Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross #2)(44)

When the nurse wheeled the bulky chair almost up to a stand of microphones, Kate surprised everyone. She slowly stood up and walked the rest of the way.

“Hello, I’m Kate McTiernan. Obviously,” she said to the assembled reporters who now pushed in even closer to the prime witness. “I have a very brief statement to make, then I’ll get out of everybody’s hair.” Her voice was strong and vibrant. She was very much in control of herself, or so it seemed to all of us watching and listening.

Her light touch and subtle humor drew smiles and laughter from the crowd. One or two of the reporters tried to ask questions, but the noise level had risen and it was hard to hear them. Cameras flashed and buzzed up and down the packed hospital corridor.

Kate stopped speaking, and it became relatively quiet again. At first everyone thought the press conference was too much for her to handle. A nearby doctor stepped forward, but she waved him away.

“I’m fine. I’am really okay, thanks. If I’m woozy or anything, I’II sit right down in the chair like a model patient. I promise you I will. No false bravado from me.”

She was definitely in control of this moment. She was older than most medical students or interns, and in fact she looked like a doctor.

She peered around the room she was curious, it seemed. Maybe a little amazed. Finally, she apologized for the momentary lapse. “I was just gathering my thoughts… What I would like to do is tell you what I can about what happened to me and I will tell you everything I can but that will be it for today. I won’t answer any questions from the press. I’d like you all to respect that. Is that a fair deal?”

She was poised and impressive in front of the TV cameras. Kate McTiernan was surprisingly relaxed under the circumstances, as if she could have done this for a living. I’d found her to be very self-assured and confident whenever she needed to be. At other times, she could be as vulnerable and afraid as the rest of us.

“First, I would like to say something to all the families and friends who have someone missing. Please, don’t give up hope. The man known as Casanova strikes only if his explicit commands are disobeyed. I broke his rules, and I was badly beaten. But I did manage to escape. There are other women where I was kept captive. My thoughts are with them in ways you can’t imagine. I believe in my heart that they are still alive and safe.”

The reporters pressed in closer and closer to Kate McTiernan. Even in her battered condition she was magnetic, her strength shone through. The TV cameras liked her. So would the public, I knew.

For the next few moments, she did everything she could possibly do to allay the fears of the families of the missing women. She stressed again that she had been hurt only because she broke the house rules set down by Casanova. I thought that maybe she was sending a message to him, too. Blame me, not the other women.

As I watched Kate speak, I asked myself some questions: Does he take only extraordinary women? Not just beauties, but women who are special in every way? What did that mean? What was Casanova really up to? What game was he playing?

My suspicion was that the killer was obsessed with physical beauty, but that he couldn’t bear to be around women who weren’t as smart as he was. I sensed that he craved intimacy also.

Finally, Kate stopped speaking. Tears were shining in her eyes, like perfect glass drops. “I’m through now,” she said in a soft voice. “Thank you for taking this message out to the families of the missing women. I hope that it helped a little bit. Please, no more questions for now. I still can’t remember everything that happened to me. I’ve told you what I can.”

At first there was an unnatural silence. There wasn’t a single question. She had been clear about that. Then the reporters and the hospital personnel began to clap. They knew, just as Casanova knew, that Kate McTiernan was an extraordinary woman.

I had one fear. Was Casanova there clapping, too?





Chapter 53


A T 4:00 A.M., Casanova packed a spanking-new, green-and-gray Lands’ End knapsack with necessary food and supplies. He headed out to his hideaway for a morning of long-awaited pleasures. He actually had a favorite catchphrase for his forbidden games: Kiss the girls.

He fantasized about Anna Miller, his newest captive, on the car drive there, and then as he hiked through thick woods. He visualized over and over what he was going to do with Anna today. He remembered something, a quite wonderful and appropriate line, out of F. Scott Fitzgerald: The kiss originated when the first male reptile licked the first female, implying in a complimentary way that she was as succulent as the small reptile he had for dinner the night before. It was all biological, wasn’t it? Tick-cock.

When he finally arrived at the hideaway, he turned on the Stones full volume. The incomparable Beggar’s Banquet album. He needed to hear loud, antisocial rock music today. Mick Jagger was fifty, right? He was only thirty-six himself. This was his moment.

He posed naked in front of a floor-length mirror and admired his slender, well-muscled physique. He combed out his hair. Then he slipped into a shimmery hand-painted silk robe that he’d bought once upon a time in Bangkok. He left it open to expose himself.

He selected a different costume mask, a beautiful one from Venice, originally purchased for just such a special occasion. A moment of mystery and love. At last he was ready to see Anna Miller.

Anna was so haughty. Absolutely untouchable. Exquisite physically. He needed to break her quickly.