It sounded plausible to Rob, but it wasn't getting him where he wanted to go.
"What's her name?" Rob asked.
"You have chutzpah, Detective Harris," Gates said with a condescending smile. "I will give you that."
"Does that mean you refuse to identify her?"
"It does. You knew I would before you asked."
"I can get the courts involved in this."
"And I can suffer a memory lapse."
An impasse.
"I will find her, Dr. Gates. I know she must have regular access to you."
"Why do you say that?"
"She knows about Kelly, she has Kara's address, and she used your personal mail to send her message."
He smiled that irritating smile again.
"In that case, detective, I suggest you put my receptionist at the top of your list."
"She already is."
They stared at each other until Kara broke in.
"May I change the subject for just a moment?"
▼
Kara knew they didn't have much time and there was something she simply had to ask Dr. Gates.
"Someone said they saw me in the Waldorf late last night."
Dr. Gates offered her a bland expression.
"And?"
"I didn't go there—at least as far as I remember."
"Did this person say it was you, or someone who merely looked like you?"
"Looked just like me and wearing a red leather miniskirt. This afternoon I found a red leather miniskirt hidden where Kelly—or Ingrid—used to hide her sleazy outfits."
"You told me you have been hiding the apartment key every night. This morning—was it still in the place where you had hidden it last night?"
"Exactly."
Dr. Gates leaned back and began twirling his key ring.
"Let us consider this logically, Miss Wade. If there is only one key to the apartment and it hadn't been used, then you could not have been in the Waldorf last night. It was someone who looked like you."
"What about the miniskirt?"
"Was it the same style as the ones you say Ingrid had hidden?"
"Exactly. Same brand and everything."
"Doesn't it seem rather unlikely that your other personality, Janine, would have exactly the same taste in what you term 'sleazy' clothing?" he leaned forward and stared at her. "Do you see where this is leading?"
Obviously he wanted her to draw her own conclusion, and when she looked at it in this light, there was only one.
"Well, it's possible the skirt got jammed up under the drawer when I cleaned out the space beneath it Monday night, but it doesn't seem likely."
"Does any other explanation fit the facts as we know them?"
"No."
"Then we are left with an unfortunate coincidence and nothing more. Please do not allow yourself to be upset by something like this."
Easy for you to say, she thought, yet she did feel some of the tension ease out of her. Not much, though.
"What if Janine knows where I hide the key?"
"Multiple personalities have no interaction. When one is in command, the others are experiencing a 'black-out,' just as you experienced over the weekend when Janine took control. I assure you, she does not know where you hide the key."
Kara wasn't completely convinced, but she had to admit she felt better. Maybe she hadn't been at the Waldorf last night after all.
Dr. Gates rose to his feet.
"And now if the two of you will please take your leave, I can continue with my scheduled appointments.
And as for this—" He held up the xeroxed sheets. "She will not bother you again."
"How can you be so sure of that?" Rob asked.
Dr. Gates' smile was almost sharklike.
"Because I am going to have a long talk with her."
▼
"He's lying," Rob said as soon as they got on the elevator.
Kara felt a sudden stab of fear. "About what? About me at the Waldorf?"
"No-no," he said quickly. "Not that. About the note you got. That's not a woman's handwriting."
"I didn't know you were an expert."
"I'm not. But I know someone who is." When they got to the lobby of the medical arts building, Rob thumbed through a small address book and then made a call. As she watched him talk on the phone, she realized that there were two sides to Rob Harris. There was the young man she had known ten years ago—the gentle lover, the awful amateur chef, who still existed. Then there was the other side—the cop. She had seen that side today at the precinct house, a man who knew his job, who had confidence in his abilities, who had the respect of his colleagues. She'd met his partner, Augie, she'd watched him banter with the others and talk shop with them. He was more than comfortable in the detective squad room—he belonged there.
She knew with a pang that there was no hope of his ever leaving there willingly.
"Okay," he said, turning away from the phone. "Professor Jensen will see us now. He's a handwriting expert the Department uses from time to time. A Philosophy prof at NYU. Pretty weird duck, but handwriting's his hobby, and he's damned good at it."
New York University's Washington Square campus wasn't far from Dr. Gates' office. Rob drove her past the huge stone arch that marked the square. The lower seven or eight feet of its two supports were darkened with overlapping scrawls of graffiti. It made her think of a giant with dirty feet. Parking was no problem with Rob's Vehicle Identification card. He led her into a modern looking glass and brick building filled with students hanging around between classes. Black seemed to be the 'in' color—clothing, eye make-up, fingernail polish, even hair when it wasn't green or orange. Most of the kids seemed to have invested a lot of time and effort into distorting whatever natural attractiveness they might have possessed.
Professor Jensen's office was on the fifth floor. Younger than Kara had expected, he was maybe forty, very thin, balding in front with long dark hair trailing over the collar of his shirt.
"Ah, yes," he said when Rob walked through the door. "Detective Harris. I remember you now. What have you got for me?"
Kara noticed how he was rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He was really into this handwriting thing.
"Nothing too detailed. Just want to know if the author of this is male or female."
"Ah! A debatable determination. Some authorities say you can't tell."
"No?"
"But I can. Not a hundred percent, of course, but I've got an excellent record. Let's have a look, shall we?"
Rob handed him the xeroxes. Professor Jensen took them to his cluttered desk.
"You don't have the originals?"
"Back at the precinct house. If you need them, I'll get them."
"These should suffice for the moment."
He pulled a magnifying glass from the top drawer, then bent over the sheets.
"The writer is male, I'd say. Little doubt about it."
Rob nudged Kara with his elbow and gave her a self-satisfied I-told-you-so look.
Professor Jensen was staring at the xerox of the envelope.
"Deucedly strange way of sending a letter, wouldn't you say?"
Kara was trying to remember when she had last heard someone say 'deucedly' when Rob reached over and picked out the xerox of the check.
"Any chance they were written by the same guy?"
Jensen brought the magnifying glass into play again. Bewildered, Kara turned to Rob. He held a finger to his lips. Trust me.
"Hard to say," Jensen said. "If I had a longer sample of the second hand…"
Suddenly Kara remembered something and fumbled in her shoulder bag, praying she hadn't lost it. Here it was.
"Will this do? It's a prescription."
Jensen took it and laid it out on the desk in line with the check, the note, and the envelope face. He leaned back, then hovered close, finally he crossed his arms in front of his chest and simply stared.