The killers introduced themselves as the women filed into the living room at the hideaway. They lined up in front of a long table.
This was to be a special celebration, they had been informed earlier in the day. “The mad dog Casanova has finally been caught,” Casanova told them. “It's all over the news. Turned out that he was some crazed college professor. Who can you trust these days?” The women had been asked to wear serious party clothes, whatever they would choose for a special night out. Gowns with plunging necklines, high-heeled evening shoes with sheer stockings, and perhaps pearls or long earrings. No other jewelry. They were to look “elegant.” “Only seven pretty ladies here now,” Rudolph noted as he and Casanova watched the women enter the living room and form a receiving line.
“You're too picky, you know. The original Casanova was a voracious lover who wasn't choosy at all.” “You have to admit that the seven are extraordinary,” Casanova said to his friend. “My collection is a masterpiece, the best in the world.” “I quite agree with you,” said the Gentleman. “They look like paintings. Shall we begin?” They had agreed to play an old favorite game. “Lucky seven.” At other times it had been “lucky four,” “lucky eleven,” “lucky two.” It was the Gentleman's game, actually. This was his night. Perhaps the final night at the house for the two of them.
They calmly walked down the receiving line. They talked with Melissa Stanfield first. Melissa wore a red silk sheath. Her long blond hair was pinned back on one side. She reminded Casanova of a young Grace Kelly.
“Have you been saving yourself for me?” the Gentleman asked.
Melissa's smile was demure. “I've been saving my heart for someone.” Will Rudolph smiled at the clever answer. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. He let his hand slowly track down her throat an dover her firm breasts. She submitted without showing fear or revulsion. That was one of the rules when the games were played.
“You're very, very good at our little game,” he said. “You're a worthy player, Melissa.” Naomi Cross was next in the line. She had on an ivory cocktail dress.
Very chic. She would have been the belle at some Washington law firm's ball. The scent of her perfume made Casanova feel a little giddy. He had been tempted to declare her off-limits to the Gentleman. He wasn't fond of her uncle, Alex Cross, after all.
“We might come back to visit with Naomi,” the Gentleman said. He lightly kissed her hand. “Enchante.” Rudolph nodded, then stopped at the sixth woman in the receiving line.
He turned his head and checked out the final girl, then his eyes returned to number six.
“You're very special,” he spoke softly, almost shyly. “Extraordinary, actually.” “This is Christa,” Casanova said with a knowing smile.
“Christa is my date for tonight,” the Gentleman exclaimed in an enthusiastic voice. He'd made his choice. Casanova had given him a present to do with as he pleased.
Christa Akers tried to smile. That was the house rule. But she couldn't. That was what the Gentleman especially liked about her: the delicious fear in her eyes.
He was ready to play kiss the girls.
One last time.
Part Five Kiss the Girls
Alex Cross 2 - Kiss the Girls
CHAPTER 102.
THE MORNING after the arrest of Dr. Wick Sachs, Casanova strolled the corridors of the Duke Medical Center. He calmly turned into Kate Mctiernan's private room.
He could go anywhere now. He was free again.
“Hello, my darling. How goes the wars?” he whispered to Kate.
She was all by her lonesome, though there was still a Durham policeman stationed on the floor. Casanova sat on the straight-backed chair beside her bed. He looked at the sad physical wreck that had once been such an outstanding beauty.
He wasn't even angry with Kate anymore. There wasn't much to be angry with now, was there? The lights are still on, he thought as he stared into the vacant brown eyes, but there's nobody home, is there, Katie?
He enjoyed being in her hospital room it got his juices going, turned him on, moved his spirit toward great things. Actually, just sitting beside Kate Mctiernan's bed made him feel at peace.
That was important now. There were decisions to be made.
How, exactly, to handle the situation with Dr. Wick Sachs? Did more under need to be thrown on that fire? Or would that be overkill, and therefore dangerous in itself?
Another tricky decision would have to be made soon. Did he and Rudolph still have to leave the Research Triangle area? He didn't want to this was home but maybe it had to be. And how about Will Rudolph? He had clearly been emotionally disturbed in California. He had been taking Valium, Hal-cion, and Xanax that Casanova knew of. Sooner or later he was going to blow it for both of them, wasn't he? On the other hand, it had been so unbearably lonely when Rudolph was away. He'd felt cut in half.
Casanova heard a noise behind him at the hospital room door. He turned and smiled at the man.
“I was just leaving, Alex,” he said, and got up from the chair. “No change here. What a damn shame.” Alex Cross let Casanova slide by him and out the door.
He fit in anywhere, Casanova thought to himself as he walked away and down the hospital corridor. He was never going to be caught. He had the perfect mask.
Alex Cross 2 - Kiss the Girls
CHAPTER 103.
THERE WAS a fine old upright piano inside the barroom at the Washington Duke Inn. I was there playing Big Joe Turner and Blind Lemon Jefferson tunes between four and five one morning. I played the blues, the blahs, the doldrums, the grumps, the red ass. The hotel maintenance staff sure was impressed.
I was trying to put everything I knew together. I kept circling back to the same big three or four points, my pillars to build the investigation on.
Perfect crimes, both here and in California. The killer's knowledge of crime scenes and police forensics.
Twinning between the monsters. Male bonding as it had never existed.
The disappearing house in the woods. A house had actually disappeared! How could that happen?
Casanova's harem of special women but even more than that, the “rejects.” Dr. Wick Sachs was a college professor with questionable morals and actions. But was he a stone-cold murderer without a conscience? Was he the animal who had imprisoned a dozen or more young women somewhere near Durham and Chapel Hill? Was he a modern-day de Sade?
I didn't think so. I believed, I was almost certain, that the Durham police had arrested the wrong man, and that the real Casanova was out there laughing at all of us. Maybe it was even worse than that. Maybe he was stalking another woman.
Later that morning, I made my usual visit to Kate at Duke Medical Center. She was still deep in a coma, still listed as grave. The Durham police no longer had an officer on guard outside her room.
I sat vigil beside her and tried not to think about the way she had been. I held her hand for an hour and quietly talked to her. Her hand was limp, almost lifeless. I missed Kate so much. She couldn't respond, and that created a gaping, painful hole in my chest.
Finally, I had to leave. I needed to lose myself in my work.
From the hospital, Sampson and I drove to the home of Louis Freed in Chapel Hill. I had asked Dr. Freed to prepare a special map of the Wykagil River area for us.
The seventy-seven-year-old history professor had done his job well.
hoped the map might help Sampson and me find the “disappearing house.” The idea came to me after reading several newspaper accounts of the golden couple murder case. Over twelve years ago, Roe Tierney's body had been found near “an abandoned farm where runaway slaves had once been hidden in large underground cellars. These cellars were like small houses under the earth, some with as many as a dozen rooms or compartments.” Small houses under the earth?