Kiss the Girls

CHAPTER 73.

UNFORTUNATELY, the California night was still young and probably extremely dangerous for everyone involved. When we arrived at Rudolph's penthouse apartment at the Beverly Comstock, the LAPD was everywhere. So was the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was police bedlam.

We could see the flashing crimson and blue emergency lights from several blocks away. The local police were justifiably angry for being kept out of the chase by the FBI. It was a very nasty, very political, very sensitive mess. This wasn't the first time the FBI had been high-handed with a local police agency. It had happened to me back in Washington. Plenty of times.

The Los Angeles press posse was there, too, and in full force.

Newspaper, local TV, radio, even a few film producers were on the scene. I wasn't happy that many of the reporters knew Kate and me by sight.

They called out to us as we hurried through police lines and barricades. “Kate, give us a few minutes.” “Give us a break!” “Dr. Cross, is Rudolph the Gentleman Caller?” “What went wrong up in Big Sur?” “Is this the killer's apartment?” “No comment right now,” I said, trying to keep my head down, eyes down.

“From either one of us,” Kate added.

The police and FBI let us inside the Gentleman Caller's apartment.

Technical people were busy in every room of the expensive-looking penthouse. Somehow, the Los Angeles detectives seemed smarter, slicker, richer than cops in other cities.

The rooms were sparsely decorated, almost as if no one lived there. The furniture was mostly leather but with lots of chrome and marble touches. All angles no curves. The art on the wall was modern and vaguely depressing. Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko lookalikes that sort of thing. It looked like a museum but one with a lot of mirrors and shiny surfaces.

There were several interesting touches, possible clues about the Gentleman Caller.

I noted everything. Recording. Remembering.

His dining-room hutch held sterling silver, bone china, real stoneware, expensive linen napkins. The Gentleman knew how to set his table.

On top of his desk were formal writing paper and envelopes with elegant silver trim. Always the Gentleman.

A copy of Hugh Johnson's Pocket Encyclopedia of Wine was sitting out on the kitchen table.

Among his dozen expensive suits were two tuxedos. The suit closet was small, narrow, and oh-so-neat. It was less a closet than a shrine for his clothes.

Our strange, strange Gentleman.

I came over to Kate after an hour or so of touring the Gentleman's place. I had read the local detectives' reports. I'd talked to most of the techs, but so far they had nothing. That didn't seem possible to any of us. The newest laser equipment was being brought from downtown Los Angeles. Rudolph had to have left clues somewhere. But he hadn't! So far, that was his closest parallel to Casanova.

“How are you doing?” I asked Kate. “I'm afraid I've been lost in my own world for the last hour.” We were at a window overlooking Wilshire Boulevard and also the Los Angeles Country Club. Lots of shimmering car and building lights surrounding an eighteen-hole expanse of darkness. A disturbing Calvin Klein billboard was brightly lit up down on the street. It showed a naked model on a couch. She looked to be about fourteen. Obsession the ad proclaimed. For men.

“I've got my second or third wind,” Kate said. “AH the world's a hideous nightmare suddenly, Alex. Have they found anything at all?” 1 shook my head as I looked at the two of us in the dark, reflective window. “It's maddening. Rudolph commits ' crimes,” too. The techies might eventually match fiber from his clothes to one or more of the crime scenes, but Rudolph is unbelievably careful. I think he has a knowledge of forensic evidence."

“There's enough written about it these days, isn't there? Most doctors are pretty good at absorbing technical information, Alex.” I nodded at the truth of her statement. I'd thought the same thing.

Kate had the makings of a detective. She looked tired. I wondered if I looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Don't even say it.” I dialed up a smile. “I'm not going to a hospital now. I think we're done here for the night, though. We lost him, goddammit, we lost them both.”