"Nen tibet! Nen tibet!"

Gates had wormed one of his fingers through the trigger guard but Rob had jammed his thumb behind the trigger. Gates twisted the pistol viciously, pointing the barrel straight up, but Rob held on. He knew he was a dead man if the gun got away from him.

Suddenly Gates stiffened and shuddered. His eyes widened and he suddenly tried to pull his hands free of the revolver. The move took Rob by surprise. His thumb slipped from behind the trigger, leaving it free to move.

The retort was deafening. Rob winced away from the muzzle flash, felt the burn and sting of the ignited powder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gates jerk upward, saw the top of his head explode in a fountain of red. And then the revolver was all his again and Gates was staggering backward with outflung arms. He managed two steps, during which his eyes were wide, shocked, losing their light. For an instant, his mouth twitched. He said something that sounded like "Kissinum," then he toppled flat onto his back like a fallen tree.

Rob stared at him, feeling numb, feeling sick. All around him voices were saying how crazy the guy was, first running out in front of a car and then attacking a cop and trying to steal his gun. Rob barely heard them. He was staring at Gates' supine form. From this angle he could see the small round hole under Gates' chin where the bullet had entered. It wasn't even bleeding. He stared at that hole until the first blue and white unit arrived.

February 25

11:30 A.M.

"HOW YOU HOLDING UP, ROB?"

It was a measure of Lieutenant Mooney's sincere concern that he called him by his first name. Rob was surprised that he knew it. Mooney perched on the edge of his green desk in his gray office; Rob sat in the chair before it.

"I'm doing all right."

"You did a full shift yesterday. You could have taken today off."

"I don't need an extra day off."

Why was everybody treating him like he was going to fall apart?

"I remember the first time I shot somebody—"

"That's just it, lieu. I didn't pull the trigger. It was his finger in there. Not mine. And if he didn't take the bullet, it might just as easily have been me. Or someone on the curb."

Rob realized he had raised his voice and was getting steamed. He leaned back in the chair and shut up.

"Hey," Mooney said. "Easy. Just asking."

"Sorry, lieu. It's just that the whole thing never should have happened."

That was the part that bothered Rob the most. He was furious with himself for letting someone like Gates get his hands on his revolver. It was the kind of thing that should only happen to a rookie. Not to a guy with his experience. If Rob had been more on the ball he wouldn't have to see blood and bone and brains erupting from the top of Gates' head like a mini Mount St. Helens every time he closed his eyes.

"But it did happen. He fooled you. You thought he was hurt, you let down your guard, and he pulled a fast one on you. Don't let it get you down"

"It's not. But it means I'll probably never know the connection between Gates and Bannion and the Wade women. Three of them are dead and the fourth only came to town a couple of weeks ago, so she knows nothing."

"I'm glad you brought that up. I've been going over these files and here's my scenario: Gates either hypnotized Kelly Wade or got her hooked on schnozz, then pimped her out to do tricks with some wealthy contacts or friends. Bannion got too rough with her and threw her out the window. Gates got pissed at losing such a valuable asset and killed Bannion. Gates tries to elude police surveillance, attacks an officer in front of witnesses, and is fatally shot during the struggle. Three cases closed—bim, bam, boom." He handed the folders to Rob with a satisfied grin. "I like the way you work, Harris."

"Hey, lieu, that doesn't fit the facts at all. Gates was loaded. He didn't need to rent out his patients."

"He did it for kicks, then. He was kinky. The motive doesn't matter now that there's not going to be a trial. He did it. And he won't be doing it no more. Case closed. All three cases closed. Understand?" Mooney's face was getting red and his neck was beginning to bulge out over his collar. "We've got other deaths that need investigating. Get to them. Have a nice day, Harris."

Rob sighed. He knew from years of experience that when Mooney got like this there was no talking to him. He got up and headed for the squad room.

"You, too, lieu."

Rob tossed the files on his desk. These cases weren't closed by a long shot. But they weren't solvable, either. And if they were left open he'd have to file semiannual DD5 Supplementary Complaint Reports on each one. And Mooney would have to review each one.

Why not close them up? Officially, at least. That would get Kara off the hook—she couldn't be a suspect in a closed case.

But in his head Rob planned to keep them open. And if something new popped up, he could always reopen them officially.

And that day would come. He didn't know when, but he had a gut feeling this wasn't the last he'd seen of these three cases. In fact, he had an urge to combine the three into a single file: the Wade/Bannion/Gates case.

Especially after touring the back rooms of Gates' office yesterday.

He had shown up at the office at nine and told the receptionist as gently as he could that her employer was dead. The woman had shown no emotion other than disappointment at being out of a job. While she was emptying her desk, he had strolled through into the back rooms for a peek.

The file room had been tempting. He would have loved to get into those locked cabinets, but he had no warrant for a search and no probable cause to obtain one.

The other room had been the real shocker. A padded cell. With electronic combination locks inside and out, no less. He'd asked the receptionist how often Dr.

Gates had had occasion to use it and she told him she hadn't even known it was there.

No. There was too much here that was unexplained. Rob knew he hadn't heard the last of Lazlo Gati/ Lawrence Gates, M.D.

Manetti stopped by Rob's desk.

"That background on Kara Wade is ready. The Pennsy folks don't have much on her, but they're sending it down the wire. Should hit the printer any second., Still want it?"

Rob shrugged. "I'll stick it in the Bannion file. The case is closed. They're all closed."

Manetti laughed. "Move-'em-Out Mooney strikes again."

Rob went to the corner room where the printer and FAX machine sat. The printer was an old high-speed dot matrix that printed each line with a scream like Sam Kinison with hemorrhoids. He ripped off the fact sheet and speed-read through it. He grabbed Manetti as he passed.

"Hey, Augie. Who did this?"

"Lancaster County Sheriff's office. Why?"

"It's garbage. They don't have the date of her wedding, and they've got her kid's birthdate screwed up."

Manetti gave him an elaborate Brooklyn shrug.

"So call 'em, Rob."

Rob went back to the sheet, Kara's date of birth, her school records, her college degree and major, her job at the hospital, and even her performance record were all there. So was the kind of car she drove (a five-year old Buick), her credit record (excellent), her voter registration (Independent), and so on. But Jill's birthdate was off by a year. They had her as nine and a half and she was really only eight and a half. And there was no record of a marriage. No mention of Kara's late husband's employment and credit record. No mention of her being a widow. Nothing at all about her late husband. It was an extremely consistent deficiency, almost as if the guy had never—

"Jesus H. Christ!" he said aloud.

But if she'd never married, then who was Jill's—?

Suddenly Rob felt weak all over. Jill… the first time he had met her… in Gates' waiting room… she'd said she was nine and a half…