Part 23 (2/2)

I shut off the motor and took a deep breath before I climbed out of the car.

I walked quickly across the springly lawn in crouch. I remembered something that Satchel Paige used to say: ”Keep the juices flowing by jangling around gently as you move.” I was jangling. jangling.

Shaped boxwoods and azaleas ran along the front of the house. A child's red bike with silver streamers on the handlebars lay on its side near the porch.

Nice, I was thinking as I hurried along. I was thinking as I hurried along. Too nice. Too nice.

Casanova's child's bike.

Casanova's respectable house in the suburbs.

Casanova's fake, perfect life. His perfect disguise. His big, ugly joke on all of us. Right in the city of Durham. His middle finger extended to the world.

I carefully made my way around to the patio, which was built with white tile. It was bordered with the same brick as the house and the front walk. I noticed that creeping tendrils had invaded the red-brick walls. Maybe he wasn't so perfect, after all.

I quickly crossed the patio, moving toward the Florida room. There was no turning back now. I'd done a little breaking and entering in the name of duty before this. That didn't make it right, just easier.

I broke a small windowpane in a door and let myself in. Nothing. Not a sound. I didn't think that Wick Sachs would have any use for an alarm system. I seriously doubted that he wanted the Durham police to investigate a breaking and entering.

The first thing I noticed was the familiar cloying smell of lemon furniture polish. Respectability. Civility. Order. It was all a facade, a perfectly designed mask. mask.

I was inside the monster's house.

Chapter 80.

THE HOUSE was as neat and orderly as the outside grounds. Maybe even more so. Nice, nice, much too nice. Nice, nice, much too nice.

I was nervous and afraid, but that didn't matter anymore. I was used to living with the feelings of fear and uncertainty. Carefully, I roamed from room to room. Nothing seemed out of place, even with two small children living there. Strange, strange, very strange. Strange, strange, very strange.

The house reminded me a little of Rudolph's apartment in Los Angeles. It was as if no one really lived there. Who are you? Show me who you really are, f.u.c.ker. This house isn't the real you, is it? Does anyone know you without your masks? The Gentleman does, doesn't he? Who are you? Show me who you really are, f.u.c.ker. This house isn't the real you, is it? Does anyone know you without your masks? The Gentleman does, doesn't he?

The kitchen was right out of Country Living Country Living magazine. Antiques and other beautiful ”things” were in almost every room. magazine. Antiques and other beautiful ”things” were in almost every room.

In a small study, the professor's notes and papers were strewn everywhere, covering every available surface. He's supposed to be very orderly and neat, He's supposed to be very orderly and neat, I thought, and stored the conflicting data. I thought, and stored the conflicting data. Who was he? Who was he?

I was searching for something specific, but I didn' know exactly where to look. Down in the bas.e.m.e.nt I saw a heavy oak door. It was unlocked. It led into a small furnace room. I searched the room carefully. On the far side of the furnace room, I found another wooden door. It looked like a door to a closet, to some small, insignificant s.p.a.ce.

The second door was closed with a hook, which I removed as quietly as I could. I wondered if there could be more rooms in here? Maybe an underground s.p.a.ce? Maybe the house of horror? Or a tunnel?

I pushed open the wooden door. Pitch-blackness. I switched on the lights, and entered a single room that must have been twenty-five by forty. My heart skipped a beat. My knees got weak and I felt a little sick.

There were no women in here, no harem, but I had found Wick Sachs's fantasy room. It was right in his house. Hidden in a secret corner of his bas.e.m.e.nt. The room didn't fit in with the design of the rest of the house. He had built this room specially for himself. He liked to build things, to be creative, didn't he? He had built this room specially for himself. He liked to build things, to be creative, didn't he?

The special room was laid out like a library. There was a heavy oak desk, and two red leather club chairs were on either side of it. The four walls of bookcases were filled with books and magazines from floor to ceiling. My blood pressure must have soared fifty points. I tried to be still inside, but I couldn't.

This was a collection of p.o.r.nography and erotica, the most extraordinary I had ever seen or even heard described. There were at least a thousand books in the room. I read t.i.tles as I quickly roamed from wall to wall, shelf to shelf.

Strangest s.e.x Acts in Modes of Love of All Races- Strangest s.e.x Acts in Modes of Love of All Races-Ill.u.s.trated Cherries. Printed for the Erotica BiblionSociety of New YorkHumiliations of Anastasia and PearlThe Harem Omnibus: a readerUntil She ScreamsThe Hymen. A Medico-Legal Study in Rape I concentrated and tried to focus on what I needed to do here. First, I tried to quiet the roaring noise in my head.

I wanted leave Wick Sachs a sign that I had been here; that I knew about his dirty little secret place; that he had no more secrets. I wanted him to experience the same kind of pressure, stress, and fear that all of us were going through. I wanted to hurt Dr. Wick Sachs. I hated him beyond anything I could have imagined.

On the desk was a copy of a pamphlet from a supplier of erotic books and magazines: Nicholas J. Soberhagen, 1115 Victory Boulevard, Staten Island, N.Y. By Appointment. Nicholas J. Soberhagen, 1115 Victory Boulevard, Staten Island, N.Y. By Appointment. I made a quick note. I wanted to hurt Nicholas Soberhagen, too. I made a quick note. I wanted to hurt Nicholas Soberhagen, too.

Sachs, or someone else, had checked off several books on the pamphlet's pages. I leafed quickly through it, reading with an ear c.o.c.ked for sounds of a car on the street. Time was short now.

The Special Orders of St. Theresa. Not to be missed! This reprint of an extremely rare original edition was issued in the 1880s. Here are actual recollections on the proper use of the rod at a Spanish nunnery outside Madrid. The Special Orders of St. Theresa. Not to be missed! This reprint of an extremely rare original edition was issued in the 1880s. Here are actual recollections on the proper use of the rod at a Spanish nunnery outside Madrid. The Lovemaster. Lively s.e.xual adventures of a dancer in Berlin; the various s.e.x maniacs she encounters. For every serious collector! The Lovemaster. Lively s.e.xual adventures of a dancer in Berlin; the various s.e.x maniacs she encounters. For every serious collector! Release. An interpretive first novel based on the actual and imagined life of the French serial murderer, Gilles de Rais. Release. An interpretive first novel based on the actual and imagined life of the French serial murderer, Gilles de Rais.

I scanned the rows of wooden shelves directly behind the work desk. How long should I push my luck inside the house? It was getting late for Sachs and his family to be out. I stopped at a shelf behind his chair.

My heart tightened when I saw several books on Casanova! I read the t.i.tles under my breath.

Memoirs by CasanovaCasanova 102 Erotic EngravingsThe Most Wonderful Nights of Love of Casanova I thought of the two small children who lived in this house, Nathan and Faye Anne, and I felt badly for them. Their father, Dr. Wick Sachs, had his delirious, evil fantasies in this room. Stimulated by his dirty books, his collection of erotica, he decided which fantasy to act out in real life, didn't he? I could feel Sachs's presence in this room. I was getting to know him, finally.

Was it possible that he kept the women somewhere nearby? Somewhere in town, where we would never expect to look? Was that why none of his searches had uncovered the house of horror? Was it somewhere right in suburban, highly respectable Durham?

Was Naomi close by, waiting for someone to find her? The longer she was kept, the more dangerous her situation would become.

I heard a noise, upstairs, and listened closely, but there was no sound. It might have been an electrical appliance, or just the wind, or a loose part in my skull.

It was past time to get out of the house. I hurried upstairs and back out across the patio. I had been tempted to draw a cross a cross on the pamphlet on Sachs's desk, to leave my mark. I resisted the impulse. He knew who I was. He had contacted me as soon as I arrived in Durham. But I was the one in heat now! on the pamphlet on Sachs's desk, to leave my mark. I resisted the impulse. He knew who I was. He had contacted me as soon as I arrived in Durham. But I was the one in heat now!

I was back in my hotel room at a little past midnight. I felt empty and numb. Adrenaline was pumping through my body at a furious rate.

The phone rang almost as soon as I walked in the door. A nasty, insistent hotel phone ring that demanded to be picked up.

”Who the h.e.l.l? h.e.l.l?” I muttered. I was half crazed by now. I wanted to race out into the Southern night, to search helter-skelter for Naomi. I wanted to grab Dr. Wick Sachs and beat the truth out of him. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.

”Yes. Who is this?” I spoke a little too loudly into the phone.

It was Kyle Craig.

”Well?” he began. ”What did you find out?”

Chapter 81.

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