Dopplegangster (37 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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I leaped forward and knocked the phone out of his hand, startling him. “I will not be the cause of you violating Max’s privacy!” Or the cause of Max getting locked up after they found weird things in his lab that couldn’t easily be explained away. Especially not with Lopez so suspicious of him already.
Angry now, Lopez said, “You just told me you watched Max cut off ‘my’ head tonight, and then ‘I’ exploded all over the room! Do you really want to go on
another
trip like that, Esther?”
“I wasn’t tripping!”
“Do you want him doing this to someone else, too?”
“He’s not drugging anyone! Why won’t you believe me?”
“Do you hear how crazy you sound?”
“Yes, I do! Do you honestly think I’d even
talk
to you about this if your life weren’t at stake?” Frustrated, I said, “Max wants to protect you! And me! Why are you trying to blame him?”
He bit off whatever he was about to say, got control of his temper, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he let out his breath slowly and said, “Because Max creating these delusions by drugging you is better than the alternative.”
“Which is?” I gasped as I realized what he meant. “Oh! You think I’m crazy?”
He didn’t say anything.
“So either I’m a drugged-up dupe or I’m a nutbag?”
“I’m trying to think of a third alternative, but nothing’s coming to me.” He crossed the floor and stooped down to retrieve his phone. Examining it, he said, “It’s dead. Great. That’s the second phone I’ve run through today.”
Trying to relieve the tension in the room, I said, “What happened to the first one?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’ll turn up. But after I saw those photos, I didn’t want to call you from an OCCB phone, and I couldn’t find my cell.” He turned the broken phone over in his hands. “I keep this in my desk. It’s prepaid. Anonymous. Useful for work, sometimes.”
“Oh.” That explained why his call to me a little while ago had shown up on my cell as “Caller Unknown.” I said, “I’m sorry I broke it. But I don’t want you bothering Max.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “Seriously worried.”
“I’m a lot more worried about you.”
“I want you to stay away from Max from now on.”
“No, I won’t do that.”
He glanced at his watch. “Shit. I have to go.”
“Back to work?”
“I’m following a lead. I’ve got to go meet someone.”
“You’re not safe,” I said urgently. “Don’t go.”
“The city’s on the verge of a mob war, Esther. That’s a very messy thing, and people besides wiseguys will get hurt. I want to get you out of here—”
“And maybe into an insane asylum?” I said sourly.
“—but I don’t have time to fight about it. I’ve got to leave.” He started collecting the bladed weapons from the table.
“What are you doing?”
“You sound insane, you’re talking about beheading people—”
“Not
people!
”
“—and chopping off heads is evidently Max’s bright idea. All things considered, I don’t think it’s a great idea for me to leave two swords and an ax lying around here when I go.”
“You can’t just
take
those! Don’t you have to have a warrant or something?”
“Let’s agree that I’m not taking them as a cop, but as your concerned . . . friend.”
“Give that back!” I grabbed the ax and tugged. “You can’t leave us defenseless!”
He used his free hand to grasp my wrist and torque it downward. A sharp jolt of pain made me let go of the ax and stumble. He twisted my arm behind my back and pulled me up against his chest. I was breathing hard and grimacing in pain. He looked angry, sad, and frustrated.
“Either you’re leaving here right now, or else these weapons are leaving.” His voice was quiet, his tone unyielding. “God knows what you might do with them, in your current state of mind.”
“Where do you want me to go?” I was angry and frustrated, too. “A psych ward?”
“That’s not a bad idea.” He lifted his brows. “Well?”
I lowered my head and tried to get control of my breathing, aware of our bodies pressed together. Aware of how different things were now than they had been only this afternoon. Nothing about this embrace resembled the one we had shared then.
“If you take these weapons,” I said, realizing there was a silver lining, “keep them with you. And if you see your perfect double—”
“No, Esther, I’m not cutting off someone’s head.” He released me. “But I will take the weapons.”
Ax still in hand, he picked up the two swords. “Don’t eat or drink or inhale anything else Max gives you—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“—and I’ll try to call you tomorrow. We’ll talk about protective custody.”
“Lopez!” I followed him as he headed for the door. “Will you at
least
promise to call me immediately if you see someone who looks just like you?”
“We’ll also talk about you getting treatment.”
“Listen to me! What’s happening here is more complicated than just another mob war! The Gambellos—”
“Esther, I know you want to help.” He paused on the threshold and looked over his shoulder at me. “And some of what you told me tonight
is
helpful. It’s useful. Okay? But now you’ve got to stay out of this.”
And he left.
 
Max and Nelli were alone when they returned to the shop.
“Where’s Lucky?”
“He got a call while we were out. He has been summoned by the don of his
famiglia
.”
It was nearly midnight. “Don’t wiseguys ever sleep?” Max’s gaze fell on the table where I sat. “Where are our weapons?”
I told him what had happened.
When I finished, he patted my back. “Don’t blame yourself, my dear. I’m sure you explained the danger with excellent clarity. But I’ve learned through long and difficult experience that most people respond to mystical events precisely the way Detective Lopez does. That is to say, by dismissing some of the evidence and interpreting the rest according to their existing beliefs.” He added morosely, “Or else they respond the way Doctor Dapezzo did.”
Recalling the capo’s unbridled mirth, I said, “Well, at least Danny had a good time on the final night of his life.”
“And you mustn’t fret about the loss of the bladed weapons. I have more.”
“Really?”
“I have no more swords, alas, but I do have a rather good machete in the laboratory that will serve our purpose,” he said. “And it is somewhat comforting to know that Detective Lopez is now armed with suitable weapons for dispatching a doppelgangster.”
“He says he won’t use them.”
“We can only hope that, if confronted by his own perfect double, he will change his mind.”
“But then it’ll be too late! Once he comes face-to-face with himself, he’ll be a victim of the killer’s curse, and nothing can save his life after that! So how can we prevent him from meeting his duplicate?”
“Well, first of all, keep in mind that we have dispatched his double and that it’s entirely possible the killer is unaware of this. In which case, he won’t even consider making another duplicate until he suspects that something has gone wrong.”
“And then he
will
make another, and—”
“So far, the killer has only created one doppelgangster per victim,” Max said. “Therefore, it is not unreasonable for us to hope that he
can
only make one for each target.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“No. But logic suggests that, at least for the rest of tonight, Detective Lopez is out of danger.”
“Logic,” I repeated. “You must be kidding.” Still, this soothed my panic enough for me to remember what I had wanted to tell Max. So I explained what I had realized when confronted by the real Lopez.
“Hmm. Yes, this is most interesting, Esther!” He stroked his beard. “So Detective Lopez’s doppelgangster tonight was wearing exactly the same clothing that the real man wore at your apartment early this afternoon . . .”
“Plus the jacket,” I said, “which he didn’t have when he came to my place. So I guess he hadn’t been duplicated yet?”
“But by tonight, he was.”
“What I don’t understand is, how did Lopez avoid meeting his double? It sounds to me like they were both at the scene of the crime this afternoon. They both found the note with our phone numbers . . . Wait!
Oh
.”
“Ah!” Max nodded.
“He was duplicated
after
he found the note,” I said.
“The doppelgangster shared his memories up to that point. It recalled finding the note at the scene of the crime, concealing the evidence, and phoning this number to verify that it was indeed mine.”
“But it
didn’t
know about anything that happened later,” I said. “It wasn’t affected by the things that took Lopez’s mind off that discovery as the evening progressed. And it didn’t know about the surveillance photos, either, which bothered the real Lopez more than the note did.”
“The doppelgangster,” Max mused, “gave in to the impulse to come here immediately and confront you about the note. An impulse that Detective Lopez presumably
felt
when he found our phone numbers with the deceased, but couldn’t act upon at the time.”
“Because he was on the job. He could place a phone call, but he couldn’t leave.” I paused. “But, wait, the doppelgangster
didn’t
come here immediately, Max. It came here right before Lopez did.”
“It didn’t come here immediately after the discovery of the note,” Max agreed. “I postulate that it came here immediately after it was
created
.”
A chill went through me. “This is creeping me out.”
“So we know the doppelgangster came into being sometime after I received Detective Lopez’s extremely brief phone call and before the creature arrived here.”
“That’s a window of a few hours. Does this mean that’s how long it takes to make a doppelgangster?”
“Possibly. Or perhaps even much less time than that. Alternately, however, the process could have begun well before this afternoon and then been completed this evening.”
My shoulders slumped. “So we haven’t really narrowed down anything after all?”
“On the contrary!” Max said encouragingly. “While we still don’t know how it was done—nor precisely how long the whole process took—we
have
discerned the moment of Detective Lopez’s life from which his doppelgangster was created: While he was angry about the note and conscience stricken over concealing it, but before his subsequent experiences began distracting his attention from this.”
“All right,” I said. “We know approximately
when
. . . but we still have no idea
why
.”
“Why he was duplicated?”
“The other three victims were all wiseguys. Why is the murderer trying to kill a cop now?”
“Because Detective Lopez is his adversary,” Max suggested.
“Wiseguys don’t target cops,” I said with a frown. “So are we looking for a wiseguy who’s violating that custom? Or are we . . .” It occurred to me for the first time. “Is it possible the killer isn’t a wiseguy?”
“Hmm. That’s a theory we’ve overlooked until now. The victims all had enemies in their own, er, profession, so we made the reasonable supposition that the killer is a colleague. However, you’re quite right—that needn’t necessarily be the case.” He continued, “On the other hand, our adversary is creative, devious, ruthless, and clever. Given the unconventional nature of these murders, I find it difficult to believe he abides by popular custom, so to speak, when choosing his victims. Therefore, he may well be a member of Lucky’s profession and yet entirely willing to target a police officer.”
“But if a cop dies . . .” I felt sick at the thought of
which
cop we were talking about, but made myself continue, “There’ll be hell to pay, and the killer must know that.”
“If so, then he is indifferent to that eventuality.” Max shrugged. “Perhaps he even courts it. It would certainly add to the violent chaos that is now imminent.”
“Yes, it would. And why this
particular
cop?” I said desperately. “There’s a whole team on the case!”
“Perhaps because the killer has identified him as a greater threat than his fellow officers are? As you are well aware, Detective Lopez is both astute and persistent.”
“I should have conked him over the head and locked him up in the laboratory.”
“No, he would get into mischief down there,” Max said.
“Not if he was tied up,” I said grimly.
There was a pause. Then Max said, “I don’t wish to alarm you unnecessarily—”

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