Killer Takes All

by Erica Spindler

  Probably shooting the shit with Troy. “Good.”

  “You didn’t come home last night.”

  “I stayed with a friend. How’s your dad?”

  “He’s getting ready for a meeting downtown. You want to talk to him?”

  She thought of his screenplay. “No, I don’t think so.”

  For a long moment, Alice was silent. When she finally spoke, her tone was hushed. “Dad’s scared. He won’t admit it, but I can tell.”

  Scared of getting killed? Or caught? “It’s going to be okay, Alice. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Not long. Don’t do anything until I get there. Understand? No messages to the Rabbit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She used the title to tease and Stacy smiled. What had happened to the surly teenager who had once warned Stacy to stay out of her way?

  Stacy ended the call by reminding Alice she was no farther than a phone call away.

  Spencer had arranged her admit pass to the prison through his cousin, who happened to be on staff there. He’d told Stacy to ask for Connie O’Shay; she was being admitted as a court-appointed therapist.

  “Thanks for doing this,” Stacy told the redhead.

  “Always happy to help a fellow clinician.”

  Stacy didn’t correct her, and within minutes she was facing Bobby through unbreakable Plexiglas.

  She picked up the phone. He did the same. “Hi, Bobby.”

  He sneered at her. “What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  “Not interested.”

  He started to hang up, but she stopped him. “What if I tell you I don’t believe you killed Cassie and Beth?”

  Her words surprised her as much as they appeared to surprise him. He returned to his seat.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No. You may be a rapist, Bobby, but I don’t think you’re a killer.”

  “Why?”

  Just a hunch, slimeball. “Let me ask the questions.”

  “Whatever.” He slouched in his seat.

  “Why’d you go to Cassie’s that night?”

  “I wanted to talk to her.”

  “About?”

  “Getting back together.”

  “Right.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Call me a romantic.”

  “So, you didn’t go there to kill her?”

  “No.”

  “Then why? To rape her?”

  “No.”

  “I see why the police arrested you, Bobby. You have no credibility.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, thanks.” She stood. “Have a nice stay.”

  “Wait! Sit down.” He waved her toward the seat. “I saw her leaving Luigi’s, out by campus. So I followed her home.”

  “Just because?”

  “Yeah. Like a fuckin’ idiot.”

  “And?”

  “I sat out front. For a long time.”

  She could imagine the young man, staring at Cassie’s house, getting angrier by the moment. Hating her. Wanting to punish her. To make her pay for hurting him. His ego.

  For rejecting him.

  “And?”

  “I decided to force the issue.”

  Force. Bad word for a serial rapist to use.

  “What happened?”

  “She answered the door. Let me in. We talked.”

  “That credibility thing’s happening again.” He didn’t respond; she pressed the issue. “She wouldn’t have willingly let you in, Bobby.”

  “No?”

  “No. So, you pushed your way in. You’re angry. You want to let her have it for rejecting you. Embarrassing you.”

  She leaned slightly forward. “What stopped you?”

  “Someone came to the door.”

  She experienced a tickle of excitement. “Who?”

  “Don’t know. It was some guy. Never saw him before.”

  “Could you pick him out of a photo lineup?”

  “Maybe.” At her disbelieving look, he became defensive. “I was angry. Jealous. Figured she was screwing him. I left.”

  “Did she greet him by name? Think, Bobby. It’s important. The sentencing difference between a rape and murder conviction is the rest of your life.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes, damn it!”

  “You told the police this?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “They figured I was lying.”

  So they weren’t bothering to look. They had their guy. “Was he tall? Short? Medium height?”

  “Medium to tall.”

  “Dark-haired or-”

  “He had a cap on.”

  “A cap?”

  “Yeah, a stocking cap. The kind that hip-hop dude, Eminem, wears. Black.”

  “He carrying anything?”

  Bobby screwed up his face, as with thought. “Nope.”

  “You see Caesar?”

  “Her mutt?” He nodded. “Little shit tried to piss on my shoes.”

  Caesar was out when he was there. Cassie had locked him up after Bobby left. “You have any idea what kind of car the guy was driving?”

  He shook his head and she silently swore. Great. “Why’d you attack me in the library?”

  “Because you were there,” he said simply. “And because I was pissed at you. I wanted to scare you.”

  “Hope I didn’t disappoint you too much.”

  He looked down at his hands, cuffed together, then lifted his face to hers. They smoldered with rage. “Better hope I don’t get out of here.”

  “I’m not too worried.”

  “You think you’re so cool, don’t you? So tough.” He leaned toward her. “If I had wanted to hurt you, I could have. If I’d wanted, I could have fucked you silly.”

  Stacy stood. She calmly hitched her purse strap across her shoulder. She knew the more unaffected she was by his tirade of filth, the more agitated it would make him.

  She reached the door and glanced back. “If you’d tried, Bobby, that ballpoint would have been in your eye. Or straight up your ass.”

  She exited the Parish Prison. Sunlight spilled over her and she breathed deeply, feeling as if she needed to be cleansed from the inside out.

  Bobby Gautreaux was a dirty little snake.

  But had he killed Cassie?

  He may have. But quite possibly he was telling the truth.

  She crossed the parking lot, unlocked her SUV and climbed inside. She hadn’t visited her apartment in a week and she supposed she’d better stop by and check on things.

  The first thing she noticed was the overflowing mailbox at her apartment. The second, that her calls had not been forwarding to her cell number.

  Her message light was blinking. She hit Play and listened to several hang-ups, and then messages from her sister and her graduate adviser.

  “Stacy. Professor McDougal. I’m concerned about you. Please call me.”

  Professor McDougal. Great. Just frigging wonderful.

  She stared at the answering machine, even as she acknowledged that she could stare at it until Christmas and it wouldn’t alter the fact that she was screwed. When was the last time she had actually attended class? She had a paper due Monday. She’d barely even started it. What, she wondered, was the last day to withdraw from classes without a grade penalty? She’d bet she’d already missed it.

  Suddenly crushingly tired, Stacy rubbed her eyes. She crossed to her couch and sank onto it. She laid her head against the back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to pass her first semester of graduate school, and if she didn’t pass, she wouldn’t be welcomed back. Even if her professors were willing to let her try to bring her standing to current, she didn’t have the time to devote. Finding the White Rabbit took precedence. Protecting Alice, saving Kay. Living to see the next semester.

  Or maybe the truth was, she didn’t have the heart for school.

  H
er cell buzzed. Though a part of her wanted to ignore the call, she unclipped the device. “Killian here.”

  “Billie Bellini, super spy.”

  Stacy sat forward, instantly focused, all thoughts of grad school falling away. “What have you uncovered?”

  “No missing persons, but I think you’ll find this interesting. Dr. Carlson donated his time and professional abilities to the homeless. One day a week, he saw people referred to him from the local shelters and missions.”

  Stacy knew where Billie was going with this: indigents weren’t likely to be reported missing. No employer to sound the alarm, no family or friends looking for them.

  The dentist could have chosen someone with a similar build to Danson’s and switched their dental records. Then Danson did the rest.

  Danson plans it all carefully. He leaves a suicide note. Packs his trunk with propane. Offers the bum a ride. Or incapacitates him. The charred body is positively identified by his dental records.

  “Did the chief have any comments on your discovery?”

  “He’s going to take a look at the dentist’s patient files and financial records. He’ll officially reopen the case if he finds anything suspicious.” She sounded proud. “He contacted Malone at NOPD and promised to keep in touch with us as well. If Charles Richard Danson is alive, we’re going to nail him.”

  Stacy stopped on the name. She frowned. “What did you call him?”

  “Charles Richard Danson. That was his full name, though everyone called him Dick.”

  Charles Richard Danson.

  Stacy froze, remembering a conversation she’d had with Alice’s tutor about his name. He’d joked about his parents giving him decidedly unsexy names.

  Clark Randolf Dunbar.

  Initials, C. R. D.

  “Holy shit,” Stacy said. “I know who he is.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Don’t you dare until you tell me-”

  “Danson made a fatal mistake. The same one many people who try to drop out, or create a new identity, make. He chose a name with the same initials as his previous one. It’s human weakness. A desire to hold on to the very past they’re trying to leave behind.”

  “So who is he?” Billie asked, tone hushed, admiring.

  “Clark Dunbar,” she said. “Alice’s tutor.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Saturday, March 19, 2005

  9:30 a.m.

  Stacy flipped her phone shut and ran for the front door. She darted through, locked it and jogged to her car, parked on the street. She stopped and swore when she saw it. She was wedged in. Both the car in front and behind her had squeezed into too-small spots, leaving her about three inches to maneuver with.

  Not enough.

  Leo’s place wasn’t much more than a half a mile away. She could make it on foot in six or seven minutes-without denting any fenders.

  She started off, urgency pushing her. She dialed Malone. He picked up right away. “Malone.”

  “Run a background check on Alice’s tutor, Clark Dunbar,” she said.

  “Hello to you, too, Killian. A little intense this morning, aren’t we?”

  “Just do it.”

  He became all business. “Ran him through the NCIC already. No priors.”

  “Take it a step further.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Clark Dunbar’s the White Rabbit.” A car sped by, windows open, hip-hop blaring. “I can’t go into it now, just trust me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way to Leo’s. On foot.” She paused at a crosswalk, looked both ways, then darted across-earning the scream of a horn. “Don’t ask. Let me know what you find out.”

  She hung up before he responded and dialed Leo’s cell number. “Leo, Stacy. I think Clark’s the White Rabbit. If you see him, stay away. Call me when you get this.”

  She called the mansion next. Mrs. Maitlin answered.

  “Valerie, have you heard anything from Clark?”

  “Stacy? Are you all right? You sound-”

  “I’m fine. Have you? Heard from Clark?”

  “He’s here.”

  Stacy’s heart dropped. “He’s there? I thought he was out of town for the weekend.”

  “He was. I was so surprised to see him. Something about a reservation mixup, he said. Hold on a second.”

  Stacy heard a male voice in the background, then the housekeeper’s reply. In the next instant, the woman returned. “So sorry. Where were-”

  Stacy cut her off. “Just now, was that Clark?”

  “No. Troy.”

  “Valerie, this is important. Where’s Clark now?”

  “Outside. With Alice.”

  God, no. The crossing light changed and Stacy darted across the City Park Avenue and Wisner Boulevard intersection, cutting over to Esplanade. To her left stood City Park with its tennis and golf complexes, lagoons and the New Orleans Museum of Art.

  “What about the police officer?” she asked. “Is he still there?”

  “Out front.”

  “Good. I want you to get Alice,” she said, working to keep her voice even. “Call her to the phone. Do not mention my name to Clark. Understand?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “When Alice is inside and safe, get the officer. Have him stay by Alice’s side until I get there.”

  “What’s going on?” The woman sounded rattled. “Should I call-”

  “Just get Alice. Now, Valerie.”

  Stacy heard the woman lay down the phone as she went after the teenager. She counted the seconds as they ticked past, heart thundering in her ears, praying the man didn’t catch wind that they were onto him and hurt Alice.

  Just as she began to sweat, Alice came on the line. “Stacy, what-”

  “Clark’s the one, Alice. The White Rabbit. Mrs. Maitlin is getting the police officer, and I’m just two blocks away.”

  “Clark? That can’t-”

  “It is.” Alice sounded terrified. “Stay put, do you understand? Until the officer comes inside, pretend you’re still on the phone.”

  Alice agreed; Stacy reholstered her cell and broke into a run. It made perfect sense. Clark, with unfettered access to the household. To everyone in it, their schedules and routines. As Alice’s tutor, access to her thoughts and feelings. Her computer. As Kay’s lover, he had been privy to the woman’s most intimate thoughts.

  The night she disappeared, Kay had welcomed him into the guest house. That’s why there’d been no sign of forced entry.

  Until the bedroom, where he’d attacked her. Until the point she realized he wasn’t who he professed to be.

  He had played them all. Expertly.

  But that’s what a game master did.

  Spencer and Tony arrived at the Nobles only a moment behind her. She waited for them at the front gate.

  “Clark’s here,” she said, without greeting the two men. She filled them in on her call to the mansion.

  “Good work,” Tony said.

  “Thanks.” She glanced at Spencer. “You ran a background check on Dunbar?”

  “Clark Dunbar doesn’t exist. Bogus social. Not registered at the DMV. How much you want to bet the Nobles never checked even one of his references?”

  It never ceased to amaze Stacy how trusting people were. Even ones with as much to lose as Leo Noble.

  “How did you know?”

  “Billie. She learned that Danson’s real name wasn’t Dick. It was Charles Richard Danson. Guess what Clark’s middle name begins with?”

  “An R.”

  “Bingo. Billie also learned that the murdered dentist who identified Danson by his dental records volunteered his services to the poor and disenfranchised.”

  “The ‘poor and disenfranchised,’” he repeated. “The kind of folks who can go missing without anyone sounding an alarm.”

  “Give the man a gold star.”

  “So, he faked his own death, changed his appearance with plastic
surgery-”

  “And headed down to New Orleans to rain a little bizarre justice down on his former partner and ex-girlfriend.”

  They reached the front door, which, as usual, was opened by Mrs. Maitlin. Alice stood with her, clinging to the woman’s arm. “He’s gone,” Mrs. Maitlin cried. “When I called Alice inside, he walked to his car, climbed in and drove off. I realized what had happened and got Officer Nolan, but it was too late.”

  “Where is Nolan?”

  “He went after Clark.”

  Spencer swung to Tony. “Get him on the radio!”

  The other man sprang to action. Stacy wouldn’t have guessed Tony could move so fast. She indicated to Spencer that she would take care of Alice and Mrs. Maitlin. He nodded and she herded them inside.

  They waited in the kitchen. Mrs. Maitlin made herself busy baking cookies, distracting Alice by enlisting her help. Just as the delicious aroma from the first batch began to fill the room, Spencer appeared at the doorway. He motioned to her.

  “Don’t eat them all while I’m gone,” Stacy teased, forcing lightness into her tone.

  Spencer led her out to the foyer. “Nolan lost him. We put out a broadcast for Danson and his car. A search warrant for his quarters is on the way.”

  Her cell buzzed. She saw it was Leo. She mouthed the man’s name to Spencer, then picked up the call. “Leo, where are you?”

  “Downtown.” The connection crackled. “I got your message. Clark’s the White Rabbit? My God, how did you-”

  “There’s more, Leo. Clark is Danson.”

  “Dick? You can’t mean-”

  “I do. He faked his own death. Must have changed his appearance with plastic surgery, intent on punishing you for how he imagined you cheated him.”

  Leo went silent, so silent Stacy thought the call had been dropped. “Leo? Are you still-”

  “Yes, I’m here. Just digesting. It’s hard to believe-” His words broke on a sound of surprise. “What the…my God, you’re-”

  Stacy heard a loud pop.

  A gunshot.

  “Leo!” she shouted. “Shit, Leo-”

  Spencer grabbed the phone. “Mr. Noble? This is Detective Malone. Are you all right? Mr. Noble?”

  Stacy watched Spencer, hoping, knowing her hope was futile.

  He looked at her, expression grim. “I don’t want the kid to be alone,” he said, handing her the phone.