He stood, stretched and started toward Tony’s desk. Between the two of them, they’d questioned everyone in the Noble household. Everyone’s answers pretty well mirrored Leo’s-with one exception. Only the housekeeper recalled Kay having a headache.
“Yo, Pasta Man.” His partner sat at his desk, staring at a small logbook. “What’s up?”
Instead of answering, he made a growling noise.
Spencer frowned and indicated the logbook. “What’s that?”
“Points keeper.”
“Excuse me?”
“Weight Watchers. Wife signed me up.” He sighed. “Every food has an assigned point value. You log everything you eat and subtract it from your daily points limit.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve already used up all my points.”
“For the day and night?”
“Yeah. And some of my weekly flex points.”
“Flex poin-” He bit the question back. “Forget about it. Let’s take a drive.”
“Where?”
“Noble’s. By way of the Criminal Courts Building.”
Tony grinned. “Judge granted a search warrant?”
“Bingo, baby.”
In the end, they picked up the warrant, and since they were downtown, paid a visit to Noble’s lawyer. Winston Coppola was a partner in Smith, Grooms, Macke and Coppola, located in the Place St. Charles building.
They parked in a tow zone-legal spots were few and far between in the Central Business District, and flipped down the visor to display their police ID. As they crossed the sidewalk to the building’s main entrance, the St. Charles Avenue streetcar rumbled past.
They found the law firm on the building’s directory, caught an elevator and headed for the tenth floor.
The pretty young woman at reception smiled when the two men approached her desk. “Spencer Malone, what a surprise.”
He returned the smile, not having a clue who she was. Luckily, he’d noted her name on the desk placard. “Trish? Is that you?”
“It is.”
“Gee, look at you. How long’s it been?”
“Too long. I changed my hair.”
“I see that. I like it.”
“Thanks.” She pouted. “You never called. We had so much fun that night at Shannon’s, I was certain you would.”
Shannon’s. No wonder.
Must have been back in his big drinking days.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said with what he hoped was just the right note of sincerity. He imagined Tony beside him, rolling his eyes. “I lost your number.”
“I can remedy that.”
She caught his hand and turned it palm up. She wrote the number across his palm, then closed his fingers around it. “Call me.”
Tony cleared his throat. “We’re here to see Winston Coppola. Is he in?”
“Mr. Coppola? Do you have an appointment?”
“This is official business.”
“Oh…I see,” she said, obviously flustered. “I’ll buzz him.”
She did, and a moment later, she replaced the receiver and directed them to the man’s office. As they made their way back, Tony leaned toward him, “Good save, Slick.”
“Thanks.”
“What a knockout. Are you going to call her?”
Truth was, calling the pretty Trish was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Well, maybe not the furthest, but the need wasn’t pressing. “I’d be crazy not to. Right?”
Tony didn’t answer, because they had reached the attorney’s office; he was waiting at the door for them. Handsome, well-dressed, impeccably groomed, but with a slightly freaky George Hamilton tan, he appeared to be a smooth operator.
Spencer greeted him. “Detectives Malone and Sciame. We need to ask you a few questions about Kay Noble.”
“Kay?” He frowned. “You have IDs, Detectives?”
After inspecting them, the man ushered them into his office. None of them sat.
Spencer noted the framed diplomas; the photographs on the desk, credenza and walls. One, he saw, depicted the lawyer skiing, another at the beach. No wonder the guy was so brown.
Tony looked around, openly admiring the office. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
“You have an interesting name, Mr. Coppola.”
“English mother, Italian father. I’m a bit of a mutt, actually.”
“Any relationship to Francis Ford?”
“Sadly, no. Now, about Noble?”
“She’s missing. We have reason to believe she’s in harm’s way.”
“My God. When-”
“Last night.”
“How can I help?”
“When did you see her last?”
“Early this week.”
“May I ask what the meeting was about?”
“A licensing agreement.”
“How’s business? Their business?”
“Very good.” He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m sure you understand I can’t share confidential information.”
“Actually, you can. We have a warrant.” Spencer produced the document; the attorney looked it over, then handed it back.
“First off, this document does not release me from attorney-client privilege. It allows you access to Leonardo Noble’s home and vehicle, and financial and business records you might find there.
“Second, as a lawyer, I understand the significance of the warrant and your underlying reasons for obtaining it.” He leaned toward them. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. If something’s happened to Kay, Leo had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“They’re devoted to each other.”
“They divorced, Mr. Coppola.”
“Let go of all your notions about what that means. They’d worked all that out. They are friends. Partners in raising their daughter and in their business ventures.”
“And how is their business?” Spencer asked, repeating his earlier question.
“Very good, actually. Leo and Kay just signed several big licensing agreements.”
“For really big money?” Tony asked.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“How big?” Spencer pressed. “Are we talking millions?”
“Yes, millions.”
“Who pays your bill, Mr. Coppola?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your bill, who pays it? Leo or Kay?”
Red stained his cheeks. “That question offends me, Detective.”
“But I’m certain the money doesn’t.”
“Noble’s not just a client, but also a friend. Billable hours have nothing to do with that. Or with how I answered your questions. I’m sorry, but I’m out of time.”
Spencer stuck out his hand. “Thanks for speaking with us. We’ll be in touch.”
Tony handed him a card. “If you think of anything, give us a call.”
The attorney showed them out. Trish sat at her desk but was too busy to do more than look up and smile as they passed. The moment the door of the elevator whooshed shut, Tony looked at Spencer. “Interesting how rich people always claim money’s not important. If it’s not important, why do they work so hard to hang on to it?”
Spencer nodded, recalling how Leo Noble had claimed money didn’t mean that much to him. “I’m thinking that Coppola believes Leo’s the power behind the empire. Did you get that?”
“Yeah, I got that. You think that influenced his answers?”
“Maybe. He’s a lawyer, after all.”
For the most part, cops didn’t think highly of lawyers. Except for prosecutors, like Spencer’s brother Quentin.
The elevator reached the first floor; the doors opened and they stepped off. “You’re married, Pasta Man, give me some perspective.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m a little muddy about this whole ‘they still love and respect each other’ thing.
This ‘I owe it all to her, so I’m giving her half’ thing. Let’s say the missus divorces you. How are you going to feel about that?”
They reached the car. Spencer unlocked it and they climbed in. Tony buckled his safety belt and looked at Spencer. “I’ve been married thirty-two years and I don’t get it, either. We love and respect each other, fight and disagree, but we stay together. It’s the fact that we made a commitment to each other that keeps us together, working at it. If she divorced me, I’d be pretty pissed off.”
“And if, after she divorced you, she got half of everything you made-past and future. How would you feel about that? Could you still be friends?”
“It wouldn’t happen, dude.”
“Why not?”
“After you sleep with a woman, you can’t be friends.”
“Neanderthal.”
“And how many of those friends do you have?”
Spencer drew his eyebrows together in thought. Exactly…none.
He glanced at Tony, then pulled away from the curb. “Everybody who knows them is singing the same song. Friends. Employees. Daughter.”
“And you think it’s an act.”
It wasn’t a question; instead of answering, he asked one of his own. “Who stands to gain the most by Kay Noble dying?”
“Leo Noble.”
“Damn right, he does. Call for a couple uniforms to meet us at Leo’s. It’s time for the games to begin.”
CHAPTER 48
Friday, March 18, 2005
4:45 p.m.
Stacy’s plane landed in New Orleans exactly on schedule. As it taxied toward the gate, she reviewed the events of the day. After learning the dentist who had identified Dick Danson had been murdered, she had U-turned and headed back to the Lodge. Billie had reregistered, getting her room back before it had even been cleaned. From there, they had called Chief Battard-to inform him that Billie was staying and to ask if Stacy could meet with him quickly to explain why.
And to ask for his help.
On their way, Stacy had filled Billie in on what she wanted her to do: look into any missing-persons cases in the area at the time of Danson’s suicide, and if one appeared, to somehow uncover if he had been a patient of Dr. Mark Carlson’s. She also wanted her to find a way to gain access to the dentist’s records and cross-reference them against the ones used to ID Danson’s corpse.
Chief Battard would be instrumental in making that happen. Medical records were damn near impossible to access without official authorization.
They’d met Chief Battard in his office at headquarters. Stacy had run her theory by him and asked for his help. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed.
And he’d agreed to help.
Stacy suspected the prospect of a few more days with the sultry Billie had something to do with his equanimity.
Stacy exited the plane. She was right about one thing-she was certain of it.
Dick Danson was alive. He was the White Rabbit.
And he was a killer.
As soon as she had cleared the terminal, she turned on her phone. She had three messages waiting. Judging by the callback numbers, all three were from Leo.
She’d spoken with him first thing that morning, had told him the trip had been a bust and that she was flying home.
A lot had happened since she’d made that call.
More, apparently, than she’d even realized.
While she made her way to the parking garage, she checked the messages. The first call was, indeed, from Leo. He was upset. His voice shaking.
Kay’s…gone. She’s…someone…the White Rabbit…she may be dead. Call me as soon as you touch down.
The second was from Alice, not her father. She was crying, so hard Stacy could barely make out what she was saying. Her message, in essence, mirrored her father’s. She was scared.
Grimly, Stacy quickened her pace. The third was again from Leo. According to her cell’s time stamp, it had come in just before she touched down. Malone had gotten a search warrant and was at the house now. He didn’t know what to do.
A search warrant.
The ball was in motion now.
She stepped outside the terminal and the humid New Orleans air caught her in a bear hug. Crossing the traffic lanes to the parking garage, she found her vehicle, unlocked it and tossed her bag inside.
Minutes later, Stacy was on the airport access road, heading toward I-10 East. She anticipated the trip taking about fifteen minutes, barring accidents, construction or a game in the Superdome.
Stacy tried Leo, got his recording and left a message. She rang Malone, also with no luck. She used the rest of the drive to review what she knew of the recent events and to prepare herself for what awaited.
The playing cards were dead. Now Kay had gone missing. Malone and his partner had gotten a search warrant-which meant they had evidence enough to convince a judge they had just cause.
What did they have on Leo?
She meant to find out.
Stacy reached Leo’s mansion in what she suspected was record time. Judging by the number of cars parked out front, one of them a NOPD cruiser, Malone and company were still there.
She angled her own vehicle into a narrow spot, hopped out and hurried to the front door.
Mrs. Maitlin, looking pale and shaken, answered. “Valerie,” Stacy said, holding out a hand. “I heard. What’s happening?”
The woman grasped it and glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Stacy. “They’re tearing the place apart. As if Mr. Leo could have done a thing to Mrs. Noble. And poor Alice, she’s the one who…the blood-”
“Stacy!” Leo rushed across the foyer. “Thank God.” He reached the door and drew her inside. “This is unreal. Insane. First, Kay disappearing. Then this search-”
“Did you call your lawyer?”
“Yes. They had already visited him, shown him the warrant. Said it looked legal. That there was nothing I could do but cooperate.”
“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to-”
He cut her off, looking hurt. “If I’m innocent? You doubt me, Stacy?”
“That’s not what I meant. Focus, Leo. They won’t find anything-it will force them to look elsewhere.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Alice, huddled on the parlor couch. She looked lost.
Even though her heart went out to the teenager, she kept her attention on Leo. “Was there any kind of message left at the scene?”
“No, not that I saw.”
“It sounds as if they suspect foul play. Why?”
He looked at her blankly. “The scene,” she said softly. “There were signs of a struggle? Blood?”
He nodded, understanding. “Yes. And I…I sent Alice to look for her.” His voice broke. “She saw-It’s my fault.”
“How’d he get in, Leo?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “They asked me if she ever left her door unlocked.”
Which meant there had been no evidence of a break-in.
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them she did not.”
She laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “Where are they?”
“Upstairs.”
“I’ll be back. Hold tight.”
Stacy headed upstairs, then followed the sound of voices. She saw that the place had been torn apart. Typical cops, she thought, as she found them in her room. Going through her skivvies drawer.
“Having fun, Detective?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Killian.”
“They’re a size five. Not so sexy, but comfortable.”
Tony laughed out loud, Malone shut the drawer, looking a bit flushed. “Warrant covered the entire property. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, I know. Could I have a word with you?”
He glanced at his partner, who motioned for him to go, then joined her in the hall.
“Clock’s ticking.”
“So I’ll get right to the point. You’re wrong about Leo
.”
“That so? And what makes you so certain?”
“Dick Danson’s alive. He-”
“Who?”
“Leo’s former partner. He and Leo parted acrimoniously. Supposedly, he committed suicide last year.”
“Ran off a cliff in Carmel, California. It’s all coming back to me. That’s why you were out there. Your hunch.”
“Yes.”
“I thought that hunch had turned out to be gas.”
Quickly, she explained about the suicide and the fact that Danson was identified by his dental records.
“Proof enough for me,” he said, glancing pointedly at his watch.
“Me, too. Until this morning when I found out the dentist who provided those records was murdered not that long after.” She paused. “His killer was never caught.”
For the space of a heartbeat, she thought she had him. Then taking her by the elbow, he led her farther from the other officer. “Ran a little financial check on your buddy Leo Noble. Seems business is good. Very good. Recently did a couple licensing deals. Worth millions, Stacy. Millions.”
“So? What does that have to do with-”
“Kay gets half. Of everything. Past. Present. And future.”
She stared at him, understanding. Greed. One of the oldest motives for murder.
She shook her head. “He loves her. She’s the mother of his child and his best friend.” Even as she said the words, she acknowledged how naive she sounded.
She pressed on, anyway. “There wasn’t a message from the White Rabbit on this one, was there?” She could tell by his expression that there wasn’t. “No message. No body. Doesn’t fit the White Rabbit MO.”
“All the victims had ties to Leo. He was the recipient of the first three notes and the last was found in his office. And, he knows the game better than anyone else alive.”
“Clark Dunbar is having an affair with Kay. Did you know that?”
She saw by his expression that he didn’t.
“I saw them together. Late one night.” She motioned toward her bedroom. “My window faces the guest house entrance.”
He took out his notebook. “When was this?”
“The night before I left for California. Wednesday.”
He noted the fact. “You’re certain it was Dunbar?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t make out who it was, so I opened my window. I heard his voice.”
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