Sibs F Paul Wilson

by Sibs (lit)

  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 assume 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 harassment charges, but that won't stop me."

  "Harassment charges? Do you think I'd have to stoop, to that? Against 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 institutionalized. 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 sexual experiences to be had in a maximum security institution.

  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 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 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 bastard! 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!"

  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."

  Achmed turned to him and grinned.

  "Really? This is true what you say? 'Follow that cab?' Four years I have driven and so many movies have seen and have prayed that someone would say this to me! You are making me so happy!"

  "If you don't shut up and start driving, we'll lose him!"

  With a screech of balding tires, Achmed wheeled through the red light onto Sixth.

  "Have no fear! We shall not be losing him!"

  Rob slid over on the back seat until he was behind Achmed. He crouched down and watched Gates' cab ahead through the space between the driver and the window post.

  The smart way to do this, of course, would have been to have a back-up ready. But Gates was not officially a suspect, so there was no back-up to be had. And even if there were, Rob wouldn't have used it. This was between him and Gates. Anybody else would get in the way.

  Okay, Doc. You've made your move. Let's see where it takes us.

  ▼

  You look through the rear window of the cab and see no one following. A delivery truck, an off-duty cab. Easy to spot a tail at this hour of the morning.

  You face front and settle back in the lumpy seat. You're disappointed. That was too easy. You almost wish for a decent challenge. This is like beating a street urchin at chess.

  Well, no sense in following through with the rest of the route you had planned. No need for it now. You've achieved checkmate on the first move.

  You tell the driver to let you off at the Plaza. He drops you on the Central Park Side. You walk in the bar entrance, past the stairway down to Trader Vic's, and into the Oak Bar with its dark paneling, the ornate white ceiling, the tiny lamps in sconces on the walls and pillars. You notice the sign. "Occupancy by more than 240 persons is dangerous and unlawful." You can't imagine sharing this room with 239 people.

  You take a table by the window where you can see the park, and order a snifter of Remy Martin. You swirl it in the glass and inhale the vapors as the liquid warms, savoring the irony of sitting completely unnoticed in a place where only weeks ago, in a different body, you were notorious.

  You are about to drain your snifter when the waiter sets another on your table.

  "I didn't order this," you say.

  The waiter smiles and nods his head toward the other end of the room.

  "Compliments of the gentlemen at the bar, sir."

  Startled, you scan the bar. Your eyes freeze on a man in a brown leather jacket standing with his foot resting casually on the brass rail. He smiles and hoists a glass of beer in your direction.

  Harris!

  The insolent pup! How did he find you? You were certain you left him gawking on that street corner back in Chelsea.

  Well, never mind that now. He was lucky this time. And you did want a challenge tonight, didn't you?

  Time for the second phase of your plan to elude him.

  You leave enough money for the drink and a tip, then you exit the bar and rush through the small lobby toward the main entrance, the one by the fountain, facing Fifth Avenue. You turn left toward Central Park South. As soon as there's a break in the traffic, you hurry across the street toward the Park.

  ▼

  Rob watched Gates enter Central Park's southeast corner.. He couldn't believe Gates wanted to spend any real time in there. Too risky. He could run into a bunch of wilding kids and be left as hamburger along the side of the path. He guessed from Gates' soft look that he wasn't in great shape, which placed another mark against a long trot through the Park.

  A diversion, I'll bet.

  Rob moved to his left along Central Park South until he was half way between Fifth and Sixth. He pressed himself back into the darkened, canopied doorway of Mickey Mantle's and waited.

  Sure enough, ten minutes later Gates emerged from the park at the head of Sixth Avenue and crossed back to the downtown side of Central Park South. He disappeared as he hurried down Sixth.

  Rob cut through the alley near Mickey Mantle's, emerging on 58th Street, then he ran full tilt up to Sixth and turned downtown. He spotted Gates immediately on the far side of the avenue. Rob hugged the store fronts, keeping to the shadows. His big worry now was Gates grabbing a cab and leaving Rob in the dust.

  Rob watched Gates cross 57th, saw him pause, look around, then duck down the steps of the subway entrance on the far corner.

  Rob stayed in the shadows by his own subway entrance, catercornered from Gates'.

  Good for you, Doc. Never would have thought of you taking the subway.

  Rob allowed himself to relax a little. He had practically grown up on the subway. He knew it inside and out.

  Gates had just entered Rob's realm.

  ▼

  You buy a token and wait near the foot of the steps, watching for Detective Harris to appear. Suddenly there are footsteps descending but it is a tall lanky black man wearing what looks like a soft leather fez. His eyes challenge you as he passes. You look away. When you hear the rumble of an approaching train on the level below, you dash down the stairs to the platforms. You don't care where the train is going because you're only going to take it one stop. The wind gushes from the downtown side. Excellent! You run for it. The doors open at your approach, as if they've been expecting you. You find a car near the middle and step inside. But you don't sit down. Instead, you peer up and down the platform. You're taking no chances this time. There is
no sign of Detective Harris. You watch until the doors close, sealing you in.

  You smile as the train lurches forward. You've done the unexpected. Normally a man of your stature would not stoop to riding the subway. But you thrive on doing the unexpected.

  The first stop is almost immediate. Forty-ninth Street. That's too close to where you got on. You decide to take the train one more stop.

  See? Sometimes you even surprise yourself—you've changed your own plans in mid-play.

  Let Harris try to catch you now.

  ▼

  Rob crouched near the top of the stairway furthest uptown on the platform. He'd come underground via the other entrance. Apparently the doctor was unaware of the multiple stairways to and from street level at each stop.

  Rob watched as Gates scanned the platform. He waited until the doors were closed and the train was in motion, then he made his move. He ran down the steps, darted across the platform, and grabbed one of the safety chains that swung across the space between the last and next-to-last cars. He slipped between the chains and stepped onto the platform between the cars.

  He paused there a moment to catch his breath and get himself together. That move had been a lot easier when he was fifteen.

  He slid the door open and entered the next-to-last car. Leaning forward against the train's momentum, he made his way toward Gates' car, somewhere near the middle. He found the doctor hanging on a strap and staring out the windows at the darkness of the tunnel.

  He walked by and gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

  "Sorry."

  Gates turned, a glare in his eyes. But the anger abruptly turned to shock.

  Rob gave him a polite smile, as if he were just another passenger.

  "Wish they'd learn to drive these things a little smoother," he said, then continued forward to the next car.

  He hid his grin from Gates. That expression on the psychiatrist's face was worth the risk of jumping on a moving subway. Any day.