Here! We'll become cleavage police! Take these! We'll search every one of them!" She was laughing now. He pointed to the cover of another issue of Cosmopolitan. "More cleavage!" He opened a Time and gasped. "Oh, my Lord! This is the worst yet!"

  When she saw what he was pointing to, she began to belly laugh, loud enough to cause the receptionist to look up from her dictation.

  The sound of her laughter broke Rob up. He began laughing along with her.

  "Quick!" he said, handing her the Time. "Do something about that! Cover her up!"

  ▼

  Dr. Lawrence Gates was insufferably arrogant. And Kara thought that was a generous assessment.

  Throughout her carefully reasoned plea for information, he had sat and watched her in the way one of his patients in the waiting room might watch the fish in the tank. Her words beaded up and rolled off him without marring his impenetrable surface.

  Cold. Aloof. Remote. Oblivious to Kara's anguish at being in the dark about what had led her twin to her death on the sidewalk in front of the Plaza Hotel. He just sat there twirling a key ring on his index finger. Two twirls and then he'd grab it; then he'd do it again. Twirl-twirl-stop. Over and over. It was annoying the hell out of Kara, especially since she wasn't getting anywhere.

  "So you see," she said, "I need to explain to myself why Kelly had slutty clothes hidden in her apartment. We had a good upbringing. We were taught to respect ourselves. Who was she hiding those clothes from? Who was she afraid of? The police will want to know too."

  "I'm sorry," he said abruptly, as if a bell had rung. "I sympathize with your plight, but it changes nothing. I do not discuss my patients with anyone—not with
their parents, not with their spouses, not with their siblings, not even with their identical twins. You'll have to go now."

  Kara stared at him in shock. That was it: he had a timer in his head and he had been sitting there waiting for it to go off. Suddenly furious, she went on the offensive.

  " 'Go now'?" she said, keeping her voice low with an effort. "Fine. I'll go. But I'll go from here to a lawyer. And I'll be back with a subpoena for your records, and maybe a summons to boot. The police are talking about the possibility that my sister committed suicide. If that turns out to be true, I'm going to want to know why her psychiatrist didn't spot the risk and do something to head it off. You may find yourself trying to explain that at a malpractice trial, Dr. Gates."

  Kara saw him stiffen. She'd broken through to him. Finally.

  Suddenly she heard a faint noise from the waiting room. Laughter. Jill's. She'd recognize that laugh anywhere.

  "Excuse me for a moment," she said to Gates, and went to the door. She pulled it open, stuck her head through, and froze.

  Rob was there. Oh, God, and he was with Jill.

  Jill looked up and saw her. Her face was flushed from laughing so hard.

  "Mom, look!" she said, holding up the Time magazine on which she'd been scribbling. "I'm drawing clothes on this naked Perdue chicken!"

  Rob looked up, too. His smile vanished, replaced by frank surprise.

  "Kara! What are you doing here?"

  "The same as you are, I imagine," she said, masking her anxiety as she stepped out into the room.

  She sensed movement behind her and saw Rob's eyes focus over her shoulder.

  "Dr. Gates?" he said, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a leather folder. He flipped it open to reveal a gold badge. "I'm Detective Harris, NYPD homicide. I'm investigating the death of Miss Kelly Wade and I'd like—"

  Gates stepped over to the receptionist's desk and fanned through a small stack of letters. He didn't bother looking up as she spoke.

  "Save your breath, detective," he said in a voice that dripped with ennui. "As I told you or one of your underlings on the phone this morning, I do not discuss my patients with anyone. That includes twin sisters and their gendarme boyfriends."