Kiss The Girls Part 20

We watched Rudolph approach a striking blond woman. She was the Gentleman's type. In her early twenties. Shapely. Beautiful face. She was also Casanova's type, I couldn't help thinking.

Her wavy, sunbleached hair fell to her tiny waist. She wore a red-and-yellow flowered dress Putumayo's that flowed down to a pair of black European workboots. She flowed when she moved as well. She was drinking champagne by the gla.s.s.

I hadn't spotted agents Cosgrove or Asaro yet, which was making me a little nervous, a little nuts.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? She's just perfect," Kate whispered at my side. "We can't let him hurt her, Alex. We can't let anything happen to that poor woman."

"We won't," I said, "but we have to catch him in the act, nail him for kidnapping, if nothing else. We need evidence that he is the Gentleman Caller."

I finally spotted John Asaro at the crowded main bar. He had on a bright yellow Nike T-s.h.i.+rt and fit in okay. I didn't spot Ray Cosgrove or any of the other agents-which was actually a good sign.

Rudolph and the young blond woman seemed to have hit it off immediately. She appeared to be gregarious and fun-loving. She had perfect white teeth and her impression was dazzling. She couldn't help but make an impression across the crowded room. My brain was sliding into overload. We were watching the Gentleman Caller at work, weren't we? We were watching the Gentleman Caller at work, weren't we?

"He's hunting... and just like that" -Kate snapped her fingers- "he picks them up. Gets almost any woman he wants. That's how he does it. So simple...

"It's the way he looks that gets them, Alex," Kate continued. "He has a rebellious look about him and and he's very handsome. That combination is irresistible to some women. She let him think it was his line of small talk that won her over, but it's because he's such a hunk." he's very handsome. That combination is irresistible to some women. She let him think it was his line of small talk that won her over, but it's because he's such a hunk."

"So, she just picked him him up?" I asked. "Our killer hunk?" up?" I asked. "Our killer hunk?"

Kate nodded. She wouldn't take her eyes off the two of them. "She just picked up the Gentleman Caller. He wanted her to, of course. I'll bet that's how he gets them, and why he never gets caught."

"It's not how Casanova works, though. Is it?"

"Maybe Casanova isn't good-looking." Kate turned and looked at me. "That might explain the masks he wears. Maybe he's ugly, or disfigured, and ashamed of how he looks."

I had another thought, another theory, about Casanova and his masks, but I didn't want to say anything just yet.

The Gentleman and his new girlfriend ordered ambrosia-burgers, the house specialty. So did Kate and I. When in paradise.... They hung around the cafe until around seven o'clock and then got up to leave.

Kate and I rose from our table, too. Actually, I was half enjoying myself, considering the eerie circ.u.mstances. We had a table that overlooked the water. Down below, the Pacific crashed against a black wall of slippery rocks, and we could hear sea lions barking loudly.

I noted that there was no touching between the two of them as they walked out to the parking lot. It suggested to me that one of them was secretly shy.

Dr. Will Rudolph politely held open the door of his Range Rover, and the blond woman was laughing as she hopped in. He performed a tiny, elegant bow at the car door. The Gentleman. The Gentleman.

She chose him, I was thinking. I was thinking. It wasn't kidnapping yet. She was still making choices for herself. It wasn't kidnapping yet. She was still making choices for herself.

We had nothing to go after him for, nothing to hold him on.

Perfect crimes.

On both coasts.

Chapter 69.

WE TRAILED the Range Rover at a discreet distance, straight back to the cabin. I parked about a quarter of a mile up the road. My heart was hammering hard and loud. This was the moment of truth, the real deal was going down now.

Kate and I ran back through the woods and found a safe spot that was well hidden from view. It was less than fifty yards from Dr. Rudolph's hideaway, and we could still hear the musical tinkle of the wind chimes as they moved gently. The cold, damp sea mist was inching in, and I could feel a chill right up through my shoes.

The Gentleman Caller was inside that cabin up ahead. Getting ready to do what?

My stomach felt hollow and incredibly tight. I wanted to move on him in the worst way. I didn't want to think about how many times Dr. Will Rudolph had done this before. Taken a young woman somewhere. Mutilated her. Taken home feet, eyes, fingers, a human heart. Souvenirs of his kill.

I glanced at my wrist.w.a.tch. Rudolph had been inside the cabin for only a few minutes with the blond woman from Nepenthe. I'd seen movement in the woods on the other side of the house. The FBI was there. It was getting hairy.

"Alex, what if he kills her?" Kate asked. She stood close to me, and I could feel the heat from her body. She knew what it felt like to be a captive in a house of horror. She understood the danger better than anyone.

"He doesn't grab his victims and kill them immediately. The Gentleman Caller has his routine," I said to Kate. "He's kept every one of the victims for a day. He likes to play. He won't break away from the pattern."

I believed that, but I didn't know it for certain. Maybe Dr. Rudolph knew we were outside... maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I remembered stalking the madman Gary Soneji/Murphy. It was hard not to rush the cabin. Take our chances right now. We might find physical evidence of other murders inside. Maybe the missing body parts were kept here. Maybe he did the actual killing here in Big Sur. Or maybe he was planning another kind of surprise for us. The drama was unfolding less than fifty yards away.

"I'm going to try to get in a little closer," I finally said to Kate. "I have to see what's happening in there.'

"I'm glad you said that," Kate whispered.

The talk was cut short. A bloodcurdling scream came from the cabin. "Help! Help me! Somebody Somebody help me!" the blond woman screamed. help me!" the blond woman screamed.

I ran at full speed for the closest door into the cabin. So did at least five men in dark blue windbreakers from the other side of the house. I spotted Asaro and Cosgrove among them.

FBI, the windbreakers read. Rain-slicker yellow on navy blue. the windbreakers read. Rain-slicker yellow on navy blue.

All h.e.l.l was breaking loose in Big Sur. We were about to meet the Gentleman.

Chapter 70.

I GOT THERE first, at least I think I did. I threw myself hard against the cabin's wood-plank back door. It wouldn't give. On the second try the frame splintered, and the door burst open with a wounded grunt. I charged into the cabin with my pistol drawn. GOT THERE first, at least I think I did. I threw myself hard against the cabin's wood-plank back door. It wouldn't give. On the second try the frame splintered, and the door burst open with a wounded grunt. I charged into the cabin with my pistol drawn.

I could see across the small kitchen, and all the way down a narrow hallway that led into a bedroom. The blond woman from Nepenthe was naked, and curled sideways on an antique bra.s.s bed. Wildflowers had been thrown around her body. Her wrists were pinioned with handcuffs near the small of her back. She was in pain, but at least she was still alive. The Gentleman Caller wasn't there.

From outside the cabin I heard a loud bark, the harsh sound of gunfire. At least half a dozen shots were fired in rapid succession, like a string of powerful firecrackers. "Jesus, don't kill him!" I shouted as I ran from the cabin.

Complete chaos reigned in the woods! The Range Rover was already backing wildly from the driveway when I came out. Two of the FBI men were down on the ground. One was agent Ray Cosgrove. The others had opened fire on the Range Rover.

A side window exploded. Jagged holes opened in the Range Rover's sheet metal. The off-road vehicle swerved sideways, its wheels spinning in the dirt and gravel.

"Don't kill him!" I yelled again. No one even looked at me in the wild confusion of the moment.

I sprinted through the side woods, hoping to cut off Rudolph if he headed west, back toward Highway 1. I got there just as the Range Rover made a shrieking, skidding turn out onto the road. A gunshot blew out another side window. Great! The FBI was shooting at both of us now.

I grabbed the pa.s.senger side door and yanked hard at the handle. It was locked. Rudolph tried to accelerate, but I held on tightly. The Rover fishtailed, still caught in a swale of driveway gravel. That gave me time to grab the roof rack with my free hand. I pulled myself onto the roof.

Rudolph finally got the Rover onto the concrete roadway and accelerated. He floored the vehicle for seventy yards. Then he hit the brakes hard! Then he hit the brakes hard!

I was thinking ahead-that far ahead, anyway. My face was pressed tightly against the sheet metal, which was still warm from sitting in the sun at Nepenthe. My arms and legs were splayed out against the roof rack. I was wedged like a Samsonite all-nighter on the roof.

I wasn't coming off there, not if I could help it. He had killed at least half a dozen women around Los Angeles, and I had to find out if Naomi was still alive. He knew Casanova, and he knew about Scootchie.

Rudolph floored the Range Rover again, and the engine roared through its gears as he tried to shake me loose. He was weaving all over the road.

Trees and ancient telephone poles zoomed past me in blurry, fast motion. The rus.h.i.+ng pines, redwoods, and mountain vines were like the changing patterns in a kaleidoscope. A lot of the foliage was brownish-gray, p.r.i.c.kly as vineyards in the Napa Valley. It was a strange perspective on the world.

I wasn't exactly enjoying the scenery from my perch on the Range Rover. It took all of my strength to concentrate on hugging the roof.

Rudolph drove very fast along the winding narrow road, doing seventy or eighty where fifty was dangerous.

The FBI agents, what was left of them, hadn't been able to catch up. How could they? They'd had to run back to their cars. They would be several minutes behind us.

Other cars pa.s.sed us we got closer to the Pacific Coast Highway. Drivers gave us the strangest looks. I wondered what Rudolph was thinking as he drove. He wasn't trying to throw me off anymore. What options did he still have? In particular-what was he planning as his next move?

We were both temporarily in check. Somebody had to lose very big, and very soon, though. Will Rudolph had always been too clever to be caught. He wouldn't expect to be stopped now. But how would he get out of this one?

I heard the noisy diesel chug of a VW van. I saw saw the the rear end rear end of the van coming fast. We pa.s.sed it as if it were standing still. of the van coming fast. We pa.s.sed it as if it were standing still.

There was a flow of traffic against us as we approached the ocean road. Mostly kids out for an early evening spin. Some of them pointed at the Range Rover and thought it was a big joke. Just some major a.s.shole from the Sur pulling a stunt, right? Some aging merry prankster high on tequila, or maybe even twenty-year-old acid. A crazed man hanging on to the roof of a Range Rover doing seventy miles an hour in what amounted to a very scenic parking lot.

What was his next G.o.dd.a.m.n move?

Rudolph didn't bother to slow down on the curvy, extremely populated, blacktop road. The motorists headed in the opposite direction blared their horns angrily. No one did anything to stop us. What could they do? What could I do now? Hang on as tightly as I could and pray! Hang on as tightly as I could and pray!

Chapter 71.

A BRIGHT flash of grayish-blue ocean broke through the scrim of fir and redwood branches. I heard rock music blasting from the slow-moving parade of cars up ahead. A collage of music was in the air: Pop 40 rap, West Coast grunge bands, acid rock from thirty years ago. BRIGHT flash of grayish-blue ocean broke through the scrim of fir and redwood branches. I heard rock music blasting from the slow-moving parade of cars up ahead. A collage of music was in the air: Pop 40 rap, West Coast grunge bands, acid rock from thirty years ago.

Another splash of Pacific blue hit me right in the eye. The setting sun was casting its golden glow on the spreading firs. Wheeling terns and gulls pa.s.sed slowly over the trees. Then I saw the full expanse of the Pacific Coast Highway up ahead.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing? He couldn't drive back to Los Angeles like this. Or was he crazy enough to try? Eventually he'd have to stop for gas. What would he do then?

Traffic on the highway was light heading north, but heavy moving south. The Range Rover was still doing sixty or better-careening faster than anyone ought to drive on the curvy side highway, especially as it merged into the busier coast road.

Rudolph didn't slow down as he approached the crowded highway! I could see family station wagons, convertibles, four-wheel-drive vehicles. Just another crazy Sat.u.r.day night on the northern California sh.o.r.eline, but it was about to get a whole lot crazier.

We were fifty yards from the highway now. He was going as fast as ever, if not faster. My arms were stiff and numb. My throat was dry from exhaust fumes. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. Then suddenly, I thought I knew what he was going to do.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" I yelled, just to yell. I wedged my body even tighter against the straining metal roof rails.

Rudolph had created the impromptu escape plan. He was only ten to fifteen yards from the highway traffic, no more than that.

Just as the Rover reached the sharp turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway, he braked hard. The loud screech of radial tires was terrifying, especially from where I was listening.

A bearded face in a pa.s.sing multicolored minivan yelled out, "Slow down, you a.s.shole!" Which a.s.shole? Which a.s.shole? I wondered. I wondered. This This a.s.shole definitely wanted to slow down. a.s.shole definitely wanted to slow down.

The top-heavy Range Rover held its path for a few yards, then it started to fishtail right, then left, then right again.

It was total bedlam now. Horns were blowing everywhere at once on the busy highway. Drivers and pa.s.sengers couldn't believe what they were seeing, what was bearing down on them from the side road.

Rudolph was doing everything wrong wrong at the wheel on purpose. He at the wheel on purpose. He wanted wanted the Rover to spin out. the Rover to spin out.

Its tires still squealing like animals being slaughtered, the Range Rover slid left until it was facing south, but it was actually traveling west into traffic. Then the Rover's tail end swerved all the way around.

We were going to hit the traffic moving backward! moving backward! We were going to crash. I was sure we would both be killed. Images of Damon and Jannie flashed before me. We were going to crash. I was sure we would both be killed. Images of Damon and Jannie flashed before me.

I couldn't guess how fast we were going when we broadsided a silver-blue minivan. I didn't even try to hang on to the roof rack. I concentrated on relaxing my body, preparing for a bonebreaking, possibly deadly, impact in the next few seconds.

I yelled, but the sound of my voice was lost in the high-pitched screeching crash, the blaring car horns, the screaming spectators.

I barely missed the lineup of northbound traffic as I jetted off the roof. More horns blared. I was flying through the air with the greatest of ease. The sea wind both cooled and stung my face. It was going to be a crash landing.

I flew into the smoky blue mist that was settling between the Pacific Ocean and the Pacific Coast Highway. I hit the thick branches of a fir tree. As I fell through sc.r.a.ping, scratching tree branches, I knew the Gentleman Caller was going to escape.

Chapter 72.

SKIP FORWARD. Cut forward. Spin, fall head over heels forward!

I was badly shaken and bruised from the car crash and fall, but apparently there were no broken bones. A crackerjack EMS team looked me over at the accident site on Highway 1. They wanted to check me into a nearby hospital for tests and observation, but I had other plans for the night.

The Gentleman was running loose. He had commandeered a car heading north. The car had already been found, but not Dr. Rudolph. At least not so far.

When she arrived at the bad scene at the highway, Kate went ballistic. She wanted me to go to the local hospital, too. Agent Cosgrove of the FBI was already there as a patient. We had a heated discussion, but eventually Kate and I caught the last AirWest shuttle out of Monterey. We were headed back to L.A.

I had spoken to Kyle Craig twice already. FBI teams were camped out at Rudolph's apartment in Los Angeles, but n.o.body expected the Gentleman to return there. They were searching the place now. I wanted to be there with them. I needed to see exactly how he lived.

On the flight, Kate continued to show concern about my physical condition. She had already developed a top-notch bedside manner, warm and empathetic, but also surprisingly firm with a stubborn patient like myself.