She shrugged again.
'You're a pretty strange girl.'
'Think so?'
'That's how you style yourself.' He stared at her. 'Isn't it?'
She touched one breast, then wriggled slightly in her chair. He found the gesture pathetic. Cornered, desperate, she was trying to extricate herself the only way she knew by seduction. Still, feeble as it was, the attempt told him he had engaged her. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the Omega mock-up, tossed it into the air, caught it in his fist.
'What did you do with it?'
'If I tell you, you won't believe me.'
'Try me.'
'I smashed it into pieces, then worked the crumbs into a painting, the one at Erica's.'
He believed her. After seeing what she had downstairs, he knew nothing she could say would surprise him.
'The guy who killed Dietz killed him for that. How does that make you feel?' She looked at him, stunned; she didn't answer. 'What's the matter?' 'On TV you acted like you thought I killed Dietz,'
'You got me mixed up with the reporter. Thing is, the guy who killed Dietz will kill you, too, if he finds you. He could have been the one who showed up this morning.'
She pouted. 'Right, I should be ' grateful' it was you instead.'
'Tell me something, Gelsey?'
'What?'
'Why?'
'Why what?'
'Why do you drug guys and rob them? If you aren't interested in their money, what are you interested in?' She shrugged again. 'Trophies.'
'Trophies of what?'
'My adventures, you know.. 'No, I don't. Tell me about it?' She smiled scornfully. 'Why should I? What's it to you?
Are you some kind of cop-shrink or something?'
'I want to understand it. Why did you put all those guys to sleep?
Explain it to me… if you can.'
'Oh, I can explain it!' 'So explain,' he demanded. She didn't answer.
She's ashamed. 'You wanted to humiliate them, right?' She smiled. 'Maybe something like that.'
She looked uncomfortable. Another probing question and he felt she might clam up. He didn't want that, but he was getting tired of her nonsense.
He decided to give her a little smack.
'You're a clever little actress,' he said, contemptuously.
She snickered. 'I don't see myself that way.'
'How do you see yourself?'
'I'm an artist.'
'Right'-he stood-'a pretty good one, too-not that I know all that much about it. So, tell me-why's the Great Artist going around drugging guys and robbing them? What'd you do-show them some leg, a little tit, get them going that way then play them for fools? You've been trying to do that to me ever since I showed up here, squeezing yourself into that slinky little dress, then playing peekaboo with me down in the maze.'
'Don't flatter yourself, Janek!' Their eyes locked. He thought: She's ready to fall. I can take her down anytime. 'One,,'ve made a study of your technique,' he said. thing struck me.'
'Oh? What's that?'
'The men you go after-you always give them the option. You never ask to go up to their rooms. Always wait till they ask you. That's when your act gets real good. ', I really shouldn't, you being married and all…
And then, of course, they ask you again. So, when you get up there and squeeze a few KO drops into their drinks, it's all their fault. Isn't it? Their fault. Never yours.' During his attack, he observed her growing progressively more angry.
Now, suddenly, she turned away. But he continued, relentless.
'Oh, you're so much purer than Diana's other girls.' He spoke with studied scorn. 'You don't care about money. Uh-uh. It's the head trip that turns you on. Prey on guys' weaknesses. Put them to sleep.
Then shame them with your mirror-writing messages. Know what I think, Gelsey? I think Diana and the others are the purer ones. I detest what they do, but I understand it. Money drives people to do a lot of things, legal and illegal. But to mind-fuck someone just because it gives you a buzz-I've got no respect for that at at all.'
She shrieked at him: 'I don't give a shit about your respect!'
'Angry, aren't we? Maybe because I'm right. Because at bottom you don't respect yourself Could that be it? Hmmmm?'
She gasped, outraged. Still he kept at her:
'I met Diana. A cold woman who cares only for herself, who enjoys taking advantage of people, enjoys hurting them, too. But you-you're an artist!
That's the part I don't get. Have you any idea what a privilege it is to have talent?' He walked over to her paintings, looked at them. 'Last night, when I saw your Leering Man portrait, I was actually moved. Ever since I've been asking myself. How could the person who painted that do the things she does? Why isn't the art enough for her? Why does she have to hurt people? Destroy?'
Wanting to sound more sympathetic, he altered his tone:
'Remember Kirstin Reese? She liked you, said you were a special person.
That kind of person doesn't do those kinds of things. Unless..
'Unless what?'
'The only answer I come up with is that you hurt a lot inside.' He looked closely at her. 'I can see it in your eyes. You need help.
You're crying out for it. That's what your painting says. Your bar adventures, too. They all say the same thing: ' me! Please help me before I break! ' '
She stared at him with something akin to the smirk she'd worn before, but he could see that it was a masking smirk. He peered back at her with all the concern he felt, and then he watched her break, slowly, before his eyes. Her smirk slipped away, her eyes enlarged, she changed position, became awkward in the chair. The vulnerability he'd observed in the police sketches now showed itself without confidence.
She looked to be on the verge of tears. The troubled little girl stood revealed.
He didn't want to hit her again so soon, but he knew no other way. He thought: Rub her face in it. Make her see! 'Kirstin's dead. Did you know?' She brought her hand up to her mouth. 'Tortured first. By the same guy who killed Dietz.'
'But why?'
'To make her tell him where you live.'
'She didn't know!' 'He thought she did. Anyway, she knew how to find Diana. After he got that out of her he killed her. Which is just what he'll do when he finds you, especially when he discovers you smashed up his precious chip.'
She'll cry now. When she does she'll turn away. That'll be all right.
But Gelsey surprised him. She didn't turn, just stared at him and began to weep without lowering her eyes. It was an extraordinary thing to witness. And he believed he understood why she was doing it-she wanted to show him her pain.
Later he would not remember how long he watched before he moved toward her and took her hand. It was a paternal gesture and she responded to it, leaning tentatively against him.
Looking down at her, feeling her body tremble, he asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. This was not the way he dealt with criminals. But then, he realized, Gelsey was not like any criminal he had ever met.
