I felt my heart stop. I uncovered the receiver, breathless. “Edgar?”
The line was dead.
Of course, he was long gone by the time the police arrived. True to form, he had gotten in and out without leaving a trace of himself behind. All he’d left was a paperback Dover Press edition of Eureka: A Prose-Poem by Edgar Allan Poe, which the techs were treating to a microscopic scrutiny. I knew they wouldn’t find anything-nothing useful, anyway. Although he’d left no evidence, we could tell where he had been. Footprints in the carpet. My underwear drawer left open. An indentation on my bedspread.
None of my neighbors had seen him. One reported spotting a nondescript meter reader, so we were guessing Edgar had used that disguise. But he’d only seen the man from a distance, so he had no useful information.
“I don’t get it,” Patrick said. “He’s been so careful before. So calculated. Why would he come here? Why take the risk?”
I thought about that. In the early days, all his actions had seemed well planned. Careful. But he was becoming increasingly impulsive, or at least more varied in his approaches. Acting on emotion. Kidnapping Fara Spencer, essentially for spite, even though she didn’t fit his profile. And now this. How could burglarizing my apartment fit into his fabulous master plan?
Of course, there had been other cases of serial killers who became involved, even obsessed, with one or more of the officers trying to catch them. But just as there was something very different about this killer, there was something unusual about the attention he was paying to me. Like I’d told Tony before, I didn’t get the sense that he was perpetuating a cat-and-mouse game for his own amusement. It was more like he was trying to… win me over. Seduce me. Even this in-your-face power play had an element of seduction about it. I have only your best interests at heart.
“You’re getting round-the-clock security,” Patrick said. “Don’t bother arguing. Should’ve done it after those damn teeth arrived with your name on the package.”
“Does this mean you think-”
“You already know what I think. He’ll only be content with presents and phone messages for so long. He’s working up his nerve. Till he comes after you.”
He could almost pity her as she lay on the table, her eyes closed. If only he could forget all that she had said and done. Forgive. But he could not. That power was no longer his.
At last she awoke, blinking, a dumbfounded expression creasing her brow.
“Am I dead?”
“Of course,” he said, leaning into her face. “Welcome to Hell.”
She gasped. “You.”
“Did you enjoy your nap, Dr. Spencer?”
“But I-I thought-”
“I know. You thought you were dead.”
“I remember the wall. And…” Her words came slowly, as she retrieved them through a dense fog. “It was hard to breathe. And then-hard to think.” Lines formed around her eyes. “Then I don’t remember anything.”
“You passed out,” he explained. “All but asphyxiated. Yes, you were a goner, as the moderns say.” He opened his black bag and began laying out the instruments. “But I rescued you. Am I your hero?”
She tried to struggle but soon realized it was useless. She had regained control of her body, but she was firmly affixed to the table. “Why?”
“What fun would it be simply to kill you? A mere two hours of torment. When you deserve ever so much more.” He held the instruments up before her face. They glistened in the light from a large overhead lamp. “Do you recognize these?”
She squinted. “Are those-surgical instruments?”
“Indeed. Have you ever seen a straight razor?” he asked, swishing a scalpel in the air. “One sometimes reads about them in books-an orangutan did great damage with one in ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue.’ ”
“What-what are you going to do with that?”
“Don’t you know? You’re the doctor.” He smiled. “Ah, but you’re one of those odd television doctors who aren’t actually doctors.”
“I want to know what you’re planning to do!”
“Apologies in advance. I don’t have a hospital gown for you.”
She craned her neck, realizing for the first time that she was naked. “Why have you taken my clothes?”
“Standard pre-op procedure,” he replied.
She closed her eyes tightly. She was trembling, but despite her fear, she kept her voice remarkably strong. “Is this another pathetic attempt to scare me?”
“Alas, no. I have to move on to other responsibilities. This time you’re going to die.”
“Of course you have to say that. To terrorize me.”
“Believe whatever makes you happy, Doctor.”
“Listen to me-you’re a sick man. Ill. You’re-”
He pressed the razor against her throat. “Stop it!”
She quieted. But her eyes continued to peer at him, refusing to look away.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of open heart surgery, as I’m sure was that orangutan,” he said jauntily.
“Please don’t do this.”
“I must admit I have butterflies in my tummy. I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject, mind you. But this is my first attempt.”
“Please.”
“Tell me if I have this correct, Doctor. Are you knowledgeable about cardiopulmonary bypass? Percutaneous transluminal coronary angioplasty? Can you say that three times fast?”
The doctor did not respond.
“I gather the typical heart operation begins with the all-important opening of the chest to expose the heart. Is that right?”
“God, no. Please.”
“And the most common way to do that is to slice down the middle of the chest, dividing the breastbone. Am I going to need a bigger knife?”
“I’m begging you.”
“Then I expose the heart by dividing the protective covering-the pericardium.” He clapped his hands together. “This is going to be delightful.”
“At least put me out. Show me that mercy. I know you have the drugs for it.”
“Ah, but that would spoil the fun. Tell me, Doctor-do you use a pump oxygenator? I’m fascinated by those little machines.”
“This is wrong. You’re not thinking rationally or you wouldn’t want to do this.”
“I’m not sure where to make the first incision. My books don’t show. Do I go through the rib cage? I think I’ll try. I’ll start here. Then here.” He stair-stepped the scalpel down her rib cage, stopping to press in at the valley between each rib. “Then here, then here, then here. And when we’re done, your lungs will be thoroughly punctured. Will your heart stop? Because I know it’s important that the heart stop before we take it out.”