Cruel. He's so cruel to me.
I wonder… wonder if it's possible to strike back?
Have to think on that. After all, I've got plenty of time to think. All the time in the world.
February 12
6:45
The day started off with a shock.
Kara opened her eyes in the early morning light and didn't know where she was. Lying on a lumpy sofa in a strange room. With this splitting headache, starting at the temples and radiating forward and backward to her eyes and neck. The room smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and echoing through it was this deep, coarse, terrifying noise. Despite the pain it cost her, she lifted her head and looked around.
A man is sitting in a chair nearby.
Not sitting, actually—sprawled was more like it. Head lolled back, legs splayed, arms akimbo over the sides of the chair. For a moment she thought he was dead, then she realized that he was the source of the awful noise. Snoring. Rattling the windows, as the old saying went.
And then she recognized him.
"Rob?"
What was he doing here in—?
Suddenly she remembered last night. That fellow Ed had been here. She had told them both what Dr. Gates had said about Kelly. Why? Why had she done that? And why had she drunk so much?
Rob bolted upright in his chair, rubbing his face, mumbling sleepily into the dimness.
"It's okay, Kara. I'm here. I'm right here."
Kara gently eased her throbbing, spinning head back down onto the sofa cushion. She felt under the blanket. She was still dressed, her clothes still buttoned and zippered up tight. Rob hadn't touched her. But of course, he wouldn't have. The world's last knight in shining armor had sat up all night watching over her.
Kara groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. What was she going to owe him for this?
▼
"Sure you're not hungry?"
Kara nodded silently and took another tiny sip of her instant coffee.
"Really sure? There's eggs in the fridge. They still look good. I could whip up a cheese omelette before I go. Nothing to it."
Kara held up her hand for him to cease and desist. She had forgotten what a relentlessly cheery morning person Rob was. Now it was all coming back to her. Even when their relationship had been at its closest it was the one thing about him that had annoyed her the most. Apparently he hadn't changed. He'd spent all night in a chair and here he was bouncing around at the crack of dawn offering to make breakfast for her.
"No. Thanks. I'm sure. Please. Go. You'll be late."
"Okay. Let me know when you set things up with Gates. Try to make it after five."
"Okay." She looked up at him. "Thanks, Rob. You didn't have to stay last night, but I appreciate it."
"What are friends for?"
"Are we still friends? After all that's happened?"
He shrugged. "It took me a good while to accept the fact that we just weren't meant to live happily ever after, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. Why? Did you stop caring about me?"
Kara shook her head slowly. "No. That's why I wouldn't speak to you anymore back then." Well, that's part of the reason. "I knew we couldn't work out, but I was afraid I'd change my mind if I saw you again."
His smile was small and sad. "I was hoping you'd say something like that. Maybe we can relax a little more with each other."
I wish I could, Rob. But I can't.
"Sure. That'd be nice. And thanks again for standing guard last night. I owe you."
He grimaced and rotated a kink out of his back.
"Yeah. You do. And you can show your gratitude by letting me cook you dinner before you go."
Despite the pain in her head, she laughed. Memories of the awful concoctions he used to whip up threatened the delicate state of her stomach.
"Oh, Rob—"
"No, I'm serious. I've gotten better. I'm actually pretty good now. Please. It'll mean a lot to me, and you'll enjoy it. I promise."
She looked at him closely. It really did seem to mean a lot to him.
"Okay."
He beamed and stuck out a hand. "It's a deal?"
"Deal," she said and shook his hand.
He waved and headed for the door, pulling a cigarette pack, from his pocket. And whistling, no less.
▼
4:42 P.M.
Rob sat in Doc Winters' tiny, rickety waiting room and glanced at his watch. Getting close to five. He was supposed to meet Kara soon, but first he wanted to talk to Doc Winters. He was one of the department shrinks. He treated the cops when they needed it and he was also available for consultation when they thought they had a psycho on the loose.
But right now Rob wanted to find out what Doc Winters knew about a fellow shrink named Lawrence Gates, M.D.
Rob had taken an instant disliking to Gates yesterday, and now that he knew Gates might be putting Kara under hypnosis this afternoon, he wanted the skinny on him. He'd run a check—no criminal record, no complaints lodged with the State Board of Medical Examiners, not even an outstanding parking ticket. Clean. But so what? Pre-med at NYU, graduate of Flower Fifth Medical School, psychiatric residency at Downstate Medical Center in Brooklyn. Fine. At least he was well trained. But what Rob really wanted to know he couldn't get from an AMA register or a CV. He needed someone who knew the guy.
Doc Winters said he knew him.
Rob could have asked about Gates over the phone but he wanted to be with Winters, wanted to watch him when he answered. These shrinks were like a secret society, never wanting to say anything bad about each other in public. If he could get in front of Doc Winters, Rob knew he could tell if he was hedging.
The door opened and Rob recognized Bobby Kurtzman coming out. He nodded once to Rob and hurried off. Rob shook his head. Poor Kurtzman. He'd shot a kid he'd thought was armed. Turned out he wasn't. The kid recovered and was fine now. Kurtzman would probably never be the same.
Inside, Rob found Doc Winters, a white-haired, heavy-set man of about sixty. He wore a bulging white shirt and gray suit pants. The suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. His office was cramped, and his desk was piled high with papers, journals, correspondence, patient files.
Although Rob had met him a few times before, he introduced himself anyway.
"Sure, Harris. I remember you. You called me about Larry Gates, didn't you?"
"Right."
"Is he in trouble?"
"Should he be?"
"Don't play wise with me, detective."
Rob realized that remark had not been a good choice. He'd forgotten that Doc Winters tended to be a crusty old fart.
"Sorry. I just want a personal opinion of the man. He'll be treating a friend of mine and I just want to know if he's the right man for the job."
"What's your friend's problem?"
"Don't know yet. Might be a multiple personality."
Doc Winters' eyebrows shot up. "Really! Don't come across them too often. But she couldn't be in better hands."
"How'd you know she's a she?"
"Nine out of ten multiple personalities are female. Larry's an expert on them. He was on my service as a resident for a while when I had a post at Downstate. Brilliant guy. From day one he's had a special interest in multiple personalities. He's done a few papers on them. Good stuff."
Doc Winters seemed genuinely enthusiastic about Gates. Rob was encouraged.
"Okay," Rob said, extending his hand. "I guess she's with the right man then. Thanks a lot."
"He's Hungarian, you know," the doc said as Rob turned to leave. "An immigrant. Real name is… let me think." He tapped a pencil against his jaw. "Ah! Gati. Lazlo Gati. Had it changed when he was in pre-med, I believe. Worked real hard to lose his accent. Did a damn good job, too. Said he was an American now and wanted to be accepted as one. Have to admire a man with that kind of determination."