Kiss the Girls

the edge of sleep. The closet had to be his hiding spot. It was a shrine, but not to his expensive suits.
    “That’s where he kept his souvenirs?” I made an educated guess.
    “You got it. Little waist-high refrigerator-freezer back there. It’s where he kept the body parts he collected.” Becton pointed to the sealed containers. “Sunny Ozawa’s feet. Fingers. Two ears with different earrings, two separate victims.”
    “What else was in his collection?” I asked Phil Becton. I wasn’t in a hurry to look at feet, ears, fingers. His trophies from the murders of young girls around L.A.
    “Well, as you’d expect from reading the murder-scene briefs, he liked to collect their underwear as well. Freshly worn panties, bras, pantyhose, a woman’s T-shirt that says Dazed and Confused and still smells of Opium perfume. He likes to keep photographs, a few locks of auburn hair. He’s so
neat.
He kept each specimen in its own plastic bag. One through thirty-one. He’s labeled them with numbers.”
    “Preserve the smells,” I muttered. “The sandwich bags.”
    Becton nodded, and he also grinned like a gawky, goofy teenager. Kate looked at the two of us as if we were both a little nuts, which we were.
    “There’s something else I think you should see, though. This, you’re going to appreciate. Come over to my office.”
    On a plain wooden table next to the bed were some of the Gentleman’s treasures and souvenirs. Most of the paraphernalia had already been marked. It takes an organized task force to catch an organized killer.
    “Spooky good” Phil Becton emptied out one of the five-by-seven-inch envelopes so I could see the contents. A single photograph fell out of the envelope. It was of a young male, probably in his early twenties. The condition of the photo, as well as the male’s clothing, suggested it had been taken years earlier. Eight to ten years was my quick guess.
    The hair on my neck was starting to rise. I cleared my throat. “Who’s this supposed to be?”
    “Do you know this man, Dr. McTiernan?” Phil Becton turned to Kate. “Ever see this man before?”
    “I… I don’t know,” Kate answered Phil Becton. She swallowed hard. The Gentleman’s bedroom was quiet. Outside on the streets of Los Angeles, the orangish-red glow of morning had fallen over the city.
    Becton handed me metal tweezers that he kept handy in his breast pocket. “Flip it over for
all the vital stats.
Just like those Topps baseball cards we used to collect as kids. At least we did in Portland.”
    I figured that Becton had collected a lot more than baseball cards in his life and times. I carefully turned over the photo.
    A neatly handwritten legend was on the back. It reminded me of the way Nana Mama identified every single old photo in our house. “Sometimes you forget who people are, Alex. Even people in photographs with you,” she told me. “You don’t believe me, but you’ll see as time passes you by.”
    I didn’t think that Will Rudolph was likely to forget the person in the picture, but he had handwritten a legend all the same. My head was spinning a little. We finally had an unbelievable break in the case. I was holding it right under my nose with crime-scene tweezers.
    Dr. Wick Sachs,
the handwriting on the photo read.
    A doctor,
I thought.
Another doctor. Imagine that.
    Durham, North Carolina,
the legend continued.
    He was from the Research Triangle area. He was from the South.
    Casanova,
Rudolph had written.

Part Four

    Twinning

Chapter 76

    N AOMI CROSS was awakened by rock music blaring from the wall speakers. She recognized the Black Crowes. The overhead lights flashed on and off. She jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on wrinkled jeans and a turtleneck and ran to the door of her room.
    The loud music and boldly flashing lights signaled a meeting.
Something terrible has happened,
she thought. Her heart was in free fall.
    Casanova kicked open the door. He had on tight jeans, engineering boots, a black leather jacket. His mask was painted with chalky streaks that resembled lightning. He was in a frenzy. Naomi had never seen him look this angry.
    “Living room! Now!” he shouted as he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the room.
    The floor of the narrow corridor felt damp and cold under Naomi’s bare feet. She had forgotten to put on her sandals. It was too late to go back for them.
    She fell in step with a young woman. The two of them walked nearly parallel to each other. Naomi was