F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (57 page)

           
"You never told me what a
darling little thing she is!"

           
Kara didn't want him to touch her or
even talk about her, but she felt that telling him so would only give him more
power over her. And he had more than enough already.

           
Yes.
I raised her myself.

           
"So you told me. You've done a
splendid job."

           
Kara wanted to tell him where he
could shove his compliment, then realized that the orifice would be hers.

           
Thank
you.

           
The next hour went quickly, with
Gabor doing a credible imitation of her, making up plausible explanations to
Ellen as to why she and Jill were moving out. Soon they were ready to go. Jill
had eaten her waffles, the cook was tearfully kissing her good bye, and their
few belongings were packed up.

           
Then Rob showed up.

           
"What's
he
doing here?"

           
She could sense the agitation behind
the words.

           
I
don't know. We were supposed to get together last night, but you called me in
sick, remember? Maybe he just wants to see how I'm doing
.

           
Rob drew her aside into the living
room.

           
"Kara, what's going on?"

           
"I'm moving. Is that any
concern of yours?"

           
"Hell, yes it is! I don't want
my daughter living in that man's house!"

           
"His
daughter
? What is he talking about?"

           
Rob
is Jill's father.

           
"You told me her father was
dead!"

           
I
lied
.

           
"Bitch!"

           
But
I lied to Rob, too. He only found out yesterday. What's the matter Gabor? Do
lies bother you? You lied to me about
my
father. He was a good and decent man and you made me suspect him of the
worst foulness
!

           
"Never mind that! What do I
tell him!"

           
You
figure it out.

           
"Don't do this! You'll
pay!"

           
The
'punishment?' I'll risk it.

           
She dreaded the thought of another
instant of total sensory deprivation, but it would be worth it to see Gabor
squirm.

           
"I'll hurt her!"

           
What?

           
"Your daughter. I'll hurt her.
A child can have nasty accidents, trip and fall against sharp things. I'll do
it if you don't cooperate."

           
Fear for Jill was a knife with
nowhere to strike.

           
You
beast! You subhuman
—/

           
"She'll suffer!"

           
Kara capitulated. Again. That was
all she seemed to be doing lately. Was that going to be the story of her life
from now on?

           
All
right! Tell him he didn't want me to take her back to Pennsylvania and so I'm
acquiescing.

           
She listened as her voice told him
that. But Rob didn't seem satisfied. He kept staring at her as if looking for a
flaw.

           
"Kara," he said. "You
remember the night we met at CBGB's?"

           
"What's that mean?"

           
It's
a trick question. We met at McSorley's.

           
"He's suspicious then?"

           
Obviously.

           
"Why?"

           
I
don't know
!

           
"No," she heard her voice
say. "We met in McSorley's. How could you forget?"

           
"Oh, right," Rob said with
a grin that looked somewhat relieved. "McSorley's. Same neighborhood. I
get mixed up sometimes. Say, do you remember…?"

           
You listen to Kara and you parrot
the proper replies to this detective, and in the back of your mind you realize
that there is real trouble here.

           
You had planned to be rid of the
detective by giving him the cold shoulder, refusing to see him, never returning
his calls. Sooner or later he would give up. Or so you thought.

           
Now you know that will never happen.
There is more than mere romance involved here. This is a living bond of flesh
and blood named Jill. You know that no matter how you spurn him the detective
will keep returning— not to see Kara but to see his daughter.

           
The detective must be disposed of.

           
But how?

           
You must think on this. Carefully.

           
And most certainly, you cannot let
Kara know until the last moment.

           
Rob picked up his phone on the third
ring.

           
"Harris."

           
"Ah, Detective," said a
familiar voice. "Professor Jensen here. Those handwriting samples you left
me this morning?"

           
The scribbled notes he'd found in
the padded cell.

           
"Yes? Did you—?"

           
"Definitely the same as the
writing on the back of the Con Ed bill."

           
"You're sure?"

           
"No question about it."

           
"Great! Thanks a lot."

           
Yeah. Thanks a
whole
lot. That meant whoever had been locked in that room had sent
Kara the warning. But
who
?

           
This was getting crazier and
crazier. He needed something to point
away
from the craziness, not
to
it.

           
Rob sat at his puke green desk and
brooded, shutting out the sounds of the detective squad room. He glanced up and
saw Manetti typing away at his desk.

           
"Augie! We got anybody
Hungarian here?"

           
"Sure," Manetti said
without looking up. "Varadi."

           
"Varadi? I thought he was
Italian."

           
Now Manetti looked up. His
expression registered his disdain.

           
"Italian? What, you kiddin'?
Mike's got red fucking hair! And freckles! How many
paisans
you seen with red fucking hair and freckles?"

           
"Sorry."

           
He went to find Varadi.

           
Kara had given all the right answers
this morning, except as to why she was moving into Gates' Chelsea house. She
hadn't even wanted to visit it yesterday, and now she was moving in with Jill.

           
Something was very wrong.

           
Rob found Varadi by the water
cooler.

           
"Mike. You speak
Hungarian?"

           
Varadi's expression was guarded. It
didn't go with his boyish face and freckles.

           
"Yeah. A little."

           
Rob kept thinking of the phrase
Gates had used over and over just before the gun went off.

           
"What's
el merit
mean?"

           
"
El merit
? Means 'He's gone.' Why?"

           
"How about
kissinim
or
kissinum
?"

           
It had been Gates' last word as he
fell dead.

           
"That's 'thank you.' What's up?
Going to a Hungarian restaurant? I can recommend—"

           
"Thanks, Mike."

           
Rob hurried back to his desk.
He's gone
! and
Thank you
! Jesus H. Christ! Why would Gates say stuff like that? If
Rob were a mental case, he'd probably say that could mean only one thing: Lazlo
Gati had killed himself to escape the control of his brother Gabor.

           
But Rob wasn't a mental case. He was
a New York City cop. And if he wanted to stay a New York City cop, he would
keep these thoughts to himself.

           
Only one thing to do at this
juncture: Stick like glue to Kara and Jill. He'd move in with them if he had
to. Anything to stay close. Something was going on. He didn't know what—or if
he did, he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud—but he was going to find
out for sure.

           
The phone rang again. It was Kara.

           
"Rob, do you have any free time
tomorrow?"