The Exorcist

    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 i

    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?"

    "Not fatal."

    "What is it? The suspense is now driving me crazy!"

    "Look it up," said Karras.

    "Listen, don't be so snotty. You should render unto Caesar just a little, now and then. I'm the law. I could have you deported, you know that?"

    "What for?"

    "A psychiatrist shouldn't make people worry. Plus also the goyim, plainly speaking, would love it. You're a nuisance to them altogether anyway, Father. No, frankly, you embarrass them. They would love to get rid of you. Who needs it? a priest who wears sweatshirts and sneakers!"

    Smiling faintly, Karras nodded. "Got to go. Take care." He tapped a hand on the window frame, twice, in farewell, and then turned and walked slowly toward the entry of the residence.

    "See an analyst!" the detective called after him hoarsely. Then his warm look gave way to worry. He glanced through his windshield up at the house, then started the engine and drove up the street. Passing Karras, he honked his horn and waved.

    Karras waved back; watching Kinderman round the corner of Thirty-sixth. Then he stood motionless for a while on the sidewalk, rubbing gently at his brow with a trembling hand. Could she really have done it? Could Regan have murdered Burke De

    Or die?

    He had to build the case for the Chancery.

    He walked quickly across the street at an angle to Chris's house. He rang the doorbell.

    Willie let him in.

    "Missiz taking little nap now," she said.

    Karras nodded. "Good. Very good." He walked by her and upstairs to Regan's bedroom. He was seeking a knowledge he must clutch by the heart.

    He entered and saw Karl in a chair by the window, his arms folded, watching Regan. He was silent and present as a dense, dark wood.

    Karras walked up beside the bed and looked down. The whites of the eyes like milky fog. The murmurings. Spells from some other world. Karras glanced at Karl. Then slowly he leaned over and began to unfasten one of Regan's restraining straps.

    "Father, no!"

    Karl rushed to the bedside and vigorously yanked back the priest's arm. "Very bad, Father! Strong! It is strong! Leave on straps!"

    In the eyes there was a fear that Karras recognized as genuine, and now he knew that Regan's strength was not theory; it was a fact. She could have done it. Could have twisted De

    "Ich möchte Sie etwas fragen, Engstrom!"

    With a stab of discovery and hot-surging hope, Karras jerked around his head and looked down at the bed. The demon gri

    German! It had asked if Karl's daughter liked to dance! His heart pounding, Karras turned and saw that the servant's cheeks had flushed crimson; that he trembled, that his eyes glared with fury. "Karl, you'd better step outside," Karras advised him.