“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
AT 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.
Nothing could match this physical and emotional feeling: adrenaline pumping, heart beating loudly, total exhilaration in every part of his body. He brought warm milk in a glass pitcher. Also a small wicker basket with a special surprise for Anna.
In truth, it was something he’d been planning for Dr. Kate. He’d wanted to share this moment with her.
He had put on the loud rock ’n’ roll so that Anna would know it was time to get ready. It was a signal. He was certainly ready for her. Pitcher full of warm milk. Long rubber tubing with a nozzle. Cuddly present in the wicker basket. Let the games begin.
CHAPTER 54
CASANOVA COULDN’T take his eyes off Anna Miller. The air around him seemed to roar. Everything was charged with high expectations. He was feeling more than a little out of control. Not like himself. More like the Gentleman Caller.
He looked down on his art—his creation. He held a thought: Anna has never looked like this for anyone else.
Anna Miller lay on the bare wooden floor of the downstairs bedroom. She was naked, except for her jewelry, which he wanted her to wear. Her arms were bound with leather behind her back. A comfortable pillow was propped underneath her buttocks.
Anna’s perfect legs hung from a rope tied to a ceiling beam. This was how he wanted her; this was exactly the way he’d imagined her so many times.
You can do anything that you want to do, he thought.
And so, he did.
Most of the warm milk was already inside her. He’d used the rubber hose and nozzle to do that.
She reminded him a little of Annette Bening, he was thinking, except that she was his now. She wasn’t a flickering image on some Cineplex movie screen. She would help him get over Kate McTiernan, and the sooner the better.
Anna wasn’t so haughty anymore; she wasn’t supremely untouchable, either. He was always curious about how much it took to break someone’s will. Not so much, usually. Not in this age of cowards and spoiled brats.
“Please take it away. Don’t do this to me. I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Anna pleaded convincingly. She had such a beautiful and interesting face—in happiness—and especially in sorrow.
Her cheeks rose sharply whenever she spoke. He memorized the look, everything he could about this special moment. Details to dream about later on. Like the exact tilting angle of her derriere.