Kiss the Girls

CHAPTER 65.

EIGHT O'CLOCK came and went on the surveillance watch. Maybe Dr. Will Rudolph wasn't the Gentleman Caller. The Los Angeles Times reporter Beth Lieberman could have been wrong. There was no way to ask her about it now.

Kate and I had been gabbing about the Lakers without Magic Johnson and Kareem, about Aaron Neville's latest album, Hillary and Bill Clinton's life together, the merits of Johns Hopkins versus University of North Carolina medical school.

Strange sparks were still flying between us. I'd had some unofficial therapy sessions with Kate Mctiernan and I had hypnotized her once. I also understood that I was afraid of any kind of fire starting between us. What was wrong with me? It was time to start my life again, to get over the loss of my wife, Maria. I thought I had something good with a woman named Jezzie Flanagan, but she had left an emptiness in me that I could barely get over.

Kate and I finally began to cover subjects a little closer to the heart. She asked why I was shying away from relationships (because my wife had died; because my last relationship had imploded; because of my two kids). I asked her why she was wary of meaningful relationships (she was afraid she was going to die of ovarian or breast cancer like her sisters; she was afraid her lovers might die, or leave her that she would keep on losing people).

“We're quite the pair.” I finally shook my head and smiled.

“Maybe we're both terrified of losing someone again,” Kate said. “Maybe it's better to love and lose than be afraid.” Before we could really get into that thorny subject, Dr. Will Rudolph finally reappeared. I looked at the time on the dashboard clock. It was 10:20.

Rudolph was decked out in all-black party clothes. Form-fitting blazer, turtleneck, clinging slacks, snazzy cowboy boots. He got into a white Range Rover this time instead of the BMW sedan. He looked freshly showered. Probably had taken a nap. I envied him that.

“Black on black for the good doctor,” Kate said with a tight smile.

“Dressed to kill?” “Maybe he has a dinner date,” I said. “Now there's a scary idea. He sups with the women, then kills them.” “That could get him inside their apartments at least. What a terrible creep. Two unbelievable creeps on the loose.” I started up our car and we followed Rudolph. I didn't see any FBI coverage, but I was sure they were there.

The Bureau still hadn't brought in the LAPD on this. It was a dangerous game, but not an unusual one for the FBI. They considered themselves the best policemen for any job, and the ultimate authority.

They had decided this was an interstate crime spree, so it was theirs to solve. Somebody at the Bureau had a hard-on for this case.

“Vampires always hunt at night, huh,” Kate said as we headed south through L.A. “That's what this feels like, Alex. Bram Stoker's The Gentleman Caller. A real-life horror story.” I knew what Kate was feeling. I felt it too. “He is a monster. Only he's created himself. So has Casanova. It's another similarity they share. Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, they wrote only about human monsters roaming the earth. Now we have sickos living out their elaborate fantasies. What a country.” “Love it or leave it, bub,” Kate said with a drawl and a wink.

I had done enough surveillance early in my career to get reasonably good at it. I figured I had earned a graduate degree in tracking during the Soneji/Murphy manhunt. So far, I'd noticed that the West Coast FBI was good, too.

Agents Asaro and Cosgrove checked in on the radio as soon as we started to move again. They were in charge of the tracking unit on Will Rudolph. We still didn't know if he was the Gentleman. We had no proof. We couldn't move on Dr. Rudolph yet.

We followed the Range Rover west through Los Angeles. Rudolph finally turned onto Sunset Drive and took it all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway. Then he headed north on U.S. Highway 1. I noticed that he was careful to keep the Range Rover at the speed limit inside L.A. But once he hit the open road, he started to fly.

“Where the heck is he going? My heart's in my throat,” Kate finally admitted.

“We'll be okay. It seems scary chasing him at night,” I said. It did feel as if we were alone with him. Where the hell was he going? Was he hunting? If his pattern held, he was due for another killing soon.

He had to be in heat.

It turned out to be a very long ride. We watched the stars brighten the coastal California night. Six hours later, we were still tacking on Highway 1. The Range Rover finally pulled off at a quaint, wooden signpost that read Big Sun State Park, among other things.

As if to validate that we were really in Big Sun, we passed an antique van with a bumper sticker: VISUALIZE INDUSTRIAL COLLAPSE.

“Visualize Dr. Will Rudolph having a massive stroke,” Kate growled softly.

I checked my watch as we left the main highway. "It's past three.

Getting late for him to get into any serious trouble tonight." I hoped that was the case.

“If there was ever any doubt, this may prove he's a bloodsucking vampire,” Kate muttered. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and had been for most of the long ride. “He's going off to sleep in his favorite coffin.” “Right. That's when we drive a wooden stake through his heart,” I told her. We were both a little groggy. I had taken a pill during the ride. Kate declined. She said she knew too much about drugs and was leery of most of them.

We passed a complex of directional signs: Point Sur, Pfeiffer Beach, Big Sur Lodge, Ventana, the Esalen Institute. Will Rudolph headed in the direction of Big Sur Lodge, Sycamore Canyon, Bottchers Gap Campgrounds.

“I was hoping he would go to Esalen,” Kate quipped. “Learn to meditate, deal with his inner turmoil.” “What in hell is he up to tonight?” I wondered out loud. What were he and Casanova doing? So far it was impossible to figure out. “His hideaway might be up here in the woods, Kate,” I offered a thought.

“Maybe he has a house of horror just like Casanova's.” Twinning, I thought again. It made a lot of sense. They would be providing support systems for each other. Parallel tracks for the two monsters. Where did they meet, though? Did the two of them ever hunt together? I suspected that they had.

The white Range Rover was winding along a hilly and rather rambunctious side road that branched east from the ocean. Ancient, somber redwoods flashed on either side of the narrow ribbon of highway. A pale full moon seemed to be moving directly above the Rover, following it.

I let him get a safe distance ahead so that he was actually out of our sight. The huge fir trees seemed to float past our car on either road shoulder. Dark shadows in real life. A bright yellow sign in the headlights read: Impassable in wet weather.

“He's right there, Alex.” Kate's warning came a little too late. “He's stopped!” The Gentleman's hooded eyes glared at our car as we passed him and the Range Rover.

He had seen us.