"You going to invite me in? I don't think you want what I have to say broadcast out here in a public hallway."

Rudolph had let him in. Shut the door. His heart was thundering.

"What do you want? It's almost two in the morning. Christ."

The smile again. So c.o.c.ksure. Knowing. Knowing. "You killed Roe Tierney and Thomas Hutchinson. You were stalking her for over a year. You have a loving remembrance of Roe right here in this room. Her tongue, I believe." "You killed Roe Tierney and Thomas Hutchinson. You were stalking her for over a year. You have a loving remembrance of Roe right here in this room. Her tongue, I believe."

It was the most dramatic moment in Will Rudolph's life. Someone actually knew who he was. Someone had found him out.

"Don't be frightened. I also know there's no way they'll ever prove prove you committed the murders. You committed perfect crimes. Well, you committed the murders. You committed perfect crimes. Well, near perfect. near perfect. Congratulations." Congratulations."

Acting as well as he could under the circ.u.mstances, Rudolph had laughed in his accuser's face. "You're completely out of your mind. I'd like you to leave now. That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"Yes, it is," the accuser said, "but you've been waiting to hear it all your life... Let me tell you something else you've wanted to hear. I understand understand what you did and why. I've done it myself. I'm a lot like you, Will." what you did and why. I've done it myself. I'm a lot like you, Will."

Rudolph had felt a powerful connection immediately. The first real human connection of his life. Perhaps that was what love was? Did ordinary people feel so much more than he did? Or were they deluding themselves? Creating grandiose romantic fantasies around the mundane exchange of seminal fluids?

He was at his final destination before he knew it. He stopped the car under a towering, old elm and switched off the headlamps. Two black men were standing on the porch of Kate McTiernan's house.

One of them was Alex Cross.

Chapter 91.

AT A little past ten, Sampson and I rode down a dark, winding street on the outskirts of Chapel Hill. It had been a long day in the tank for both of us.

I'd taken Sampson to meet Seth Samuel Taylor earlier that evening. We had also spoken to one of Seth's former teachers, Dr. Louis Freed. I gave Dr. Freed my theory about the "disappearing house"; he agreed to help me with some important research for the investigation on where it might be located.

I hadn't told Sampson too much about Kate McTiernan yet. It was time for them to meet, though. I didn't know exactly what our friendship was about, and neither did Kate. Maybe Sampson could add a few thoughts after he saw her. I was sure he would.

"You working late hours like this every night?" Sampson wanted to know as we eased down Kate's street, Old Ladies Lane, as she called it.

"Until I find Scootchie, or admit that I can't," I told him. "Then I plan to take a whole night off."

Sampson chortled. "You devil, you."

We hopped out of the car and went to the door. I rang the bell. "No key?" Sampson deadpanned.

Kate flipped on the outdoor light for us. I wondered why she didn't keep it on all the time. Because she would save five cents a month if she didn't use the light? Because the light would attract bugs? Because she was stubborn, and maybe wanted another shot at Casanova? That was more like it, knowing Kate the way I was starting to. She wanted Casanova as badly as I did.

She came to the door in an old gray sweatshirt, tatered, holey jeans, bare feet with playfully red toenails. Her dark hair was bobbed at shoulder length, and she looked beautiful. No getting away from that.

"It's like a d.a.m.n bughouse out here," Kate commented as she looked around her porch.

She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I had a thought about the two of us holding each other the night before. Where was this going? I wondered. Did it have to be going anywhere?

"Hi, John Sampson," she greeted him with a pumping handshake. "I know a few things about you, ever since you two met when you were ten. You can fill me in on the rest over a cold beer or two. Tell your side." She smiled then. It always felt good to be on the other side of one of her smiles.

"So you're the famous Kate." Sampson held on to her hand, and stared into the deep pools of her brown eyes. "I hear you worked your way through medical school at a truck stop, or some such apocryphal nonsense. Second degree black belt, too. A Nidan." He started to smile and bowed respectfully.

Kate grinned at Sampson as she bowed back. "Come in out of the eternal bugs and the infernal heat. Looks like Alex has been talking behind our backs. We'll get him for that. Let's both gang up on him."

"That's Kate," I said to Sampson as I followed him inside. "What do you think?"

He looked back at me. "She likes you for some strange reason. She even likes me, which makes a lot more sense."

We sat in her kitchen and the talk was easy and comfortable, the way it usually was around her. Sampson and I drank beer, and Kate had several ice teas. I could tell that Kate and Sampson liked each other fine. There was nothing not to like about either of them. They were both independent spirits, very smart, generous.

I filled her in on our latest day of detective work, our disappointing meeting with Ruskin and Sikes, and she told us about her day at the hospital, even some verbatims from her off-service notes.

"Sounds like you have an eidetic memory to go with the black belt," Sampson said with a raised eyebrow about the size of a boomerang. "No wonder Dr. Alex is so impressed with you."

"You are?" Kate gave me a look. "Well, you never told me me that." that."

"Kate, believe it or not, is not self-centered enough," I told Sampson. "Rare, rare disease in our quarter-century. It's because she doesn't watch much TV. She reads too many books instead."

"It's not polite to a.n.a.lyze your friends in front of your other friends," Kate said to me with a little slap on the arm.

We talked about the case some more. About Dr. Wick Sachs and his head-games. About harems. The masks. The "disappearing" house. My newest theory involving Dr. Louis Freed.

"I was doing some light reading before you got here," Kate told us. "An essay on the male s.e.xual urge, the natural beauty and power of it. It's about modern men trying to distance themselves from their mothers, from the smothering cosmological mom. If proposes that many men want the freedom to a.s.sert their masculine ident.i.ties, but contemporary society continually frustrates that. Comments, gentlemen?"

"Men will be men." Sampson showed his big white teeth. "Good case in point. We're still lions and tigers at heart. Never met a cosmological mom, so I won't comment on that part of your essay."

"What do you think, Alex?" Kate asked me. "Are you a lion or a tiger?"

"I've never liked certain things about most men," I said. "We are are incredibly repressed. Monochromatic because of it. Insecure, defensive. Rudolph and Sachs are a.s.serting their masculinity to the extreme. They refuse to be repressed by society's mores or laws." incredibly repressed. Monochromatic because of it. Insecure, defensive. Rudolph and Sachs are a.s.serting their masculinity to the extreme. They refuse to be repressed by society's mores or laws."

"Ba dum bun." Sampson did a talk-show drumbeat for me.

"They think they're smarter than everyone else," Kate said. "At least Casanova does. He laughs at all of us. He's a nasty son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"And that's why I'm here," Sampson told her, "to catch him, and put him in a cage, and lock the cage on a far mountaintop. And by the way, he'd be stone dead in the cage, anyway."

The time pa.s.sed like that, flashed by real quickly. Finally, it was getting late and we had to leave. I tried to talk Kate into staying at a hotel for the night. We had been over this subject repeatedly, and her answer was always the same.

"Thanks for the concern, but no thanks," she said as she brought us out onto the porch. "I can't let him chase me out of my own house. That will not happen. He comes back, we tangle."

"Alex is right about the hotel," Sampson said to her in the gentle voice he reserves for friends. There it was-a double recommendation from two of the sharpest cops around.

Kate shook her head, and I knew there was no sense in arguing with her anymore. "Absolutely not. I'll be just fine, I promise," she said.

I didn't ask Kate if I could stay, but I wanted to. I didn't know if Kate even wanted me to stay. It was a little complicated with Sampson there. I suppose I could have given him my car to drive back, but it was already after two-thirty. We all needed to get some sleep, anyway. Sampson and I finally left.

"Very nice. nice. Very Very interesting woman. interesting woman. Very Very smart. Not your type," Sampson said as we pulled away from the house. From him, it was a rare, rave review. " smart. Not your type," Sampson said as we pulled away from the house. From him, it was a rare, rave review. "My type," he added. type," he added.

When we reached the end of the block, I turned and looked back at the house. It was cooler now, in the low seventies, and Kate had already turned off the porch light and gone in. She was stubborn, but she was smart. It had gotten her through med school. It had gotten her past the deaths of people she loved. She would be okay; she always had been.

I called Kyle Craig when I got back to the hotel, though. "How's our man Sachs?" I asked him.

"He's just fine. He's all tucked in for the night. Not to worry."

Chapter 92.

AFTER THE good ship Alex and Sampson left, Kate carefully checked and double-checked double-checked all the doors and windows to her apartment. They were securely locked. She had liked Sampson right away. He was huge and scary, nice and scary, sweet and scary. Alex had brought his closest friend to see her, and she liked that. all the doors and windows to her apartment. They were securely locked. She had liked Sampson right away. He was huge and scary, nice and scary, sweet and scary. Alex had brought his closest friend to see her, and she liked that.

As she did her rounds, her safety check of home sweet home, she ruminated about a new life, far away from Chapel Hill, far away from everything terrifying and bad that had happened here. h.e.l.l, I'm living a Hitchc.o.c.k movie, h.e.l.l, I'm living a Hitchc.o.c.k movie, she thought, she thought, if Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k had stayed alive long enough to see and react to the madness and horror of the 1990s. if Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k had stayed alive long enough to see and react to the madness and horror of the 1990s.

Exhausted, she finally climbed into bed. Yuk. Yuk. She felt stale bread or cake crumbs against her legs. She hadn't made the bed that morning. She felt stale bread or cake crumbs against her legs. She hadn't made the bed that morning.

She wasn't accomplishing much lately, and that made her angry, too. She'd been on a proper schedule to complete her intern year this spring. Now she didn't know if she'd make it by the end of summer.

Kate pulled the covers up under her chin-in early June. She was getting soooo soooo buggy. Her anxiety wasn't going to stop while the monster Casanova was on the loose out there, she knew. She thought about killing him. Her first and only violent fantasy. She imagined going to Wick Sachs's house. An eye for an eye. She remembered the appropriate pa.s.sage from the Book of Exodus. Eidetic memory, right. buggy. Her anxiety wasn't going to stop while the monster Casanova was on the loose out there, she knew. She thought about killing him. Her first and only violent fantasy. She imagined going to Wick Sachs's house. An eye for an eye. She remembered the appropriate pa.s.sage from the Book of Exodus. Eidetic memory, right.

She really wished that Alex had stayed, but she didn't want to embarra.s.s him in front of Sampson. She wanted to talk to Alex the way they always did, and she wished he was with her now. She wanted to be in his arms tonight. Maybe more than just in Alex's arms. Maybe she was ready for more. One night at a time. One night at a time.

She wasn't sure what she believed anymore, or if she believed in anything at all. She was praying lately, so maybe she did believe. Rote prayers, but prayers all the same. Our Father who art... Hail Mary full of... Our Father who art... Hail Mary full of... She wondered if a lot of people did the same thing. "I do love the idea of you, G.o.d," she finally whispered. "Please love the idea of me back." She wondered if a lot of people did the same thing. "I do love the idea of you, G.o.d," she finally whispered. "Please love the idea of me back."

She couldn't stop obsessing about Casanova, about Dr. Wick Sachs, about the mysterious, disappearing house of horror, and the poor women still trapped there. But she was so used to the continuous, terrifying nightmares that she finally drifted off to sleep, anyway.

Kate never heard him come into the house.

Chapter 93.

TICK-c.o.c.k. Tick-c.o.c.k. Tick-c.o.c.k.

Tickory, d.i.c.kory, c.o.c.k.

Kate finally heard a noise. A floorboard creaked on the right side of the bedroom.

Tiny, tiny sound... but unmistakable.

That wasn't her imagination, wasn't a dream. She sensed that he was there in her bedroom again.

Let it be a crazy thought; let it be a scene in a nightmare; let this whole past month be a nightmare I'm having.

Oh Jesus, oh G.o.d, no! she thought. she thought.

He was in her room. He'd come back! This was so bad that she couldn't make herself believe it was happening.

Kate held her breath until her chest ached and threatened to cave in. She never really really believed he would come back. believed he would come back.

Now she realized that was a terrible mistake. The worst of her life, but not the last one she was allowed, she hoped.

Who was this extraordinary madman? Did he hate her so much that he would risk everything? Or did he think he loved her so much, the sick, pathetic b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

She sat tensely on the edge of the bed and listened intently for another sound. She was ready to spring at him. There it was again... a tiny creak. a tiny creak. It was coming from the right side of the room. It was coming from the right side of the room.

Finally, she could see the full, dark silhouette of his body. She gulped air greedily and almost gagged.

There he was, G.o.dd.a.m.n him to h.e.l.l.

A powerful, hateful energy, like currents of electricity, surged between them. Their eyes finally met. Even in the darkness his eyes seemed to burn through her. She remembered his eyes so well.

Kate tried to roll away from him, from his first strike.

The blow came fast and hard. He hadn't lost his quickness. Excruciating pain ripped through her shoulder and down her left side.

Karate training kept her moving somehow. Sheer stubbornness. A will to live that was becoming her trademark. She was off the bed. Up on her feet. Ready for him.

"Mistake," she whispered. "Yours, this time."

She saw the outline of a body again. This time against the moonlight streaming in a bedroom window. Fear and loathing gripped Kate. Her heart felt as if it might stop, just pack it in on her.

She fired a powerful kick. Hit him hard in the face and heard the crunch crunch of bone. It was horrifying yet wonderful to hear. of bone. It was horrifying yet wonderful to hear.

A high-pitched voice shrieked out in pain. She'd hurt him!

Now do it again, Kate. She bobbed, moved, kicked hard at the dark, shifting body, striking the stomach area. Again he grunted in pain. She bobbed, moved, kicked hard at the dark, shifting body, striking the stomach area. Again he grunted in pain.

"How do you like it?" Kate screamed at him. "How do you you like it?" like it?"

She had him, and Kate vowed that she wasn't going to lose this time. She was going to capture Casanova all by herself. He was ripe for the catching. First, she was going to hurt him, though.

She punched him again. Short, compact, lightning fast, and powerful. Satisfying beyond anything she could imagine. He was staggering, moaning out loud.

His head snapped back hard. His hair flew out. She wanted him down down on the floor. Maybe unconscious. Then she would turn on a light. Then she just might kick him while he was down. on the floor. Maybe unconscious. Then she would turn on a light. Then she just might kick him while he was down.

"That was a love tap," she told him. "Just a start."

She watched him stumble in front of her. He was going down.