Sibs

by F. Paul Wilson

  That ought to buy us a couple of days.

  "Will do."

  Manetti headed for his desk while Rob sat and brooded at his own. He was faced with unanswerable questions.

  But what would he do when the time ran out? And how could he tell Kara she was at Bannion's place without sending her off the deep end?

  The only way he knew how: Come right out and say it.

  ▼

  1:30 P.M.

  "Maybe I was there, Rob," Kara said.

  She was surprised at how calm she felt. But after all, she had been anticipating this moment all day. Memories of the other night's dream had prepared her for it.

  "You were there, Kara," Rob said. "Fingerprints don't lie."

  She nodded, echoing him. "Fingerprints don't lie."

  "But another thing they don't do is tell us when you were there."

  "It was probably Saturday morning. But just my body was there. I wasn't."

  "You mean… Janine."

  She didn't answer him. They were sitting twelve stories up in the front window of Ellen's co-op, overlooking East 46th Street. They were alone in the living room for the moment. Ellen was out at a luncheon. Jill was in the kitchen helping the cook with a batch of tollhouse cookies. Kara looked down at the snarled traffic below as she debated whether or not to tell Rob what she had come to believe. It was so incredible, so outre, that she scarcely believed it herself. But it explained everything.

  And it was the reason she had skipped her session with Dr. Gates today.

  "I don't know," Rob said slowly. "I don't know if this multiple personality thing is going to carry much weight with a jury if the evidence puts you in Bannion's apartment Friday night or Saturday morning."

  Kara took a deep breath. Might as well go for it.

  "Maybe it's not a multiple personality disorder. Maybe it's Dr. Gates."

  Rob stared at her. "I don't get it."

  "That letter I got—on the back of the electric bill? Maybe it's true. I think it's possible Dr. Gates can take over bodies and use them."

  She explained what she remembered of her dream from Saturday morning—disjointed snatches of monologue as her own voice told Ed Bannion Dr. Gate's story of how he used women's bodies for "fun," of a knife, of blood, and Ed falling to the floor.

  Rob's expression was stricken. "Kara… Kara…"

  "I know how crazy it sounds, but doesn't it explain everything? It explains the note—it's from one of his former 'toys'—and it explains this so-called Ingrid personality in Kelly and this Janine in me. And most of all, it explains why Ed wrote Dr. Gates' name on the floor instead of mine!"

  "Kara, there isn't a jury in the world that will buy that."

  Kara fought the sinking, trapped feeling that threatened to overwhelm her. The apartment walls seemed to be closing in.

  "I'm in big trouble, right?"

  Rob nodded. "Your prints are all over the apartment, you can't account for your whereabouts at the time of the murder, and you've got what might be construed as a motive."

  "Motive? I didn't know he'd… he'd been with Kelly until you told me yesterday!"

  "You know that and I know that, but—"

  "But what will a jury say? Is that it?"

  Rob shrugged and remained silent.

  "Do you think Ed might have thrown Kelly out that window?"

  "He was there."

  Yes. Ed Bannion had been there, and he'd bitten Kelly! He'd also been alone with Kara in Kelly's apartment. She felt cold all over.

  "Then what was he doing hanging around me? Do you think he wanted to kill me?"

  "Maybe. I doubt we'll ever know."

  "And what about the other man they say was with Ed at the Plaza? Is he out there lurking about?"

  Rob reached over and squeezed her hand.

  "I'll be keeping an eye on this place—and it's here I want you to stay. Not that apartment."

  Kara felt her back begin to stiffen at being told where to stay, but she made herself relax. Rob was right.

  "But what if I'm… dangerous after I go to sleep?"

  "Can't you talk to Ellen? Find some way to lock you in a bedroom when you call it a night?"

  Kara thought about that. She could tell Ellen and Jill she'd been sleepwalking.

  "That might work. What are you going to be doing?"

  "I'm going to be all over Gates. He's in this up to his neck. Not like you say—sorry, but there's no way I can buy that. But he's involved. After all, it was his name Bannion wrote on the floor. So that means the good doctor's got some questions to answer. And I'm the guy who's going to be asking."

  The grim determination in Rob's eyes offered her a glimmer of hope.

  Jill came running into the room, a plate in one hand and her ever-present chopsticks in the other.

  "Rob! Rob!" she cried, then caught Kara's sharp look. "Mr. Harris! Look at this!"

  Kara watched his face brighten at the sight of her. He put an arm around her waist and drew her close. With the contact, all the tension seemed to run out of his body.

  "What are they?"

  "Guess!"

  "Spotted rocks."

  She giggled. "No! They're uncooked cookies."

  "Don't look like cookies to me. Cookies are flat. Those are round."

  "They flatten when they cook. But watch this!" She picked up one of the balls of raw cookie dough with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth. "See? I can do it now!"

  "Well, I'll be!" Rob said, hugging her closer. "You did that just like a real Chinese! Can I have one?"

  Jill picked up another with her chopsticks and got it to Rob's mouth.

  "Hmmmm," he said. "Tell the cook it needs more vanilla."

  "Not me!" Jill said. "You tell her!"

  Jill ate another dough ball.

  "You know," Rob told her, "you're so good with those, I think we can take you to a sushi bar."

  "What's that?"

  "That's where they eat raw fish on rice balls."

  Jill made a sour face. "Eeeeuuuuu!"

  Kara watched Rob rock his head back and laugh. She had to tell him about his daughter. And soon. Before he figured it out on his own.

  ▼

  2:55 P.M.

  Rob sat in Gates' waiting room and surveyed some choice photos of the murder scene. The best was a close-up of the writing on the floor. Rob had made sure the photographer had set the lamp so that the light reflected off the still-wet letters. He was anxious to show this to Gates and watch how he reacted to seeing his own name written in blood.

  Kara was innocent and Gates was guilty. He firmly believed that. He had no right to. He hadn't a shred of evidence to back that up. It was a gut feeling.

  Or was he fooling himself? This was why cops were supposed to stay away from cases in which they were emotionally involved. Emotions clouded judgment. Were his feelings for Kara clouding his?

  Rob began to turn the photo over on his lap, then snapped it back to face up. From this angle, the smears to the right of "Gates" had looked like an "equals" sign, followed by a "K."

  The hairs at the back of his neck began to rise. Gates is Kara? Rob stared at it from all angles. Was that what Bannion was trying to say? That Gates was in Kara? Like the note on the electric bill had said? Like Kara had said less than an hour ago?

  The number of people who believed in that crazy idea seemed to be growing. Was it possible that—?

  Rob shook off the thought. No. Couldn't be. Something like that simply wasn't possible. The smeared end of Bannion's scrawl—the "=K" part—had to be a trick of the light. People did a lot of awful things to each other in New York, but they didn't take over each other's bodies.

  When Gates' patient came out, Rob scooted into the consultation room as he had done before, without waiting for the receptionist to warn the doctor.

  "Detective Harris," Gates said in a bored tone. "What brings you back?"

  "Your friend Edward Bannion is dead," Rob said without preamble.

  It h
ad the desired effect. Gates stiffened and blurted:

  "My friend?"

  Any uncertainties Rob had harbored about Gates being involved in Bannion's death evaporated with those two words. He took grim satisfaction from the fact that Gates' first response was not to ask who was Edward Bannion or what the hell Rob was talking about, but to challenge the idea that he was a friend.

  He shoved a particularly gory crime scene photo under the psychiatrist's nose.

  "Sure. Don't you recognize him?"

  Gates took the photo and studied it. The blood and the corpse did not seem to faze him.

  "I've never seen this man before in my life."

  "Really?" Rob handed over the close up of the scrawl. "The last act of his life was to write your name."

  Gates was clearly jolted by the sight of his name written in blood. But Rob had to hand it to him: he recovered quickly.

  "This could mean anything. It doesn't say 'Dr. Gates' and it doesn't say 'Lawrence Gates,' it just says 'Gates.' That could mean anything."

  "Yeah," Rob said softly, staring at him, "but you know and I know that he means you."

  "Are you accusing me of murder?" Gates said.

  "You said it, not me."

  Gates leaned back and smiled. He picked up the key ring from his desk top and began twirling it on his finger.

  "All right, Detective Harris. Let's assume you are accusing me of the murder of a man I have never even heard of until this very moment. Let's play this game through. I have no motive, and no opportunity."

  "Can you account for your whereabouts at the time of the murder?"

  "Which was?"

  "Approximately two-thirty A.M. Sunday morning."

  "I was here, in my office, working on patient charts. And I have the best witness in the world."

  "Really. Who's that?"

  "A member of the city's police department. You."

  Rob felt the surprise break through onto his face.

  Gates's smile broadened.

  "Come now, Detective Harris. Did you really think your pathetic attempts to shadow me went unnoticed? I know you've been watching me. It's been quite amusing, really."

  But I wasn't outside your place all night! Rob thought. He had been at Kara's before the murder and at Bannion's after. Plenty of time for Gates to sneak out and kill Bannion.

  But he wasn't going to tell Gates that. Not yet.

  "If you think you were shadowed before, pal, you wait."

  The smile faded from Gates' face, replaced by a look of cold contempt.

  "Don't look for trouble, detective."

  "I won't be looking for trouble—just looking for you. No matter where you go, you're going to look up and see me. I'll connect you to Bannion, and then you'll be mine. You can file harassment charges, but that won't stop me."

  "Harassment charges? Do you think I'd have to stoop, to that? Against you? Do you really think I couldn't lose you any time I wished? Do you actually believe that someone like you would be any sort of match for a man with my intelligence and knowledge of the human mind? Don't make me laugh!"

  "That's the last thing I want to make you do, pal," Rob said.

  He gathered up his photos. The guy was guilty. Rob could smell it. A grim, cold determination crowded out the anger that had built up during their exchange. He was going to nail Gates, or lose his badge trying. He headed for the door.

  "Be seeing you."

  At last! The punishment is over!

  This was by far the worst ever. So weak I can barely write. Not physically weak, but weak in the spirit, in the mind. This time he brought me to the precipice of madness. I know my grip on sanity has been tenuous at best, but this time nearly undid me. A few hours more of his torture and I fear I'd have been irretrievably mad.

  And I failed! That's the worst part. Got my warning to her but she didn't heed it! Maybe the little fool deserves what's happening to her! Maybe—

  No. That's unfair. It's too much to ask anyone to believe something so far beyond her own capabilities, something without precedent in her own experience or knowledge, something that should be impossible.

  But perhaps I haven't failed completely. He's disturbed about something. Something's gone wrong. Don't know what it is, but he's upset. Detect ripples on the customarily serene surface of his sublime indifference to the world. His supreme confidence in his ability to deal easily with whatever the lesser mortals around him might do appears to have been challenged.

  Am I responsible for that? I pray so.

  Also sense that tonight he will answer that challenge. I hope his opponent is mentally agile. A survivor.

  I'll be cheering for him. I hope the opponent kills the swine! Or maybe I'll get the chance. If I can, I'll do it. I know I can do it now!

  I won't be punished again!

  February 24

  12:10 A.M.

  Gates was playing it cool. He came out of his townhouse and didn't even glance around. Walked up to Seventh and down to his office, just like every other night since Rob had been watching him.

  Which made Rob a little uneasy. Gates was going to pull a stunt tonight. He could smell it in the air. When and how were both up to Gates, which put Rob at a disadvantage. He had to be ready for anything.

  Rob parked on Seventh and settled in for his watch. He locked his car doors and checked to make sure the safety strap on his holster was undone.

  ▼

  12:25 A.M.

  You enter her mind so easily now, like sliding down a smooth, lubricated chute into a warm spring. You settle into a familiar groove within that warmth. It fits you perfectly. But of course, it should. It's custom made to your personal specifications. You lock her consciousness into sleep and take over.

  There's an instant of shock when you open her eyes. You're not in Kelly's apartment. You turn on the light. It's a small room, tastefully and expensively furnished. Is Kara staying over at the Aunt's she talked about? That would seem to be the case.

  Well, that should present just a minor difficulty. If everyone in the apartment is asleep, you can slip out and be on your way.

  You're going to miss this body. It's the best you've ever had. Not that you're going to harm it in any way. That would be a sin. But what you've got planned for it tonight will take it out of circulation indefinitely.

  For you've decided how to take care of the impudent Detective Harris. A suitably ignominious end. Not only will he be stabbed in exactly the same manner as the man whose murder he is investigating, but it will be by the very same hand—the hand of the woman he seems to care so much about.

  The irony of it appeals to you. And as he's dying you will tell him in the voice of his lover who you really are, and what you can do, and why it is impossible to follow you when you do not wish to be followed.

  And then you will laugh in his face.

  After that, Kara Wade will undoubtedly be tried for murder. She may get off on an insanity plea, and you will gladly testify on her behalf about her multiple personality disorder, but even so, she will be institutionalized. She will not be free to come and go as you wish. However, you might look in on her from time to time to see if there are any interesting sexual experiences to be had in a maximum security institution.

  You throw on some clothes and glide to the door. If the apartment is dark and quiet you'll slip to the kitchen for a knife then out into the city. You turn the handle and pull.

  The door won't budge. You rattle it—not too loudly—and pull again. It's locked. You look and see that it's one of those old fashioned doors with a keyhole and a lock bolt. And the key's not there.

  It's got to be somewhere. You turn the room upside down but you can't find it.

  Has Kara had herself locked in her room for the night? You wouldn't put it past her. It's an ancient, simple, and effective solution. And it has you stumped.

  You're tempted to punish her body, damage it, even disfigure it as you abandon her, just to show her who's boss. But that will interfere with your plans
. You need her in good condition. If you stay away for a few days, she'll let down her guard. And then you'll make your move.