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.
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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.
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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.