Part 38 (2/2)
The detective must be disposed of.
But how?
You must think on this. Carefully.
And most certainly, you cannot let Kara know until the last moment.
10:22 A.M.
Rob picked up his phone on the third ring.
”Harris.”
”Ah, Detective,” said a familiar voice. ”Professor Jensen here. Those handwriting samples you left me this morning?”
The scribbled notes he'd found in the padded cell.
”Yes? Did you-?”
”Definitely the same as the writing on the back of the Con Ed bill.”
”You're sure?”
”No question about it.”
”Great! Thanks a lot.”
Yeah. Thanks a whole whole lot. That meant whoever had been locked in that room had sent Kara the warning. But lot. That meant whoever had been locked in that room had sent Kara the warning. But who who?
This was getting crazier and crazier. He needed something to point away away from the craziness, not from the craziness, not to to it. it.
Rob sat at his puke green desk and brooded, shutting out the sounds of the detective squad room. He glanced up and saw Manetti typing away at his desk.
”Augie! We got anybody Hungarian here?”
”Sure,” Manetti said without looking up. ”Varadi.”
”Varadi? I thought he was Italian.”
Now Manetti looked up. His expression registered his disdain.
”Italian? What, you kiddin'? Mike's got red f.u.c.king hair! And freckles! How many paisans paisans you seen with red f.u.c.king hair and freckles?” you seen with red f.u.c.king hair and freckles?”
”Sorry.”
He went to find Varadi.
Kara had given all the right answers this morning, except as to why she was moving into Gates' Chelsea house. She hadn't even wanted to visit it yesterday, and now she was moving in with Jill.
Something was very wrong.
Rob found Varadi by the water cooler.
”Mike. You speak Hungarian?”
Varadi's expression was guarded. It didn't go with his boyish face and freckles.
”Yeah. A little.”
Rob kept thinking of the phrase Gates had used over and over just before the gun went off.
”What's el merit el merit mean?” mean?”
”El merit? Means 'He's gone.' Why?”
”How about kissinim kissinim or or kissinum kissinum?”
It had been Gates' last word as he fell dead.
”That's 'thank you.' What's up? Going to a Hungarian restaurant? I can recommend-”
”Thanks, Mike.”
Rob hurried back to his desk. He's gone He's gone! and Thank you Thank you! Jesus H. Christ! Why would Gates say stuff like that? If Rob were a mental case, he'd probably say that could mean only one thing: Lazlo Gati had killed himself to escape the control of his brother Gabor.
But Rob wasn't a mental case. He was a New York City cop. And if he wanted to stay a New York City cop, he would keep these thoughts to himself.
Only one thing to do at this juncture: Stick like glue to Kara and Jill. He'd move in with them if he had to. Anything to stay close. Something was going on. He didn't know what-or if he did, he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud-but he was going to find out for sure.
The phone rang again. It was Kara.
”Rob, do you have any free time tomorrow?”
”I'm off. One of my floating days off.”
”Would you mind stopping by the Chelsea house and helping me with a few things? I want to make some changes.”
”Sure! Be glad to! See you around nine?”
He hung up. How about that? She wanted 'to make some changes.' Wasn't that just like a woman in a new house? Maybe all his fears were groundless.
Whatever. He'd be on West Twenty-first Street bright and early tomorrow morning.
9:35 P.M.
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