victim; and a shriveled flower plucked earlier from Doctor's garden, which she will leave as her signature beside a little wall she discovered near the killing site.
She has calculated everything. Only a half mile now to the place she carefully picked out. She increases her speed from a jogger's pace to a fast flat-out run. She bears right at the fork where the sidewalk that borders the drive meets a paved path that descends into the park. Once among the trees, she pulls out her weapon and fits it into the sheath strapped to her arm. She is now on an intersecting vector with her quarry, whom she sees clearly jogging a hundred yards ahead.
What luck! Jess is wearing a Walkman; she will not be able to hear Diana's steps. Diana looks around; no one else is on the path. She and Jess are alone in this narrow strip of park. Ahead, the great illuminated tower of Riverside Church soars into the night sky. Beyond a faint glow is cast by the city's lights.
A light rain begins to fall. Diana shivers slightly but runs on.
She notices that Jess has begun to pick up her pace. Diana speeds up even more. Pat-pat-pat go her feet. She feels her heartheat quicken as her ears find the sound of Jess's steps. Pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat. Jess is but a hundred feet ahead. Impossible now to stop. The rhythm is set. The momentum of attack is carrying her along. Diana pulls her pick from its sheath, holds it underhand as she swings her an-ns. Fifty feet now. Thirty. Twentyfive.
Jess is almost within her reach. In a burst of speed Diana overtakes her. And then, in a single violent motion, she raises her right arm and with full force plunges the pick sideways so that it enters Jess's brain directly through the ear.
Jess, stabbed, falls upon the path, and as she does, the buzzing inside Diana's head suddenly stops. Feeling hot, feverish with victory, Diana grabs hold of Jess's feet and drags her body into the thick, wet brush on the right. She pulls her through the fallen leaves to within a few feet of the ruined wall, then lets go of her, stands back, and stares down at her face.
At one time Jess was her friend, but when she, too, became Doctor's patient, Diana's liking of her turned to hate. Now that hate is purged. Her rival is but dead meat on the ground. Diana kneels to untie the string that secures Jess's sweatpants, then pulls them down to the girl's ankles. She grins when she sees the switchblade knife strapped against Jess's side. An opponent's weapon-what a fine trophy that will make!
As Diana uncaps her caulking gun and sets to work with the glue, her only regret is that now that her onetime friend is dead, she will never be able to give back the archery set she borrowed the week before.
She's down there in the basement now, brooding over her unauthorized kill. All right, you made her into a killing machine, so you've got to expect a certain amount of carryover. She's human after all. But to leave the wallflower signature and use the glue, methods reserved for your tormentors-that was crazy, that means she's out of control.
She can't even explain why she did it. A fit of jealousy? But it was Tool who got Jessica to come see you in the first place. Tool recruited her. She was Jessica's friend. She knew what therapy was. What did she expect? That you'd treat Jessica differently? That you wouldn't take her into your office and listen to her for an hour three times a week?
No, it had to be something more. This past autumn, when Jessica asked for the name of her shrink, Tool was quick to send her on.
Remember the way she beamed when she told you to expect the call?
What about their actual relationship? How much do you really know?
Could they have been more than gym buddies? Could they have been lovers?
Be rational about this; don't let the stress generate fantasies. The truth is you still don't know what they did all those times they went off together after martial arts class. Come to think of it, isn't it strange Jessica never mentioned Tool except the first time she called? 'Diana Proctor gave me your name. We take a martial arts class together on the West Side. I'm looking for a good therapist.
I'd like to come in and talk about it if that's all right.' Yes, of course, it was 'all right.' You were extremely interested in treating someone who looked so much like Cynthia Morse. And this girl was so much nicer without any evident cruel streak. She was a decent, direct sort of person, but with Cindy's great looks, smile, and appeal.
So what were you after with her anyway? Looking to seduce her?
Don't be absurd! Those days are long gone, and anyway, the girl was young enough to be your daughter. But admit it, she attracted you.
She was just your type. And just about the same age as Cindy was then, before she turned on you and earned herself a place in the ledger.
No, there's got to be more to this than meets the eye. Tool and Jessica must have had some kind of emotional connection that, when it snapped, generated rage in Tool and set her off.
Remember the little encounter at the knife show? Running into Jessica with Tool in tow didn't strike you as being all that important at the time. But suppose Jessica, seeing her shrink unexpectedly in the company of another patient who happened to be her friend, got curious, decided to trail you for a while, and then saw something she didn't like.
Wait a minute! Remember the famous 'English girl' she met in Italy, the one who fenced topless with her? The truth is you've had only her word on that. You never saw the photographs, didn't even know about them until Janek brought them up. Why didn't she tell you about them? Could she have been afraid you'd ask to see them? She couldn't allow that because if she did, you'd recognize the other girl.
Suppose the alleged 'English girl' was a subterfuge? Suppose Jessica didn't want to tell you she'd actually played the topless fencing scene with Diana? If that's true, then they definitely amp;d have something going, perhaps not overtly sexual, but certainly sexualized. And if that's the case, then there was enough unresolved energy to unleash Tool and cause her to explode.
But go back a moment, think about that knife show. What could Jessica have seen you and Tool do that might cause her to mention to a friend that she was thinking of quitting therapy?
You might have spoken harshly to Tool or petted her. You do that unconsciously sometimes, out of some twisted matemalism no doubt. If you'd had your wits about you, you'd never have gone to that damn knife show in the first place. It was Tool's idea. She said she wasn't enjoying using crude store-bought ice picks all the time, she wanted a fine weapon, something she wouldn't have to leave behind, something really sharp with a ritualistic flavor to it, and since there was a knife show in town, would you attend it with her, take a look, see if anything caught your eye?
So there it is, Tool set the whole thing up. She knew Jessica would attend the show, probably even knew which day. She enticed you into taking her there because she wanted Jessica to see her with you, and she probably did something there that you didn't even notice, like taking your arm, squeezing it-anything to provoke Jessica and force her out of therapy.
This is terrible! It means Tool's been using you! It means you've lost control of her, created a Frankenstein's monster just as Mama said.
Calm down! Look at the implications. Janek's got the photographs. If Tool was the other fencer and he should see her entering the basement apartment, he'll recognize her at once. He already suspects you. He's not all that great at hiding what he feels. Or, more likely, he's deliberately letting his suspicions show in the hope you'll get spooked and tip your hand.
The main thing now is to keep Janek from seeing Tool.
But there's something even more important, which is to get to the bottom of Tool and Jessica's relationship. Tool has to tell you whether she was the 'English girl.' Once you're certain about that, you can take the necessary countermeasures.
So the thing to do is get Tool up here in front of Mama. Mama always intimidates her. If you can get her up here naked in front of Mama, Mama'll make her talk.
It is night. The scene is a shadowy and cavernous bedchamber dimly lit with soft reddish light. At one end a large four-poster oak bed stands free of the walls. At the other, three female figures are arranged in frozen postures as if posing for a tableau vivant. From the expressions on the faces of these players, a spectator might well feel that a question hangs upon the air. But not one of the figures moves or speaks. The question, if there was one, remains unanswered.
The first figure, young, muscular, firm-fleshed, stands at stiff attention. She is naked, her head and body totally shaved, a fine gloss of perspiration coating her like a dew. The soft red light that paints her exposed skin
