“It’s taken you a long time to get here,” said a voice. Sardonic, it was low and had whispers at its edge.
Kinderman looked puzzled. The voice seemed familiar. Where had he heard it before? he wondered. “Mister Sunlight?” he said.
The man raised his head and when Kinderman looked at the dark, rugged features he staggered backward a step in shock. “My God!” he gasped. His heart began to race.
The patient’s mouth was cracked in a grin. “It’s a wonderful life,” he leered, “don’t you think?”
* * *
KINDERMAN BLINDLY backed to the door, stumbled, turned around, pressed the buzzer for the nurse and then bolted from the room with a face drained of color. He rushed to Freeman Temple’s office.
“Hey, pal, what’s wrong?” asked Temple, frowning, when Kinderman burst into his office. Seated at his desk, he put aside a late issue of a psychiatric journal and appraised the perspiring, panting detective. “Hey, sit down. You don’t look too good. What’s the matter?”
Kinderman sank down into a chair. He could not speak or even focus his thoughts. The psychiatrist stood up and leaned over him, examining his face and eyes. “You all right?”
He shut his eyes and nodded. “Could you give me some water, please?” he asked. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart. It was still beating quickly.
Temple poured ice water out of a carafe into a plastic cup on his desk. He picked it up and gave it to Kinderman. “Here, drink this.”
“Thank you. Yes.” Kinderman took the cup from his hand. He sipped at the water once, then again, and then quietly waited for his heart to slow down. “Yes, that’s better,” he sighed at last. “Much better.” Soon Kinderman’s breathing slowed to normal and he shifted his gaze to the anxious Temple. “Sunlight,” he said. “I want to look at his file.”
“What for?”
“I want to see it!” the detective shouted.
Startled, the psychiatrist jerked backward. “Yeah, okay, pal. Take it easy. I’ll go get it.” Temple bounded from the office in a step, jostling Atkins as the sergeant came to the door.
“Lieutenant?” said Atkins.
Kinderman looked at him blankly. “Where were you?” he asked him.
“Picking out a wedding ring, Lieutenant.”
“This is good. This is normal. Good, Atkins. Stay near.” Kinderman turned his gaze to a wall. Atkins didn’t know what to make of this, or of what the detective had said. He frowned and walked over to the charge desk where he leaned and watched and waited. He had never seen Kinderman look like this.
Temple returned and placed the file in Kinderman’s hands. The detective started reading it while Temple sat down and watched him. The psychiatrist lit a cigarillo and carefully studied Kinderman’s face. He looked down at the hands that were turning the pages of the file so rapidly. They had a tremor.
Kinderman looked up from the file. “Were you here when this man was brought in?” he asked sharply.
“Yes.”
“Stretch your memory, please, Doctor Temple. What was he wearing?”
“Jesus Christ, that was such a long time ago.”
“Can you remember?”
“No.”
“Were there signs of any injuries? Bruises? Lacerations?”
“That would be in the file,” said Temple.
“It is not in the file! It is not!” The detective slapped the file on the desk with each “not.”
“Hey, take it easy.”
Kinderman stood up. “Have you or any nurse told the man in Cell Twelve about Father Dyer’s murder?”
“I haven’t. Why the hell would we tell him that?”
“Ask the nurses,” Kinderman told him grimly. “Ask them. I want to know the answer by morning.”
Kinderman turned and strode from the room. He walked up to Atkins. “I want you to check with Georgetown University,” he said. “There was a priest there, Father Damien Karras. See if they still have his medical records, and also his dental records as well. Also, call Father Riley. I want him to come over here right now.”
Atkins stared quizzically into Kinderman’s haunted eyes. The detective answered his unspoken question. “Father Karras was someone I knew,” said Kinderman. “Twelve years ago he died. He fell down the Hitchcock Steps to the bottom. I attended his funeral,” he said. “I just saw him. He is here in this ward in a straitjacket.”
12
In the Midnight Mission in downtown Washington, D.C., Karl Vennamun ladled out soup to the derelicts seated at the long communal table. When they thanked him, he said “Bless you” in a warm, low voice. The founder of the mission, Mrs. Tremley, followed him, passing out bread in thick slabs.
While the derelicts ate with trembling hands, the old Vennamun stood behind a small wooden podium and read passages aloud from the Scriptures. Afterwards, while coffee and cake were consumed, he delivered a homily, his eyes aglow with fervor. His voice was rich and his stops and cadences were hypnotic. The room was in his grip. Mrs. Tremley looked around at the faces of the derelicts. One or two of them were dozing, overcome by the food and the warmth of the room, but the others were rapt and their faces glowed. One man wept.
After dinner, Mrs. Tremley sat alone with Vennamun at the end of the empty table. She blew at hot coffee in her mug. Wisps of steam were curling up. She took a sip. Vennamun’s hands were clasped on the table and he stared at them thoughtfully in silence. “Karl, you preach wonderfully,” said Mrs. Tremley. “You have such a great gift.”
Vennamun said nothing.
Mrs. Tremley set her mug down on the table. “You must think again of sharing it with the world,” she said. “They’ve forgotten all about it now, all that terrible tragedy; it’s over. You should start your public ministry again.”
For a time the old Vennamun did not move. When at last he looked up and met Mrs. Tremley’s gaze he said softly, “I’ve been thinking of doing just that.”
FRIDAY, MARCH 18
13
It was said that every man had a double, thought Kinderman, an identical physical counterpart who existed somewhere in the world. Could that be the answer to the mystery? he wondered. He looked down at the gravediggers excavating grimly, digging up the coffin of Damien Karras. The Jesuit psychiatrist had had no brothers, no family member who might account for the startling resemblance between the priest and the man in the hospital disturbed ward. No medical or dental records were available; they’d been discarded after Karras’ death. There was nothing to be done now, thought Kinderman, but this, and he stood at the gravesite with Atkins and Stedman, praying that the body in the coffin was Karras. The alternative was horror that was almost unthinkable, a shifting of the mind from its axis. No. It couldn’t be, thought Kinderman. Impossible. Yet even Father Riley thought Sunlight was Karras.
“You mention light,” the detective pondered. Atkins hadn’t mentioned it, but he listened, buttoning the collar of his leather jacket. It was noon, yet the wind had grown knifing and bitter. Stedman remained intent on the digging. “What we see is only part of the spectrum,” brooded Kinderman, “a tiny slot between the gamma rays and radio waves, a little fraction of the light that there is.” He squinted at the silvery disk of the sun, its edges hard and bright behind a cloud. “So when God said, ‘Let there be light,’ ” he pondered, “it could be that He was really saying, ‘Let there be reality.’ ”
Atkins didn’t know what to say.
“They’re finished,” said Stedman. He looked over at Kinderman. “Shall we open it up?”
“Yes, open it.”
Stedman gave an instruction to the diggers, and they carefully pried back the lid of the coffin. Kinderman, Stedman and Atkins stared. The wind was keening and their coat bottoms flapped.
“Find out who that is,” said Kinderman finally.
It wasn’t Father Karras.
* * *
KINDERMAN AND Atkins went into the disturbed ward. “I want to see the man in Cell Twelve,” said Kinde
rman. He felt like a man in a dream and wasn’t sure who or where he was. He doubted so simple a fact as his breathing.
Nurse Spencer, the charge nurse, checked his I.D. When she met his gaze, her eyes held anxiety and a shadow of something like fear. Kinderman had seen it throughout the staff. A general silence had descended on the hospital. Figures dressed in white moved like phantoms on a ghost ship. “All right,” she said reluctantly. She picked up keys from the desk and started to walk. Kinderman followed her and she was soon unlocking Cell Twelve. Kinderman looked up at the corridor ceiling. As he watched, another light bulb flickered out.
“Go on in.”
Kinderman looked at the nurse.
“Shall I lock it behind you?” she asked him.
“No.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then left. She was wearing new shoes and her thick crepe soles squished loud against the tiles in the silent corridor. For a moment the detective watched her, then he stepped inside the room and closed the door. He looked at the cot. Sunlight was watching him, his face devoid of expression. The dripping in the basin came at regular intervals; each plop was heartbeats apart. Looking into those eyes, the detective felt a dread fluttering up in his chest. He walked to the straightbacked chair against the wall and was acutely aware of the sound of his footsteps. Sunlight followed him with his eyes. His look was ingenuous and blank. Kinderman sat down and met his gaze. For an instant his glance flicked up to the scar above the patient’s right eye, then dropped to that disquieting, motionless stare. Kinderman still could not believe what he was seeing. “Who are you?” he asked. In the small, padded room the sound of his words had a strange distinctness. He almost wondered who had spoken them.
Tommy Sunlight did not answer. He continued to stare.
Plop. Silence. Then another plop.
A sense of panic crept up on the detective. “Who are you?” he repeated.
“I am someone.”
Kinderman’s eyes grew wide. He was startled. Sunlight’s mouth curved into a smile, and in the eyes there was a mocking, malevolent glint.
“Yes, of course you are someone,” Kinderman responded, struggling for a grip on his self-control. “But who? Are you Damien Karras?”
“No.”
“Then who are you? What is your name?”
“Call me ‘Legion,’ for we are many.”
An unreasoning chill passed through Kinderman’s body. He wanted to be out of this room. He couldn’t move. Abruptly Sunlight put his head back and crowed like a rooster; then he neighed like a horse. The sounds were authentic, not at all like imitations, and inwardly Kinderman gasped at the performance.
Sunlight’s chuckle was a thick and bitter syrup cascading. “Yes, I do my imitations rather well, don’t you think? After all, I’ve been taught by a master,” he purred. “And besides, I’ve had so much time to perfect them. Practice, practice! Ah, yes, that’s the key. It’s the secret to the slickness of my butchery, Lieutenant.”
“Why do you call me ‘Lieutenant’?” asked Kinderman.
“Don’t be devious.” The words were a snarl.
“Do you know my name?” asked Kinderman.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Do not rush me,” Sunlight hissed. “I will show you my powers by and by.”
“Your powers?”
“You bore me.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Then tell me.”
“Fool, I’m the Gemini.”
Kinderman paused for a moment. He listened to the dripping of the faucet. At last he said, “Prove it.”
Sunlight put his head back and brayed like a donkey. The detective felt the hair prickling up on his hands. Sunlight looked down and said matter-of-factly, “It’s often good to change the subject now and then, don’t you think?” He sighed and averted his gaze to the floor. “Yes, I’ve had such good times in my life. So much fun.” He shut his eyes and a blissful expression came over his face, as if he were inhaling a delicious fragrance. “Ah, Karen,” he crooned. “Pretty Karen. Little ribbons, yellow ribbons in her hair. It smelled of Houbigant Chantilly. I can almost smell it now.”
Kinderman’s eyebrows rose involuntarily and the blood started draining from his face. Sunlight looked up at him. His eyes read Kinderman’s expression. “Yes, I killed her,” said Sunlight. “After all, it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Of course. A divinity shapes our ends and all that. I picked her up in Sausalito and then later dropped her off at the city dump. At least some of her. Some of her I kept. I’m a rank sentimentalist. It’s a fault, but who is perfect, Lieutenant? In my defense, I kept her breast in my freezer for a time. I’m a saver. Pretty dress she was wearing. A little peasant blouse with pink and white ruffles. I still hear from her occasionally. Screaming. I think the dead should shut up unless there’s something to say.” He looked cross, then put his head back and lowed like a steer. The sound was shatteringly real. He abruptly broke it off and looked back at Kinderman. “Needs work,” he said with a frown. For a time he was silent, studying Kinderman with a motionless, unblinking stare. “Be calm,” he said in a flat, dead voice. “I hear the sound of your terror ticking like a clock.”
Kinderman swallowed and listened to the dripping, unable to wrench away his gaze.
“Yes, I also killed the black boy by the river,” said Sunlight. “That was fun. They’re all fun. Except for the priests. The priests were different. Not my style. I kill at random. That’s the thrill of it. No motive. That’s the fun. But the priests were different. Oh, of course they had a K at the start of their names. Yes, that much I was able to insist upon, finally. We must keep on killing Daddy, must we not? Still and all, the priests were different. Not my style. Not random. I was obliged—well, obliged to settle a score on behalf of—a friend.” He fell silent and continued to stare. Waiting.
“What friend?” asked Kinderman at last.
“You know, a friend over here. The other side.”
“You are on the other side?”
An odd change came over Sunlight. The air of distant mockery disappeared and was replaced by a manner of uneasiness and fear. “Don’t be envious, Lieutenant. There is suffering over here. It isn’t easy. No, not easy. They can sometimes be cruel. Very cruel.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Never mind. I cannot tell you. It’s forbidden.”
Kinderman thought for a time. He leaned forward. “Do you know my name?” he said.
“Your name is Max.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Kinderman.
“If you say so.”
“Why did you think it was Max?”
“I don’t know. You remind me of my brother, I suppose.”
“You have a brother named Max?”
“Someone does.”
Kinderman probed the expressionless eyes. Was there something sardonic in them? Something taunting? Abruptly Sunlight lowed like a steer again. When he’d finished, he looked satisfied. “It’s getting better,” he rumbled. Then he belched.
“What is your brother’s name?” asked Kinderman.
“Keep my brother out of this,” Sunlight growled. The next instant his manner became expansive. “Do you know that you’re talking to an artist?” he asked. “I do special things with my victims sometimes. Things that are creative. But of course they take knowledge and a pride in one’s work. Did you know, for example, that decapitated heads can continue to see for about—oh, possibly twenty seconds. So when I have one that’s gawking, I hold it up so it can see its body. That’s an extra I throw in for no added charge. I must admit it makes me chuckle every time. But why should I have all the fun? I like to share. But of course I got no credit for that in the media. They just wanted to print all the bad things about me. Is that fair?”
Kinderman suddenly said sharply, “Damien!”
“Please don’t shout,” said Sunlig
ht. “There are sick people here. Observe the rules or I shall have you ejected. Incidentally, who’s this Damien you insist that I am?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I sometimes wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“The price of cheese and how Daddy’s getting on. Are they calling these Gemini killings in the papers? It’s important, Lieutenant! You must get them to do that! Dear Daddy’s got to know. That’s the point. That’s my motive. I’m so glad we could have this little chat to convince you.”
“The Gemini is dead,” said Kinderman.
Sunlight froze him with a look of menace. “I’m alive!” he hissed. “I go on! See to it that it’s known, or I will punish you, fat man!”
“And how will you punish me?”
Sunlight’s manner abruptly turned amiable. “Dancing is fun,” he said. “Do you dance?”
“If you’re the Gemini, prove it,” said Kinderman.
“Again? Christ, I’ve given you every fucking proof you could need,” Sunlight rasped. His eyes shone with anger and venom.
“You couldn’t have killed the priests and the boy.”
“I did.”
“The boy’s name was what?”
“It was Kintry, the little black bastard!”
“How could you get out of here to have done that?”
“They let me out,” said Sunlight.
“What?”
“They let me out. They take off my straitjacket, open the door and then send me out to prowl the world. All the doctors and the nurses. They’re all in it with me. Sometimes I bring them back pizza or a copy of the Sunday Washington Post. Other times, they just ask me to sing. I sing well.” He put back his head and began to sing, with flawless pitch and in a high falsetto, “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.”
Sunlight finished and grinned at the detective. “Did you like that? I think I’m pretty good. Don’t you think? I’m multifaceted, as they say. Life is fun. It’s a wonderful life, in fact. For some. Too bad about poor Father Dyer.”
Kinderman stared.
“You know I killed him,” Sunlight said quietly. “An interesting problem. But it worked. First a bit of the old succinylcholine to permit me to work without annoying distractions; then a three-foot catheter threaded directly into the inferior vena cava—or, in fact, the superior vena cava. It’s a matter of taste, don’t you think? Then the tube moves through the vein from the crease of the arm, and then into the vein that leads into the heart. Then you hold up the legs and squeeze blood manually from the arms and from the legs. It isn’t perfect; there’s a little blood left in the body, I’m afraid, but regardless, the total effect is astonishing, and isn’t that what really counts in the end?”
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