Kiss the Girls Page 0,63

Kate in Los Angeles. Kyle arranged for me to come after I beat on him about the deal we’d made, and how this could be the most important break we’d had on the Casanova investigation.

It was just past five-thirty; noisy, chaotic rush hour on a California-gorgeous, sunny day. Temperature in the mid-seventies. Heartbeats rising toward at least a thousand inside our car.

We were finally closing in on one of the monsters, at least we hoped so. Dr. Will Rudolph struck me as a modern-day vampire. He had spent the afternoon casually roaming among the stylish shops: Ecru, Grau, Mark Fox. Even the girls idling in front of Johnny Rockets fifties-style burger stand were potential targets of his. He was definitely a hunter today. He was girl-watching. Was he the Gentleman Caller, though?

I was working closely with two senior FBI agents in an anonymous-looking minivan parked on a side street off Melrose Avenue. Our radio was hooked to the state-of-the-art directional mikes that were in two of the other five cars trailing the man believed to be the Gentleman. It was almost showtime.

“I think I may have found what I need, too” we heard the blond woman say. She reminded me of the beautiful students Casanova had abducted in the South. Could he be one and the same monster? A coast-to-coast killer? Maybe a split personality?

FBI experts here on the West Coast believed they had the answer. In their view, the same creep did the so-called “perfect crimes” on both coasts. A victim had never been kidnapped or killed on the same day. Unfortunately, there were at least a dozen theories about the Gentleman Caller and Casanova that I was aware of. I still wasn’t convinced by any of them.

“How long have you been in Hollywood?” we heard the young woman ask Rudolph. Her voice sounded alluring and sexy. She was obviously flirting with him.

“Long enough to meet you.” He was soft-spoken and courteous so far. His right hand rested lightly under her left elbow. The Gentleman?

He didn’t look like a killer, but he did resemble the Casanova that Kate McTiernan had described. He was a hunk physically, clearly attractive to women, and he was a doctor. His eyes were blue—the color Kate had seen behind Casanova’s mask.

“Cockfucker looks like he could have any girl he wanted,” one of the FBI agents turned to me and said.

“Not to do what he wants to do to them,” I said.

“You got a point there.”

The agent, John Asaro, was Mexican-American. He was balding, but with a compensating bushy mustache. He was probably in his late forties. The other agent was Raymond Cosgrove. Both of them were good men, high-level Bureau professionals. Kyle Craig was taking care of me so far.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Rudolph and the blond woman. She was pointing toward a shiny black Mercedes convertible with its tan top down. More expensive shops stood out in the background: I.a. Eyeworks, Gallay Melrose. Another garish store sign, eight-foot-high cowboy boots, framed her windblown hair.

We listened as they talked on the crowded street. The directional mikes picked up everything. No one in the surveillance car was making a sound.

“That’s my car over there, sport. The red-haired lady in the passenger seat—she’s my sweetie. Did you really think you could pick me up just like that?” The blond woman snapped her fingers and the colorful bracelets on her arm rattled in Rudolph’s face. “Kiss off, Dr. Kildare.”

John Asaro groaned out loud. “Christ, she shot him down! She set him up. Isn’t that beautiful! Only in LA.”

Raymond Cosgrove pounded the dash with the thick heel of his hand. “Son of a bitch! She’s walking away. Go back to him, sweetheart! Tell him you were only kidding!”

We’d had him, or were very close to it. It made me physically sick to think that he was getting away. We had to catch him at something, or an arrest wouldn’t hold up.

The blond woman crossed Melrose and slid into the sleek black Mercedes. Her friend had short red hair, and her silver bangle earrings caught the late-day sunlight. The woman leaned in and gave her sweetie a kiss.

As Dr. Will Rudolph watched them, he didn’t appear at all upset. He stood on the sidewalk with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his white jacket, looking cool and relaxed. Neutral. As if nothing had happened. Were we seeing the Gentleman Caller’s mask?

The two lovers in the convertible waved as the Mercedes roared past, and he gave them