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 a smile, a shrug of the shoulders, a cool nod of his head.
We could hear him hiss through the directional mikes. “Ciao, ladies. I’d like to cut you both into pieces and feed you to the gulls at Venice Beach. And I do have your license plate number, you silly twats.”
CHAPTER 62
WE TRAILED Dr. Will Rudolph to his luxury penthouse apartment at the Beverly Comstock. The FBI knew where he lived. They hadn’t shared that information with the LAPD, either. The tension and disappointment were heavy inside our car. The FBI was playing a dangerous game of freeze-out with the Los Angeles police.
I finally left the stakeout at around eleven o’clock. Rudolph had been inside for more than four hours. A loud, unidentifiable buzzing noise in my head wouldn’t go away. I was still moving on Eastern time. It was 2:00 A.M. for me, and I needed to get some sleep soon.
The FBI agents promised to call right away if anything broke, or if Dr. Rudolph went out hunting again that night. It had to have been a bad scene for him on Melrose, and I thought that he might go after someone else soon.
If he was actually the Gentleman Caller.
I was driven to the Holiday Inn at Sunset and Sepulveda. Kate McTiernan was staying there, too. The FBI had flown her to California because Kate knew more about Casanova than anyone they had assigned to the case. She had been kidnapped by the creep and had lived to tell about it. Kate might be able to identify the killer if he and Casanova were the same person. She had spent most of the day being interviewed at the FBI offices in downtown Los Angeles.
Her room was several doors down from mine at the hotel. I only had to knock once before she opened a white door with a black 26 on the knocker.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was up waiting,” she said. “What happened? Tell me everything.”
I guess I wasn’t in a great mood after the failed bust. “Unfortunately, nothing happened.” I told her the bottom line.
Kate nodded, waiting for more. She had on a light blue tank top, khaki shorts, and yellow flip-flops. She was wide awake and revved up. I was glad to see her, even at half-past two on a shitty morning.
I finally came in and we talked about the FBI stakeout on Melrose Avenue. I told Kate how close we might have come to getting Dr. Will Rudolph. I remembered everything he’d said, every gesture. “He sounded like a gentleman. He acted like a gentleman, too… right up until the blond woman made him angry.”
“What does he look like?” Kate asked. She was eager to help. I couldn’t blame her. The FBI had flown her to Los Angeles, then stuck her in a hotel room for most of the day and night.
“I know how you feel, Kate. I’ve talked to the FBI, and you’re going to ride with me tomorrow. You’re going to see him, probably in the morning. I don’t want to set up any bias in your mind. Is that okay?”
Kate nodded, but I could tell her feelings were hurt. She definitely wasn’t happy about her level of involvement so far.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to act like a tough detective, a controlling bastard,” I finally said. “Let’s not fight about it.”
“Well, you were distant. Anyway, you’re forgiven. I guess we better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day. Big day maybe?”
“Yeah, tomorrow could be a big day. I really am sorry, Kate.”
“I know you are.” She finally smiled. “You really are forgiven. Sweet dreams. Tomorrow we nail Beavis. Then we get Butt-head.”
I finally went off to my room. I hit the bed and thought about Kyle Craig for a while. He’d been able to sell my unorthodox style to his confrères for one reason: it had worked before. I already had one monster’s scalp on my belt. I hadn’t played according to the rules to get it. Kyle understood and respected results. In general, so did the Bureau. They were certainly playing according to their own rules here in Los Angeles.