"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."