The light changed. Karras gunned the car and shot forward, turning onto the bridge, then looked back through the mirror. Had they seen him? He didn't think so. But what were they doing together? Pure chance? Had it something to do with Regan? with Regan and...?
Forget it! One thing at a time!
He parked at the medical building and went upstairs to Dr. Klein's suite of offices. The doctor was busy, but a nurse handed Karras the EEG and very soon he was standing in a cubicle, studying it, the long narrow band of paper slipping slowly through his fingers.
Klein hurried in, his glance brushing in puzzlement over Karras' dress. "Doctor Karras?"
"Yes. How do you do?"
They shook hands.
"I'm Klein. How's the girl?"
"Progressing."
"Glad to hear it." Karras looked back to the graph and Klein scanned it with him, tracing his finger over patterns of waves. "There, you see? It's very regular. No fluctuations whatsoever."
"Yes, I see." Karras. frowned. "Very curious."
"Curious?"
"Presuming that we're dealing with hysteria."
"Don't get it."
"I suppose it isn't very well known," murmured Karras, pulling paper through his hands in a steady flow, "but a Belgian---Iteka---discovered that hysterics seemed to cause some rather odd fluctuations in the graph, a very minuscule but always identical pattern. I've been looking for it here and I don't find it."
Klein grunted noncommittally. "How about that."
Karras glanced at him. "She was certainly disordered when you ran this graph; is that right?"
"Yes, she was. Yes, I'd say so. She was."
"Well, then, isn't it curious that she tested so perfectly? Even subjects in a normal state of mind can influence their brain waves at least within the normal range, and Regan was disturbed at the time. It would seem there would be some fluctuations. If---"
"Doctor, Mrs. Simmons is getting impatient," a nurse interrupted, cracking open the door.
"Yes, I'm coming," sighed Klein. As the nurse hurried off, he took a step toward the hallway then turned with his hand on the door edge. "Speaking of hysteria," he commented dryly. "Sorry. Got to run."
He closed the door behind him. Karras heard his footsteps heading down the hall; heard the opening of a door; heard, "Well, now, how are we feeling today, Mrs...."
Closing of the door. Karras went back to his study of the graph, finished, then folded it up and banded it. He returned it to the nurse in Reception. Something. It was something he could use with the Bishop as an argument that Regan was not a hysteric and therefore conceivably was possessed. And yet the EEG had posed still another mystery: why no fluctuations? why none at all?
He drove back toward Chris's house, but at a stop sign at the corner of Prospect and Thirty-fifth he froze behind the wheeclass="underline" parked between Karras and the Jesuit residence hall was Kinderman. He was sitting alone behind the wheel with his elbow out the window, looking straight ahead.
Karras took a right before Kinderman could see him in Chris's Jaguar. Quickly he found a space, parked and locked the car. Then he walked around the corner as if heading for the residence hall. Is he watching the house? he worried. The specter of Dennings rose up again to haunt him. Was it possible that Kinderman thought Regan had...?
Easy. Slow down. Take it easy.
He walked up beside the car and leaned his head through the window on the passenger side. "Hello, Lieutenant."
The detective turned quickly and looked surprised. Then beamed. "Father Karras."
Off key, thought Karras. He noticed that his hands were feeling dampish and cold. Play it light! Don't let him know that you're worried! Play it light! "Don't you know you'll get a ticket? Weekdays, no parking between four and six."
"Never mind that,'" wheezed Kinderman. "Im talking to a priest. Every cop in this neighborhood is Catholic or passing."
"How've you been?"
"Speaking plainly, Father Karras, only so-so. Yourself?"
"Can't complain. Did you ever solve that case?"
"Which case?"
"The director."
"Oh, that one." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Don't ask. Listen, what are you doing tonight? Are you busy? I've got passes for the Crest. It's Othello."
"Who's starring?"
"Molly Picon, Desdemona, and Othello, Leo Fuchs. You're happy? This is freebies, Father Marlon Particular! This is William F. Shakespeare! Doesn't matter who's starring, who's not! Now, you're coming?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I'm pretty snowed under."
"I can see. You look terrible, you'll pardon my noticing. You're keeping late hours?"
"I always look terrible."
"Only now more than usual. Come on! Get away for one night! We'll enjoy!"
Karras decided to test; to touch a nerve. "Are you sure that's what's playing?" he asked. His eyes were probing steadily into Kinderman's. "I could have sworn there was a Chris MacNeil film at the Crest."
The detective missed a beat, and then said quickly, "No, I'm certain. Othello. It's Othello."
"What brings you to the neighborhood, incidentally?"
"You! I came only to invite you to the film!"
"Yes, it's easier to drive than to pick up a phone," said Karras softly.
The detective's eyebrows lifted in unconvincing innocence. "Your telephone was busy!" he whispered hoarsely, poising an upraised palm in midair.
The Jesuit stared at him, expressionless.
"What's wrong?" asked Kinderman after a moment.