"Doctor, Mrs. Simmons is getting impatient," a nurse interrupted, cracking open the door.
"Yes, I'm coming," sighed Klein. As the nurse hurried off, he took a step toward the hallway then turned with his hand on the door edge. "Speaking of hysteria," he commented dryly.
"Sorry. Got to run."
He closed the door behind him. Karras heard his footsteps heading down the hall; heard the opening of a door; heard, "Well, now, how are we feeling today, Mrs...."
Closing of the door. Karras went back to his study of the graph, finished, then folded it up and banded it. He returned it to the nurse in Reception. Something. It was something he could use with the Bishop as an argument that Regan was not a hysteric and therefore conceivably was possessed. And yet the EEG had posed still another mystery: why no fluctuations? why none at all?
**********
He drove back toward Chris's house, but at a stop sign at the corner of Prospect and Thirtyfifth he froze behind the wheel: parked between Karras and the Jesuit residence hall was Kinderman.
He was sitting alone behind the wheel with his elbow out the window, looking straight ahead.
Karras took a right before Kinderman could see him in Chris's Jaguar. Quickly he found a space, parked and locked the car. Then he walked around the corner as if heading for the residence hall. Is he watching the house? he worried. The specter of Dennings rose up again to haunt him. Was it possible that Kinderman thought Regan had...?
Easy. Slow down. Take it easy.
He walked up beside the car and leaned his head through the window on the passenger side.
"Hello, Lieutenant."
The detective turned quickly and looked surprised. Then beamed. "Father Karras."
Off key, thought Karras. He noticed that his hands were feeling dampish and cold. Play it light!Don't let him know that you're worried! Play it light! "Don't you know you'll get a ticket?
Weekdays, no parking between four and six."
"Never mind that,'" wheezed Kinderman. "Im talking to a priest. Every cop in this neighborhood is Catholic or passing."
"How've you been?"
"Speaking plainly, Father Karras, only so-so. Yourself?"
"Can't complain. Did you ever solve that case?"
"Which case?"
"The director."
"Oh, that one." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Don't ask. Listen, what are you doing tonight?
Are you busy? I've got passes for the Crest. It's Othello."
"Who's starring?"
"Molly Picon, Desdemona, and Othello, Leo Fuchs. You're happy? This is freebies, Father Marlon Particular! This is William F. Shakespeare! Doesn't matter who's starring, who's not!
Now, you're coming?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I'm pretty snowed under."
"I can see. You look terrible, you'll pardon my noticing. You're keeping late hours?"
"I always look terrible."
"Only now more than usual. Come on! Get away for one night! We'll enjoy!"
Karras decided to test; to touch a nerve. "Are you sure that's what's playing?" he asked. His eyes were probing steadily into Kinderman's. "I could have sworn there was a Chris MacNeil film at the Crest."
The detective missed a beat, and then said quickly, "No, I'm certain. Othello. It's Othello."
"What brings you to the neighborhood, incidentally?"
"You! I came only to invite you to the film!"
"Yes, it's easier to drive than to pick up a phone," said Karras softly.
The detective's eyebrows lifted in unconvincing innocence. "Your telephone was busy!" he whispered hoarsely, poising an upraised palm in midair.
The Jesuit stared at him, expressionless.
"What's wrong?" asked Kinderman after a moment.
Gravely Karras reached a hand inside the car and lifted Kinderman's eyelid. He examined the eye. "I don't know. You look terrible. You could be coming down with a case of mythomania."
"I don't know what that means," answers Kinderman as Karras withdrew his hand. "Is it serious?"
