_Wednesday, April 8
2:41 P.M.
_
Ally was very fond of Kristen's West Village neighborhood, since she
herself had once had an apartment on West Eleventh Street, just west of
Seventh Avenue. The street was tree-lined and many of its nineteenth-
century town houses were home to single families, though sometimes the
ground floor, with the entry "under the stoop," i.e., beneath the
stairs, was rented out to provide a little side income. She had rented
one of those "garden apartments"--the upstairs owners were two gay
bankers--and had loved it. However, it also was entirely possible that
Kristen had the whole town house to herself--that was the kind of thing
that a lot of celebrities who lived, or even just spent time, in New
York did. There was privacy and there also was the sense of living in
an actual house instead of in some cookie-cutter apartment. Then again
she could have a downstairs neighbor.
A solitary town house seemed somewhat at odds with the extroverted
personality Kristen displayed on TV, but the privacy was probably
intended more for her sugar daddy, Winston Bartlett, than for her.
Ally had been pushing the pace ever since she got off the phone with
Stone. At Twenty-third Street she had peeled off the West Side Highway
and gone over to Seventh Avenue, where she had a straight shot
downtown. She passed St Vincent's Hospital, and the notorious six-way
intersection that caused so many accidents, and hung a right on West
Eleventh.
She was approaching the corner at Bleecker Street when a huge black
Lincoln Navigator lumbered in front of her, at an angle that cut her
off and blocked the street. Then the vehicle abruptly slammed to a
halt.
"What--!"
She hit her own brakes and managed to slide to a stop just before she
collided with the Lincoln's rear bumper. At first she thought they'd
deliberately cut her off, but then she realized the move had nothing to
do with her. A man and a woman were piling out. He was muscular and
balding, with dark hair and sunglasses, and he was dressed in black.
She had red hair streaked with white and was dressed in a nurse's
whites. They were in a major hurry.
That was when she recognized the man she'd met at Gramercy Park, the
Japanese sidekick Bartlett had called Ken.
Oh shit.
Then she realized that a thirtyish woman was running down West Eleventh
Street toward them, carrying a dark green backpack in her left hand.
They were gesturing for her to come to them and get into the vehicle,
though she didn't appear to see them yet. Halfway down the block behind
her, a man in a tan flight jacket was running, calling out.
"Kristen, wait I just want to talk--"
The running woman glanced over her shoulder at him and, at that moment
collided with Bartlett's flunky. As she recoiled from the impact the
red-haired woman seized her left arm.
"Kirby, come," the woman said. "You're not well. We'll take you back."
"No!" she yelled, and twisted free of the woman's grasp. But now the
Japanese guy had grabbed her other arm.
"It's going to be all right," he said as he caught the top of her head
and started shoving her through the open door of the Navigator. "You
shouldn't go out alone."
At that moment the man in the tan flight jacket reached the scene. It
was Stone, but he'd been moments too late.
He stretched his arm into the Lincoln and tried to take the girl's
hand. "Kristen, don't go with them. I just need to talk--"
"You don't need to do anything, pal," the man called Ken declared.
"Except get out of the way."
He chopped the side of Stone's neck with an open hand, sending him
sprawling backwards onto the pavement, flight jacket askew.
Now something odd was going on. Another girl was running down the
sidewalk. "Kristy, wait. Don't . . ."
But the redheaded woman had already gotten into the backseat of the
SUV, beside the girl, and the Japanese man was heading around the
front. Three seconds later, he was behind the wheel and peeling out.
They were gone.
Ally sat watching, stunned. But now a Chevy sedan was departing a
parking space three cars down from where she was and she quickly pulled
in.
By then Stone Aimes had picked himself up off the sidewalk and was
gazing wistfully in the direction of the vanishing Lincoln. The girl
who'd been behind him stopped and was talking to him.
Ally quickly locked the Toyota and went over.
"But why did she run?" Stone Aimes was asking. He was disheveled but
then being slugged and knocked to the sidewalk takes a toll on
anybody's poise.
"She didn't know who you were," the girl replied She looked like she
would have been more at home in the East Village than here: late
twenties, tattoo on one bicep, eyebrows pierced blue jeans, hair
needing a better day. She had serious acne scars on her cheeks. "I
think she thought you were them, whoever they were."
Ally looked Stone over and felt a surge of admiration. In spite of the
fact he just got decked, there was an athletic feeling about the way he
carried his body, as though he was ready to pounce on a news source.
Only he just didn't pounce quite fast enough this time.
She walked up and gave him a hug. For a lot of reasons.
"Hey, we can't go on meeting like this."
"My God, how humiliating." He winced.
"What in heaven's name just happened? That was Kristen, all right. But
why was she running from you?"
"I saw this woman walking very fast up the street carrying a backpack
and I just took a shot and called out 'Kristen.' She glanced back at
me, then took off like a rabbit. All I accomplished was to drive her
directly into the grasp of those goons."
"You scared her," the girl with the pierced eyebrows shouted, gazing
angrily at Stone. "Who are you? Why did you--?"
"I'm a newspaper reporter," he said. "Who are you?"
"I sublet the garden apartment from her. I met her when I was doing her
makeup at the E! channel. I mentioned I was looking for a place and she
said she liked me and wanted somebody she liked to be her subtenant.
The rent is really low. Then they canceled her show and she had a
mental meltdown and went to a spa somewhere to regroup. Or at least
that's what everybody at E! says."
"So that's definitely Kristen Starr?" Ally asked.
"I hadn't seen her in over five months, not even to pay the rent, and I
couldn't believe it was her when she rang my bell and asked if she
could borrow my copy of her key. At first I almost didn't recognize
her. She looked . . . different somehow. The odd part was, I got the
impression that she didn't recognize me either, at least for a minute
or two. When I asked her if she wanted the rent, she just looked at me
funny. A few minutes later, she brought the key back and she had a
half-open backpack stuffed with clothes and papers. She seemed nervous
and disoriented. I was going to try and help her get a cab. But then
you showed up."
"Hey, look, I had no idea I was going to freak her out like that,"
Stone said.
"What's your name?" Ally asked and then she introduced herself.
"My named is Cindy Dobbs. And you know something? Kristen didn't seem
like the same person, in a lot of ways. She looked really different. I
don't know how to explain it. But something was really, really wrong
with her. And she kept saying her name wasn't Kristen, that it's
something else--I can't remember what now. All I know is, she was
totally spooked."
"Talk about bad timing," Stone said.
"She was so paranoid she kept babbling about how 'they' knew she was
here in her apartment and were coming to get her and she had to get
away real quick. I don't know who she was talking about. Some guy used
to come by and his white stretch limo would be double-parked for a
couple of hours while he went in. But other than him, nobody ever came
here."
"Cindy, the truth is, I was talking to her this very morning on the
phone," Ally said. "I'm the one who called her. I also met her mother
today, who just got a crazy letter from her and was walking around with
a pistol because of it. I'm getting to be deeply invested in Kristen
Starr. Something bizarre seems to have happened to her and I need to
find out what it is."
Ally didn't want to confess that she felt indirectly responsible for
what had just occurred If she hadn't phoned . . . She stood thinking a
minute, then, "Did you say you had a key to her place?"
Cindy shrugged. "I've had it since I moved in. We had copies of each
other's keys. Just in case, you know." She reached into her ragged
jeans and pulled it out and stared at it. It was attached to a blue
plastic tab, GREENWICH LOCKSMITHS.
"Then could we borrow it long enough to go in and take a look around?
Maybe we could find some clue to what's going on."
"Hey, if you want the key, and you think it can help you find her, you
can just have it." She was holding it out. "I don't want to go in
there, ever. With my luck, those people would show up again and take me
away. But let me know if you find out anything, okay? I really thought
of her as a friend, even though we actually didn't know each other that
well. She didn't ever introduce me to that older guy who came around.
Probably because he was married, at least that's my guess."
"I think she knows those people who grabbed her just now," Ally said,
taking the key. "Cindy, can we exchange phone numbers?"
"Sure. I meant it about letting me know if you find out what's going on
with her. Everybody at work is going to be really bummed when they hear
about this."
Moments later, Ally and Stone were alone on the street, with Stone
still appearing dazed. Now, taking measure of him in the daylight, she
noticed a bit more of the mileage in his face and body. Still, it was
good mileage and it had left him seasoned and lean. Also, she sensed
that he really cared about things. This was more like the man she
remembered, a mensch in wolf's clothing.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.
"I'm going to be fine," he said. "Jesus, I never dreamed I'd spook her
the way I did. By the way, did you get the license number of that
Lincoln? I sure as hell didn't."
"I didn't need it. That guy is Winston Bartlett's personal bodyguard.
He called him Ken. I was at Bartlett's place on Gramercy Park a couple
of days ago and I saw him there."
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"I wish." She paused. "You know, Kristen and Bartlett were being talked
about as an item back when. 'Page Six.' "
"The Sentinel would never touch it, but that was more than a rumor.
Over the years I've had occasion to take more than a passing interest
in his affairs." He grinned. "And for the past several days, he's been
taking a lot more interest in my affairs, ever since he found out about
the book."
"Incidentally," she declared, "I didn't have a chance to tell you on
the phone, but Kristen seems to have no memory of who she is. Somebody
told her that her name is Kirby, and that's what she insists on being
called. All in all, she sounded deeply screwed up." She dangled the
key. "So why don't we go up and see if we can learn anything?"
"Did it seem odd to you that, what's her name, Cindy didn't want to go
in with us," he mused as they headed up the steps.
"Well, maybe she's already seen it. God only knows what we're going to
find. Though the place she had in Chelsea was pretty well maintained.
After I redid it, it was a knockout, of course, but she'd already moved
down here by then."
The building dated from the middle of the nineteenth century and the
entryway, painted white, was a slight nod to the fashion for the Greek
Revival style that made its way into the New York town houses of that
period.
She shoved the key into the new lock, a Medico, and pushed open the
door. Stone moved past her and switched on the light.
What awaited them was a minimally furnished but elegant living room,
with a small couch and table. The downstairs "parlor floor" had been
"opened up"; a lot of walls had been taken out and a staircase was on
one side of the front room. It felt like a modern loft.
Memorabilia from E! was all over, the logo on throw pillows and two
empty mugs on the table. The main decoration, however, consisted of
publicity photos of Kristen around the walls, a smiling blonde with
flowing tresses down over her shoulders. In all of them she was wearing
heavy makeup and the photos appeared to have been airbrushed.
They were both trying to absorb what they were actually seeing. Each
photo, and there were at least sixteen, was pinned to the walls with a
steak knife, all with matching white bone handles.
"Jesus, who do you think did this?" Stone asked. "Could it be that
ditzy girl downstairs?"
"I'd say she did it herself. Supposedly the reason she went to the
Dorian Institute was because she was having some kind of personal
crisis over starting to look older. She was consumed with terminal
self-hate. That's what this has to be about."
"I've never caught her on TV," Stone said, walking over to study one of
the photos, "but from what little I saw of her on the street just now,
she sure seemed different from these head shots."
"Well, this is exactly how she looked on the tube." She told him the
alleged story of how Kristen had ended up at the Dorian Institute. Then
she gazed around the room, still having trouble taking it in. "Jesus,
this is really sick."
"Ally, I'm absolutely convinced that whatever happened or didn't
happen--keep that possibility in mind--to Kristen is connected somehow to
the reason Gerex's clinical trials have been put under ironclad
security."
"Which is why, no matter what, they've got to get her back on the
reservation." Ally thought a moment. "Van de Vliet told me she'd left
the clinic of her own accord. Which clearly was BS. Winston Bartlett
has her stashed somewhere. Probably in an apartment in one of the
buildings he owns." She looked over. "What do you think it all means?"
"How's this for a guess? Kristen is experiencing some kind of side
effect that's truly horrendous. Losing your memory is bad enough, but
there's probably something more too. I can't imagine what it is, but if
the truth about it ever gets out, their entire program of stem cell
research would be jeopardized."
"Well, I don't see much here to help us find her," she declared,
looking around. "The knives in the walls don't speak well for her grip
on sanity. Who knows? Maybe nothing's physically wrong with her. Maybe
it's just all in her crazy head. Look at this place, for goodness'
sake. Except for the knives, it looks pretty normal. Maybe she's just a
nutcase and imagining that her memory is going."
As she gazed around the room one last time, she noticed an answering
machine on the floor next to the couch. The message light on it was
blinking, and she walked over and pushed the play button. She
remembered that Stone had said he hadn't left a message, and Kristen
had picked up when she called her, short-circuiting the voice mail.
The phone machine announced in an electronic voice, "You have one
message, at two-eleven P.M."
Then an unctuous male voice came on. "Kirby, we know you're there.
You're still in treatment. You shouldn't be wandering around
unsupervised. It's a lot better, a lot safer, for you to stay with us
now. This is Ken. I'm coming with Delores to pick you up. I know you're
upset, but you shouldn't be. We're going to take care of you and help
you."
Then the phone machine clicked off.
"My God" Stone said glancing at his watch, "that's almost exactly when
I got here. That's why she thought I was with them."
"That's the guy who slugged you. I recognize his voice. Guess they
suspected she was here and that phone call was intended to flush her
out. It worked."
"And I ended up right in the middle of it. Damn."
She walked around the empty room, checking it out. Except for the head
shots stabbed to the wall, there was not a scrap of paper to be seen.
So how do we find Kristen without a clue? she wondered. Should the
kidnapping, if that's what it was, be reported to the police? But what
proof do we have that any of it actually happened? They're not going to
third-degree Winston Bartlett.
"You know," Stone said staring closely at one of the photos, "I didn't
actually get a really good look at the woman running down the street.
She glanced back at me when I called out her name, but the truth is,
I'm not a hundred percent sure this is her."
"Come on," Ally said "that had to be Kristen. The girl downstairs
recognized her. Though she did say she looked different somehow."
"You're going to think I'm crazy," he went on, still staring around at
the walls, "but it seems to me the girl on the street was a lot younger
than this one." He bit a fingernail contemplatively. "Christ, this is
some sick material."
"Stone, I'm going down to my office, to take care of some things and
think about this. Come along if you like. Maybe we've overlooked
something obvious. Something that--"
That was when the beeper on his belt went off. He looked down at the
number.
"Whoops. It's my managing editor."
"Where you work?"
"Right. Only I've got a feeling this call could be about how I used to
work there."