“From either one of us,” Kate added.
The police and FBI let us inside the Gentleman Caller's apartment.
Technical people were busy in every room of the expensive-looking penthouse. Somehow, the Los Angeles detectives seemed smarter, slicker, richer than cops in other cities.
The rooms were sparsely decorated, almost as if no one lived there. The furniture was mostly leather but with lots of chrome and marble touches. All angles no curves. The art on the wall was modern and vaguely depressing. Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko lookalikes that sort of thing. It looked like a museum but one with a lot of mirrors and shiny surfaces.
There were several interesting touches, possible clues about the Gentleman Caller.
I noted everything. Recording. Remembering.
His dining-room hutch held sterling silver, bone china, real stoneware, expensive linen napkins. The Gentleman knew how to set his table.
On top of his desk were formal writing paper and envelopes with elegant silver trim. Always the Gentleman.
A copy of Hugh Johnson's Pocket Encyclopedia of Wine was sitting out on the kitchen table.
Among his dozen expensive suits were two tuxedos. The suit closet was small, narrow, and oh-so-neat. It was less a closet than a shrine for his clothes.
Our strange, strange Gentleman.
I came over to Kate after an hour or so of touring the Gentleman's place. I had read the local detectives' reports. I'd talked to most of the techs, but so far they had nothing. That didn't seem possible to any of us. The newest laser equipment was being brought from downtown Los Angeles. Rudolph had to have left clues somewhere. But he hadn't! So far, that was his closest parallel to Casanova.
“How are you doing?” I asked Kate. “I'm afraid I've been lost in my own world for the last hour.” We were at a window overlooking Wilshire Boulevard and also the Los Angeles Country Club. Lots of shimmering car and building lights surrounding an eighteen-hole expanse of darkness. A disturbing Calvin Klein billboard was brightly lit up down on the street. It showed a naked model on a couch. She looked to be about fourteen. Obsession the ad proclaimed. For men.
“I've got my second or third wind,” Kate said. “AH the world's a hideous nightmare suddenly, Alex. Have they found anything at all?” 1 shook my head as I looked at the two of us in the dark, reflective window. “It's maddening. Rudolph commits ' crimes,” too. The techies might eventually match fiber from his clothes to one or more of the crime scenes, but Rudolph is unbelievably careful. I think he has a knowledge of forensic evidence.'
“There's enough written about it these days, isn't there? Most doctors are pretty good at absorbing technical information, Alex.” I nodded at the truth of her statement. I'd thought the same thing.
Kate had the makings of a detective. She looked tired. I wondered if I looked as exhausted as I felt.
“Don't even say it.” I dialed up a smile. “I'm not going to a hospital now. I think we're done here for the night, though. We lost him, goddammit, we lost them both.”
Alex Cross 2 - Kiss the Girls
CHAPTER 74.
WE LEFT Will Rudolph's penthouse apartment at just past two in the morning. That made it 5:00 A.M. our time. I was reeling. So was Kate. We called ourselves “the bruise brothers.” We were both out of it.
Grogginess, exhaustion, possible internal injuries, they were one and the same. If I had ever felt this badly before, I couldn't remember the time, and didn't want to. We collapsed into the first of our rooms when we reached the Holiday Inn on Sunset.
“Are you all right? You don't look so good to me.” Not unexpectedly, Kate resumed her advertisement for the Mctierman Medical Group. She was a compelling spokeswoman, actually. She had a way of crinkling her forehead that made her look thoughtful and wise, and highly professional.
“I'm not dying, I'm just dead tired.” I groaned and slowly lowered myself onto the edge of the comfy bed. “Just another tough day at the office.” 'You're so damn stubborn, Alex. Always the macho big-city detective.
All right, I'm going to examine you myself. Don't try to stop me or I'll break your arm, which I'm entirely capable of doing.'
Kate pulled a stethoscope and sphygmomanometer out of one of her travel bags. She wasn't taking “no,” “absolutely not,” or “no way” as an answer.
I sighed. “I'm not having a physical exam now, and especially here,” I told her with as much resolve as I could muster under the circumstances.
“I've seen it all before.” Kate rolled her eyes and frowned. Then she smiled. No, actually she laughed. A doctor with a smile and a nice sense of humor. Imagine that.
“Take your shirt off, Detective Cross,” Kate said to me. 'Make my day.
My night, anyway.'
I started to pull my shirt over my head. I half moaned, half yelled.
Just taking the shirt off hurt like hell. Maybe I was seriously hurt.
