Part 29 (1/2)

You watch Bannion a moment. You've never killed before. It's not pleasant to watch someone die. Why do some personality types find this rewarding? Most unpleasant. But most necessary in this case, unfortunately.

You hurry to the bathroom. There's blood splattered on your hands and your b.r.e.a.s.t.s. You wash it away- there are definite advantages, it seems, to committing murder in the nude. You scrub the knife as well and return it to its teak block.

You take one last look at Bannion. Miraculously, he's still alive, but just barely. Blood pools under him, crimson foam bubbles at his lips.

Such a waste. But at least your secrets are safe.

You return to the living room where you slip back into Kara's sweater and slacks and hurry from the apartment. As you close the door behind you, the phone begins to ring.

Sorry. No one lives here anymore.

It's too late to do anything else tonight. You'll have to go straight back to Kara's apartment. The Friday night revelers will still be out in droves. A cab should be easy to find. Especially in Kara's body.

Rob sat in Kelly's apartment and slammed the phone back onto its cradle. He was having no luck so far with the list of Bannions. He'd called every single one. Yet with the number of no-answers he'd had, he couldn't be sure if he'd already hit the right one.

He tried being a.n.a.lytical.

Wouldn't Ed have given Kara his home phone number?

Rob searched the apartment and found the papers that Ed had left with Kara on Thursday. His card was there, with his home phone number and address written on it. West 70th. It figured.

He called the number and let it ring for a long time. He was about to hang up when the ringing was broken by a clatter, as if the receiver had fallen on the floor.

Then a voice like death came over the wire.

The ringing of the phone drew Ed from the wonderful lethargy that enveloped him. He was cold, colder than he had ever been in his life, but it didn't seem to matter. He was in that floating, dreamy state before sleep when consciousness is still hanging on but everything is fluid, everything is peaceful, everything and anything is possible.

He felt wet. His chest and abdomen were soaked. Probably with blood. Somewhere in his brain a voice- probably the same unheeded voice as before-screamed that he was dying. But that wasn't true. Couldn't be. He'd been stabbed, yes, but there was no pain now. Only cold. And you couldn't die of cold. Not in a heated Coronado apartment. Not with what he laid out a month in mortgage payments.

His outflung arm was only inches from the phone wire where it jacked into the wall. He stretched and reached it. He tugged on the wire and the phone dropped to the floor with a bang that sent Shockwaves vibrating through his skull.

The trimline receiver tumbled to a rest near his head. Ed tried to reach the receiver, to bring it closer to his lips, but his arms wouldn't respond. He tried to shout but the words gurgled in his throat, emerging as a barely intelligible croak.

A tinny voice rattled out of it.

”h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? Is this Ed Bannion? From Paramount? h.e.l.lo? This is the police calling.”

Ed didn't recognize the voice. He tried again to make his voice work.

”Help... dying...”

Why had he said that? He wasn't dying. Just tired. And very cold.

”What? What did you say? Did you say you're dying? h.e.l.lo?”

It sounded a little like Kara's detective friend, Harris. Ed tried to speak again, to rea.s.sure Detective Harris that he was all right, but no words came. He was so tired. Too tired to talk. Maybe later.

Who is this? h.e.l.lo, d.a.m.n it!”

Finally the voice clicked off, replaced by silence. Blessed silence. Now he could get some sleep. So tired. And so cold. If only he could get warm, everything would be perfect...

... perfect...

He roused himself. What if that panicky voice in his head was right? What if he went to sleep and didn't wake up? He had to warn them about Dr. Gates, about what he was doing to Kara, and to others. But how? Even if he could manage to dial the phone, he couldn't talk. He could just barely move his finger. roused himself. What if that panicky voice in his head was right? What if he went to sleep and didn't wake up? He had to warn them about Dr. Gates, about what he was doing to Kara, and to others. But how? Even if he could manage to dial the phone, he couldn't talk. He could just barely move his finger.

Move his finger...

Rob didn't know who the h.e.l.l that had been on the phone, but it was somebody in extremis. He called Doyle and told him to get a radio car over to the address, then headed for his own car.

He hadn't been able to tell if the voice was male or female, but its owner was surely dying. He prayed it wasn't Kara.

If Bannion had harmed her in any way...

He screeched to a halt before Bannion's apartment building. A blue and white radio car was already there, its red lights flas.h.i.+ng. He ran inside. The vestibule door was open, Bannion Bannion was listed on the fifth floor. He found two uniforms waiting outside 5-A. was listed on the fifth floor. He found two uniforms waiting outside 5-A.

”You Harris?” said the older-looking one with the thick black mustache. ”I'm Grosso. You the one who called this in?”

Rob nodded. ”No answer?”

”Nothing.”

”Let's break it in.”

”Ay, I don't know-”

”The guy on the phone said he was dying. That's reason enough. Come on.”

The two uniforms glanced at each other, then shrugged. The three of them hit the door at once. That was enough.

Rob leaped into the apartment with his service revolver drawn, his eyes darting about the neat, s.p.a.cious, well-lit living room.

”Kara! Kara, you here?”

Silence. He checked out the dining room and kitchen, then moved to the bathroom. He heard Grosso's voice call from the bedroom.

”Yo! Harris! Here he is!”

Rob rushed to the bedroom. Grosso was squatting next to a naked p.r.o.ne male body, his index and middle finger on the throat. There was a huge amount of blood on the floor, pooling out from under the corpse.

Rob looked closer. It was Ed Bannion, the man he had been trying to find all night.

”Ain't even cold yet,” Grosso said.

Rob had only met Bannion twice, but seeing him murdered like this got to him. He'd seen hundreds of murder victims but this was the first one he had ever known. He felt queasy. And angry. Now he might never know what went on in Kelly's room at the Plaza that night.