Kiss the Girls

chief suspect, but not the only one.
    There was still a strong chance that Casanova would turn out to be someone we hadn’t even heard of. That was the way it often worked with repeat-killer cases. He was out there—but we might have no idea who he really was. That was the scariest part of all, the most frustrating, too.
    Nick Ruskin and Sikes took Sampson and me over to the suspects board that had been put up. There were seventeen names on it at this point. Five were doctors. Kate had originally believed that Casanova was a doctor, and Kyle Craig did, too.
    I read off the doctors’ names.
Dr. Stefan Romm
Dr. Francis Constantini
Dr. Richard Dilallo
Dr. Miguel Fesco
Dr. Kelly Clark

    I wondered again if several people could somehow be involved with the house of horror. Or was Wick Sachs our man? Was he Casanova?
    “You’re the big guru,” Davey Sikes was suddenly leaning over my shoulder. “Who is he, my man? Help us local yokels out. Catch the bogeyman, Dr. Cross.”

Chapter 89

    L ATE THAT night, Casanova was on the move again. He was hunting again. He had missed the thrill these last few days, but this was going to be an important night.
    He easily penetrated the security of the sprawling Duke University Medical Center complex through a little-used gray-metal door in the private parking area reserved for doctors. On the way to his appointed destination, he passed several chirping nurses and serious-faced young doctors. Some of the doctors and nurses nodded, and even smiled at him.
    As always, Casanova fit in perfectly with the surroundings. He could go anywhere—and he usually did.
    As he hurried down the sterile white hospital corridors, his head was busy figuring out complicated, important calculations about his future. He’d had a hugely successful run here in the Research Triangle area and the Southeast, but it was definitely drawing to an end. Starting tonight.
    Alex Cross and the other dreary plodders were getting too close to him. Even the Durham police were becoming dangerous. He
was
a “territorial rec.” He knew their inadequate terminology for him. Eventually, someone would find the house. Or worse, someone would probably find him through dumb luck.
    Yes, it was time to move on.
Maybe he and Will Rudolph should go to New York City,
he thought.
Or sunny Florida, which had drawn Ted Bundy? Arizona might be pleasant. Spend the fall season in Tempe or Tucson… bustling college towns filled to bursting with prey. Or maybe they could settle in near one of the huge campuses in Texas. Austin was supposed to be nice. Or Urbana, Illinois? Madison, Wisconsin? Columbus, Ohio?
    He was leaning toward Europe actually, either London, Munich, or Paris. His version of the grand tour. Maybe that was the right concept for the times. A truly grand tour for the whiz kids. Who needed to go watch
Dracula
when there were real monsters roaming the countryside day and night?
    Casanova wondered if anyone had managed to follow him into the Medical Center maze. How about Alex Cross? It was a possibility. Dr. Cross had relatively impressive staying power. He had bested that unimaginative child molester, that garden-variety psycho killer, up in D.C. Cross had to be eliminated before he and Will Rudolph left the area for bigger and better things. Otherwise, Cross would follow them to hell and back.
    Casanova passed into Building Two of the Byzantine hospital maze. This was the way to the hospital morgue and maintenance, so the foot traffic was usually lighter.
    He peered down the long, off-white corridor behind him.
No followers.
No one willing to lead in this gutless, witless age, either.
    Maybe they
didn’t
know about him yet. Maybe they hadn’t figured anything out. But they would eventually. There
were
clues. It could all be traced back to Roe Tierney and Tom Hutchinson. The unsolved golden couple murder. The very beginning for him and Will Rudolph. God, he was glad his friend was back. Rudolph always made him feel better when he was around. Rudolph truly
understood
desire, and ultimately, freedom. Rudolph understood
him
as no one else ever had.
    Casanova began to jog down a brightly polished corridor in Building Two of the Medical Center.
    As he quickened his pace, the sound of his slapping footsteps echoed in the empty halls. In a few minutes he was in Building Four, all the way over on the northwest side of the hospital.
    He looked back one more time.
    Nobody had followed. Nobody had guessed right yet. Maybe they