Part 7 (1/2)

Chapter 24.

I ALMOST went back to see Mary Ellen Klouk again, but I changed my mind and returned to the Was.h.i.+ngton Duke Inn. A couple of messages were waiting for me. ALMOST went back to see Mary Ellen Klouk again, but I changed my mind and returned to the Was.h.i.+ngton Duke Inn. A couple of messages were waiting for me.

The first was from a friend in the Was.h.i.+ngton PD. He was processing information I needed for a meaningful profile on Casanova. I'd brought a laptop with me and I hoped I would be in business soon.

A reporter by the name of Mike Hart had called four times. I recognized his name, and I knew his newspaper-a tabloid out of Florida called the National Star. National Star. The reporter's nickname was No-Heart's Hart. I didn't return No-Heart's calls. I'd been featured on the front page of the The reporter's nickname was No-Heart's Hart. I didn't return No-Heart's calls. I'd been featured on the front page of the Star Star once, and once was enough for this lifetime. once, and once was enough for this lifetime.

Detective Nick Ruskin had finally returned one of my calls. He left a short message. Nothing new on our end. Will let you know. Nothing new on our end. Will let you know. I found that hard to believe. I didn't trust Detective Ruskin or his faithful sidekick Davey Sikes. I found that hard to believe. I didn't trust Detective Ruskin or his faithful sidekick Davey Sikes.

I drifted off to a restless sleep in a cozy armchair in my room and had the most vivid, nightmarish dreams. A monster right out of an Edvard Munch painting was chasing Naomi. I was powerless to help her; all I could do was watch the macabre scene in horror. Not much need for a trained psychotherapist to interpret that one.

I woke up sensing that someone was in the hotel room with me.

I quietly placed my hand on the b.u.t.t of my revolver and stayed very still. My heart was pounding. How could someone have gotten into the room?

I stood up slowly, but stayed low in a shooting crouch. I peered around as best I could in the semidarkness.

The chintz window drapes weren't completely drawn, so there was enough light from outside for me to make out shapes. Shadows of tree leaves danced on the hotel room wall. Nothing else seemed to be moving.

I checked the bathroom, Glock pistol first. Then the closets. I began to feel a little silly stalking the hotel room with my gun drawn, but I had definitely heard a noise!

I finally spotted a piece of paper under the door, but I waited a few seconds before I flipped on the light. Just to be sure.

A black-and-white photograph was staring up at me. Instant a.s.sociations and connections jumped to mind. It was a colonial British postcard, probably from the early 1900s. At that time the postcards had been collected by Westerners as pseudoart, but mostly as soft p.o.r.nography. They had been a racy turn-on for male collectors in the early part of the century.

I bent down to get a better look at the old-fas.h.i.+oned photo.

The card showed an odalisque smoking a Turkish cigarette, in a startling acrobatic posture. The woman was dark, young, and beautiful; probably in her mid-teens. She was naked to the waist, and her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s hung upside down in the posed photograph.

I flipped the card over with a pencil.

There was a printed caption near where a stamp could be placed: Odalisques with great beauty and high intelligence were carefully trained to be concubines. They learned to dance quite beautifully, to play musical instruments, and to write exquisitely lyrical poetry. They were the most valuable part of the harem, perhaps the emperor's greatest treasure. Odalisques with great beauty and high intelligence were carefully trained to be concubines. They learned to dance quite beautifully, to play musical instruments, and to write exquisitely lyrical poetry. They were the most valuable part of the harem, perhaps the emperor's greatest treasure.

The caption was signed in ink with a printed name. Giovanni Giacomo Casanova de Seignalt. Giovanni Giacomo Casanova de Seignalt.

He knew that I was here in Durham. He knew who I was.

Casanova had left a calling card.

Chapter 25.

I'M ALIVE.

Kate McTiernan slowly forced open her eyes inside a dimly lit room... somewhere. somewhere.

For a couple of blinks of her eyes, she believed she was in a hotel that she couldn't for the life of her remember checking into. A really weird hotel in an even weirder Jim Jarmusch art movie. It didn't matter, though. At least she wasn't dead.

Suddenly, she remembered being shot point-blank in the chest. She remembered the intruder. Tall... long hair... gentle, conversational voice... sixth-degree animal. sixth-degree animal.

She tried to get up, but thought better of it immediately. ”Whoa there,” she said out loud. Her throat was dry, and her voice sounded raspy as it echoed unpleasantly inside her head. Her tongue felt as if it needed a shave.

I'm in h.e.l.l. In a circle from Dante's Inferno, with a very low number, she thought, and she began to s.h.i.+ver. Everything about the moment was terrifying, but it was so horrible, and so unexpected, she couldn't orient herself to it. she thought, and she began to s.h.i.+ver. Everything about the moment was terrifying, but it was so horrible, and so unexpected, she couldn't orient herself to it.

Her joints were stiff and painful; she ached all over. She doubted that she could press a hundred pounds right now. Her head felt huge, bloated like aging fruit, and it hurt, but she could vividly remember the attacker. He was tall, maybe six two, youngish, extremely powerful, articulate. The images were hazy, but she was absolutely certain they were true.

She remembered something else about the monstrous attack in her apartment. He'd used a stun gun, or something like it, to immobilize her. He'd also used chloroform, or maybe it was halothane. That could account for her bruising headache.

The lights had purposely been left on in the room. She noticed they were coming from modern-looking dimmers built into the ceiling. The ceiling was low, possibly under seven feet.

The room looked as if it had recently been built, or remodeled. It was actually decorated tastefully, the way she might have done her own apartment if she had the money and time.... A real bra.s.s bed. Antique white dresser with bra.s.s handles. A dressing table with a silver brush, comb, mirror. There were colorful scarves tied on the bedposts, just the way she did them at home. That struck her as strange. Very odd.

There were no windows in the room. The only way out appeared to be through a heavy wooden door.

”Nice decor,” Kate muttered softly. ”Early psycho. No, it's late late psycho.” psycho.”

The door to a small closet was open halfway and she could see inside. What she saw made her feel physically ill.

He'd brought her clothes to this horrible place, this bizarre prison cell. All of her clothes were here.

Using her remaining strength, Kate McTiernan forced herself to sit upright in the bed. The effort made her heart race, and the pounding in her chest frightened her. Her arms and legs felt as if heavy weights were tied to them.

She concentrated hard, trying to focus her eyes on the incredible scene. She continued to stare into the closet.

Those weren't actually her clothes, she realized. He'd gone out and bought clothes just like hers! just like hers! Exactly to her taste and style. The clothes displayed in the closet were brand-new. She could see some of the store tags dangling from the blouses and skirts. The Limited. The Gap in Exactly to her taste and style. The clothes displayed in the closet were brand-new. She could see some of the store tags dangling from the blouses and skirts. The Limited. The Gap in Chapel Hill. Chapel Hill. Stores she actually shopped in herself. Stores she actually shopped in herself.

Her eyes darted to the top of the antique white dresser across the room. Her perfume was there, too. Obsession. Safari. Opium.

He'd bought all of it for her, hadn't he?

Next to the bed was a copy of All the Pretty Horses, All the Pretty Horses, the same book she had bought on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. the same book she had bought on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.

He knows everything about me!

Chapter 26.

DR. KATE McTiernan slept. Awoke. Slept some more. She made a joke of it. Called herself ”lazybones.” She never never slept in. Not since before med school, anyway. slept in. Not since before med school, anyway.