F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02

by Sibs (v2. 1)

  That would ruin everything.

  Regrettably, there is no other viable option.

  There can be no hesitation. Kara is strong and in excellent condition, but she is still a woman and no match for Bannion's extra weight.

  "Didn't you hear me?" Bannion says, a tremor of fear in his voice. He takes another step closer. "I said out!"

  You grip the knife handle. With a single motion you rise and lunge at Bannion. The man's eyes goggle when he sees the blade. He tries to block it with his hands but the blade slips under them. It drives forward with all of Kara's strength behind it, the sharp point piercing the skin at the lower edge of the sternum, slicing up through the diaphragm and into the heart. You wrench the blade left and right to make sure you pierce the myocardium, then you yank it free.

  Bannion's eyes bulge wide, his face blanches with agony and the horror of death as he clutches at his chest and epigastrum. Blood bubbles between his fingers. He makes a gurgling sound in his throat as he drops to his knees, then topples face first with a loud thunk onto the hardwood floor.

  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 breasts. 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 analytical.

  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.

  "Hello? Hello? Is this Ed Bannion? From Paramount? Hello? 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? Hello?"

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

  Who is this? Hello, damn 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.

  Move his finger…

  ▼

  Rob didn't know who the hell 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 flashing. He ran inside. The vestibule door was open, Bannion 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, spacious, 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 prone 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.

  He was about to turn away when he noticed the way the blood was smeared near Bannion's right hand, almost like—

  "Is that writing over there by his hand?" Rob asked and moved to the far side of the corpse.

  Grosso bent for a closer look. "Shit, yeah, I think it is!"

  Rob knelt on the throw rug next to Bannion's body. There were letters traced in blood on the polished wood:

  The rest was smeared.

  " 'Gates?' " said Grosso. "He talking about the Pearly Gates?"

  The sudden burst of excitement in Rob was almost unbearable.

  "I don't think so," he said. "I think he named his killer."

  He rose to his feet and motioned Grosso away.

  "Don't touch a thing! Don't touc
h a goddamn thing until Forensics gets here and photos and prints everything."

  He stepped back and stared at the body. The uneasiness rose up in him again. Bannion was here dead, but where was Kara? Where the hell was Kara?

  ▼

  Kara awoke with a start. There were sounds in the outer room, footsteps, rustlings.

  Someone's here!

  She leaped from the bed. She was weaponless, defenseless. And terrified. As she lifted the phone and prepared to dial 911, she peaked through the open door. The breath clogged in her throat. A man there. In a bomber jacket. He looked like—

  "Rob?"

  He whirled, his features tight with shock at first, then they relaxed with relief.

  "Kara! You're here!"

  "Of course I'm here. I've been sleeping here all week as you well know! But what are you doing here? And how on earth did you get in?"

  He rushed forward and grabbed her shoulders— gently, but there was no escaping his grasp.

  "Where have you been all night?"

  "Right here. Where else?"

  "No. You weren't here. I was here, but you weren't!"

  Something in his eyes was starting to frighten her.

  "Rob, what are you talking about?"

  "I called here a couple of hours ago but got no answer."

  "I talked to you—"

  "No. After that. I got worried so I got Kelly's key from the effects bag and let myself in. The place was empty. I used your phone for I don't know how long." He let go of her shoulders and pointed past her. "Look. The phone book's right where I left it."

  Kara looked and felt terror begin to crawl through her. She hadn't had the phone book out all week. She pushed past Rob and ran for the oven. The key was still there, and the strand of her hair was still wrapped around it. She looked at Rob.

  "Rob, I couldn't have left here. The key's right where I put it."

  She watched him shake his head slowly and knew with sinking certainty that he was telling the truth. He had been here and she had not.

  How? She wanted to scream it. HOW?

  He came over and led her to the couch. He eased her down and then sat next to her. Close.

  "There's something else you should know, Kara." His eyes were locked on hers. "Ed Bannion is dead. He was murdered an hour or so ago."

  "Ed? Oh, God! Ed?"

  For a moment the room spun about her, but she willed it to stop. But she couldn't stop the tears.

  "Poor Ed! What a horrible way to die!"

  She felt Rob stiffen beside her.

  "What way, Kara?"

  "Stabbed to death. How awful!"

  "How did you know he was stabbed?"

  Know? God, how did she know?

  "I… I don't know! Didn't you tell me? Please say you told me!"

  Rob's headshake was slow and deliberate.

  "My God, what's happening to my life, Rob? Everything's going crazy around me and I can't seem to do anything about it! What's happening?"

  He held her gently and said, "I don't know, Kara." He said, "I don't know," over and over.

  February 23

  8:22 A.M.

  "I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR RDO, ROB," AUGIE MANETTI said as he dropped a stack of papers on Rob's desk.

  Sunday was Rob's regular day off, and he had spent most of it with Kara and Jill. He had been itching to stay on the Bannion killing but he felt Kara needed him around until she got used to the idea that someone she knew had been murdered. So he had stayed away from the precinct house all day. Besides, Manetti was his partner and was familiar with the Kelly Wade file. Rob had filled him in on all the details of the Bannion case. Officially, it was out of Midtown North's area, but because Rob had said it tied in with the Wade death the case had been assigned to Midtown North. Rob expected to be called into Mooney's office any minute.

  Yesterday had not been the best of days. Kara had swung between depression and anxious agitation. But he had enjoyed being with Jill. The kid was a joy. Plus having her along had forced Kara to keep it light most of the time.

  Rob dragged them around on a tour of his personal favorite sights in Manhattan, from the New York Yacht Club on 44th Street with its second-story windows that looked like the stems of Spanish galleons, then to the Dakota, then for a ride on the Roosevelt Island cable tramway, and finally to the top of the Chrysler Building. Kara seemed to perk up a little, but whenever Jill was out of earshot, Kara had rambled on about strange dreams, and Gates being there. Rob was beginning to worry about her mental stability.

  Maybe today would be better.

  "What's the beef?" Rob said to Manetti.

  "This Bannion case—it's turning into a pretzel."

  Manetti dropped into the chair next to Rob's desk. He was a compact, well muscled man with jet black hair, fashionably short on top and sides, and long in the back. He and Rob had come up about the same time arid often worked together.

  Rob said, "The unknown prints from the Plaza and the electric bill match Bannion's, right?"

  "Right. That was a damn good guess."

  "A deduction, my dear Augie. A deduction."

  "No shit, Sherlock. But I went you one better. I had the M.E. take a bite impression from Bannion. And guess where it found a perfect match?"

  "Kelly Wade's shoulder!"

  "Riiiiight!"

  Manetti held out a hand, palm up. Rob slapped it.

  "That's better than prints!" Rob said.

  "You know it. The prints don't say when he was there. But the bite match says he was with Kelly Wade at the very end. And I expect the DNA match on the semen to show he was in her as well!"

  Rob wondered how Kara would take that. Not well, he figured.

  "Nice work."

  "Found the murder weapon, too. One of the kitchen knives. Traces of Bannion's blood in the groove between the handle and the blade. No prints on it, though."

  "Still, it sounds like you had yourself a pretty good Sunday, Augie."

  "Up to a point. Then things get screwy. I mean, Bannion writes the name of Kelly's psychiatrist in his own blood on the floor. But nowhere in the place is there a single print that belongs to this Dr. Gates."

  "Damn. Probably wore gloves."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. Because you know whose prints the place is lousy with?"

  "I can hardly wait to hear."

  "The other Wade girl. Kelly's twin. What's her name—Kara?"

  Rob froze. He stared at Manetti. He wasn't kidding. Why would he? He didn't know of Rob's past history with Kara—or of his continuing interest.

  "Christ!" Rob said.

  "My sentiments exactly! See what I mean about screwy? We got a dead guy named Bannion we can link to the death of Kelly Wade, maybe not as her killer, if indeed she was killed, but right there on top of the scene of her death—and right there on top of her, as well, if you know what I mean and I think you do. And we can put Kelly Wade's twin sister at the scene of this Bannion guy's death. But whose name does Bannion write on the floor in his own blood? The psychiatrist who was treating Kelly Wade!"

  "You want another twist in your pretzel?" Rob said, still 'numb from the news that Kara had been in Bannion's apartment.

  "Sure. Why not? Hit me."

  "Dr. Gates is Kara Wade's psychiatrist, too."

  "No shit!" Manetti clapped his hands and laughed. "I'm gonna have to write a book about this one!"

  A book, Rob thought. Kara was writing a book. He hoped she wouldn't have to finish it in jail.

  "So!" Manetti said. "What do we do now? Pick up the twin?"

  Rob stopped himself from shouting No! But it wasn't easy. He forced himself to lean back in the chair and look as if he were seriously considering the suggestion. He had to buy Kara some time. She hadn't killed Bannion. He was sure of that.

  At least he thought he was sure.

  "Not yet. If her prints were on the knife or if Bannion had written her name on the floor, we'd have her all but sentenced. But they're not and he didn't. He wrote 'Gates.' So I'm go
ing to look into Gates. In the meantime, why don't you run a background check on Kara Wade."