Part 24 (2/2)

Ed wasn't sure he could answer that. All he knew was that since she'd opened that weird note in front of him today, and since he'd seen that lost, lonely, helpless, frightened look on her face when she found that miniskirt under the dresser, he'd been feeling more protective toward her with every pa.s.sing hour.

Somehow she had become his responsibility. Madness, he knew, but that was the way he felt. She needed someone to watch over her or she might, as that note had said, end up like her sister.

On the sixteenth try, she picked up.

He talked her a little small talk and could sense the tension in her. Poor kid. She was really spooked.

”Is your detective friend coming over?”

”No. He's on a stakeout.”

d.a.m.n! Ed had stayed away for fear of running into that cop again, and the guy was somewhere else for the night. Too bad. It was a little too late now to be popping over there.

He talked her through the forms and had her sign and initial where she was supposed to. When it was all finished, he thought he'd give getting a late date with her the old college try.

”There. That wasn't so hard. I'll have a messenger come by for them in the morning. Or better yet, why don't we get together for a drink tonight and you can give them to me then.”

”Thanks, Ed, but I'm bushed,” she said, and really sounded it. ”This has not been a good day and I'd like to see it over and done with.”

”That note, huh?”

”Right. That note-and the handwriting a.n.a.lysis of it.”

”Really?” This was starting to get exciting. ”What did it show?”

”Nothing conclusive, but it raised some frightening possibilities.”

”Like what?”

She told him about how her psychiatrist had said he knew who had sent it and that it was a woman, but that a handwriting expert had said otherwise, and had not been able to entirely rule out the possibility that Dr. Gates might have written it himself.

Ed was almost dizzy when he wished her a good night and hung up. He sat in his living room, staring out at the glittering skyline.

A lot of strange s.h.i.+t going on in poor Kara Wade's life. And it kept on getting stranger and stranger.

And who was helping her? That cop Harris, who was supposed to be her friend, just seemed to be adding to her worries. He should have been s.h.i.+elding her from the disturbing news about the handwriting. She had enough to worry about.

And her psychiatrist, this Dr. Gates. Some help he was. If he was lying to her about whoever wrote that note, what else was he lying about? She was probably paying him an arm and a leg for help and he was doing nothing for her. That would be bad enough, but was he doing something to to her? her?

The thought brought Ed to his feet. Where had that that idea come from? He began pacing the living room. idea come from? He began pacing the living room.

Kelly and Kara. Both patients of this Dr. Gates. Both with that same heart-rending look-Kelly a couple of weeks ago, Kara today. Something going on here. Something definitely not kosher.

h.e.l.l, he thought with a grin, neither am I neither am I.

He grabbed the phone book and found only one psychiatrist named Gates. His office was on Seventh Avenue. Without giving himself time to reconsider, Ed memorized the address, grabbed a coat, and headed for the street.

Outside, he flagged a cab. Traffic was light. Less than ten minutes later he was standing in front of a smallish office building near the Chelsea-Greenwich Village border. There were lights over the front entry, lights on in the lobby, but no guard. Without thinking, he tried the doors. All locked.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing here?

He backed off about twenty feet and paced back and forth as he stared at the front doors. He'd tried speed a few times in college, and he felt now like he had then-hyper, fidgety, wired, can't-sit-down, can't-stand-still, ready to do or try anything no matter how crazy as long as it involved movement.

What he wanted to do now was crazy. He wanted to get into this Dr. Gates' office and go through his records and see what they had to say about the Wade twins and what kind of plans he had for Kara. Maybe there'd be a clue there that would incriminate Gates. Maybe he was the guy responsible for the haunted look on Kelly's face before she died, and on Kara's face today. Kara had mentioned both Kelly and she being hypnotized by Gates. Maybe he had planted some bizarre post-hypnotic suggestions in both their minds.

He heard footsteps and saw some dapper gent with sandy hair and a mustache wearing a blue cashmere overcoat walk up to one of the front doors. He used a key from the ring he was twirling on his finger to unlock it, and then walked inside.

A key. That's all it took. No guard inside. Just a key and you were in.

An even crazier idea was forming in Ed's mind. He pushed it away. It was insane. But the more he fought it, the more powerful and insistent it became. The excitement of it grew, tingling through his limbs, until it consumed him.

I'm going to break into Dr. Gates' office! Yes! He'd do it! Jesus, yes, he'd do it tomorrow night! If he gave himself longer to think, he'd talk himself out of it.

The idiocy of it made him giddy. He laughed out loud as he went off in search of a cab back home.

Rob hadn't really lied to Kara this afternoon. He was on a stakeout, but it wasn't a murderer's house he'd been watching. It was Dr. Lawrence Gates' Chelsea townhouse.

He'd followed Gates from his office to his home around dinner time-a walk of about seven blocks- and had watched the three stories of lighted windows until about midnight. That was when Gates had stepped out of his front door and begun walking west. Rob nurtured a twinge of excitement as he followed him in his car, expecting him to flag a cab on Seventh. Maybe this wouldn't be a waste of time after all. Maybe he'd learn something about the secret life of Lazlo Gati/Lawrence Gates, M.D.

But Gates simply walked downtown and returned to his office.

At midnight?

What doctor returned to an empty office at this hour?

Rob. parked near the corner and watched, thinking maybe a patient would show up for an emergency consultation. He saw a figure standing in the shadows on the downtown side of the Kramer building. Whoever he was, he gave out a high pitched laugh and walked away.

A nut. Maybe one of Dr. Gates' nuts. Rob kept watching, but no one showed up. He settled back in the seat. He had a feeling this could turn out to be a long night.

Kara sat on the edge of the bed, trembling. She was exhausted, and she had taken the Halcion a few minutes ago, but she didn't see how she was ever going to get to sleep tonight. Not after all that had happened today.

She had thrown the leather mini away. And she had combed the undersides of the night stands and pulled the dresser apart. There were no no other items of sleazy clothing left. If she found something tomorrow, she feared she'd have a breakdown. other items of sleazy clothing left. If she found something tomorrow, she feared she'd have a breakdown.

But strangely enough, the discovery of the skirt today wasn't what was bothering her the most now. It was that note. That crazy, bizarre, frightening note.

He takes over your body while you sleep and uses it for his own pleasures.

She found it especially disquieting in light of the vague memory of Dr. Gates' presence in the erotic dreams she had experienced the past two nights.

What am I thinking?

She had to stop worrying about impossibilities and deal with the real and plausible. Kelly's multiple personality had been real and plausible in light of what Dr. Gates said and what Kara had found hidden around the apartment. A multiple personality disorder would easily explain the happenings at the farm over the weekend. Multiple personalities were an established psychiatric fact; books had been written about them.

<script>