Kiss the Girls

“lucky me.” I know how funny and cynical you can be. I even know that laughter has gotten you through difficult times. I’m beginning to know you better than anyone has ever known you. Almost as well as you know yourself, Kate.
Now for the bad parts. And Kate, these next points are as important as any of the good news I’ve stated above.
These are the house rules, and they are to be strictly observed:
The most important rule: You must never try to escape—or you will be executed within hours, however painful that would be for both of us. Believe me, there is precedent for this. There can be no reprieve following an escape attempt.
Just for you, Kate, a special rule: You must never try to use your karate skills on me. (I almost brought your gi, your crisp white karate suit, but why encourage you to temptation.)
You must never call out for help—I’ll know if you do—and you will be punished with facial and genital disfigurement.
You want to know more—you want to know everything at once. But it doesn’t work that way. Don’t bother trying to figure out where you are. You won’t guess, and will only give yourself an unnecessary headache.
That’s all for now. I’ve given you more than enough to think about. You are totally safe here. I love you more than you can imagine. I can’t wait for us to talk, really talk.
Casanova

    And you are hopelessly out of your mind!
Kate McTiernan thought as she paced the eleven-by-fifteen-foot room. Her claustrophobic prison. Her hell on this earth.
    Her body felt as if it were floating, as if warm viscous fluid were flowing over her. She wondered if she’d suffered a head injury during the attack.
    She had only one thought:
how to escape.
She began to analyze her situation in every possible way. She reversed the conventional assumptions, and broke down each to its component parts.
    There was a single, double-locked, thick wooden door.
    There was no way out other than through that door.
    No!
That was the conventional assumption. There had to be another way.
    She remembered a problem-solution puzzle from some heretofore useless undergrad logics course she had taken. It began with ten matchsticks arranged as Roman numerals in a math equation:
    XI + I = X

    The problem was how to correct the equation without touching any of the matches. Without adding new matches. Without taking away any matches.
    No easy way out.
    No apparent solution.
    The problem had been unsolvable to many students, but she had figured it out relatively quickly. A solution was there, where none seemed to be. She solved it by reversing the conventional assumptions. She turned the page upside down.
    X = I + IX

    But she couldn’t turn this prison room upside down. Or could she? Kate McTiernan examined every single floorboard and each two-by-four in the wall. The wood smelled new. Maybe he was a builder, a contractor, or perhaps an architect?
    No way out.
    No apparent solution.
    She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
accept that answer.
    She thought about seducing him—if she could force herself to do it. No. He was too clever. He would know. Worse than that,
she
would know.
    There had to be a way. She would find it.
    Kate stared down at the note on the bedside table.
    You must never try to escape—or you will be executed within hours.

Chapter 27

    T HE FOLLOWING afternoon I visited the Sarah Duke Gardens, the place where Naomi had been abducted six days ago. I needed to go there, to visit the scene, to think about my niece, to grieve in private.
    There were more than fifty acres of exquisitely landscaped woodland gardens adjacent to the Duke University Medical Center, literally miles of allees. Casanova couldn’t have hoped for a better site for his kidnapping. He had been thorough. Perfect, so far. How was that possible?
    I talked to staff members and also to a few students who had been there the day Naomi disappeared. The picturesque gardens were officially open from early morning until dusk. Naomi had last been seen at around four o’clock. Casanova had taken her in broad daylight. I couldn’t figure out how he’d done it. Not yet. Neither could the Durham police or the FBI.
    I walked around the woods and gardens for almost two hours. I was overwhelmed by the thought that Scootchie had been taken
right here.
    A spot called the Terraces was particularly beautiful. Visitors could enter through a wisteria-covered pergola. Lovely wooden stairways led down to an irregular-shaped fishpond with a rock garden