Killer Takes All
Page 28
She looked at its display.
Call ended.
9:57 a.m.
Stacy swallowed hard, hurting for the teenager. “I’ll stay with her.”
“Better yet, I’ll send her over to Tony’s. She’ll be safer there.”
CHAPTER 55
Saturday, March 19, 2005
5:20 p.m.
New Orleans’ central business district at 5:00 p.m. on Saturday resembled a movie set more than a bustling commercial district. Dusk had begun to settle over the tops of the skyscrapers, although calling them skyscrapers was a little like calling a donut a beignet. The two had elements in common, but the donut lacked the Ahh quality of a beignet.
Spencer stood on the sidewalk just beyond the established perimeter, a narrow alley across the street from the International House Hotel. Tony pulled up, parking his Ford behind the Camaro.
They’d located Leo. He and Tony had gotten the call just as they finished the search of Danson’s quarters and storage locker. The preliminary search had uncovered little, besides proof that Clark really was Dick Danson. Spencer hoped they had better luck here.
Leo had been shot once. Right between the eyes.
“How’s the kid?” Spencer asked, referring to Alice.
“Scared,” Tony answered. “Carly’s taken her under her wing.”
“Did you hear from the aunt?”
“Not yet. Left a message.”
Alice hadn’t been told about her dad-yet. Spencer prayed her mother was alive to comfort her, but he didn’t hold out much hope.
They crossed to the first officer, signed in, then ducked under the crime scene tape. The crime-scene guys and the photographer were doing their thing; they spared little more than a glance and nod in acknowledgment of Spencer and Tony’s arrival.
They crossed to the body, located not twenty-five feet from the entrance of the alley.
Noble lay flat on his back, eyes open, staring blankly up. Judging by the wound, he’d been shot at close range, probably with a small caliber pistol. Cell phone and briefcase beside the body.
Tony squatted beside Noble. “Still wearing his Rolex. Briefcase looks intact.”
Spencer snapped on latex gloves and checked for the man’s wallet. He found it; eased it out and flipped it open. “Three hundred bucks. Credit cards. Motive certainly wasn’t robbery.”
“You surprised by that?”
Spencer smiled grimly. “I look surprised, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Brazen son-of-a-bitch. Did it in broad daylight. Downtown, just off Camp Street.”
Spencer visually inspected the contour of the body, then moved his gaze outward. “Where’s his calling card?”
As if on cue, one of the techs called, “Yo fellas, you might want to take a look at this.”
They crossed to the man. He had his flashlight beam pointed at a doorway, at several pieces of debris the wind had pushed into the corner.
Spencer saw immediately what had caught the tech’s attention: a Ziploc plastic bag.
Spencer bent and carefully retrieved the bag. The killer had drawn a smiley face on it. Inside he’d placed a single item. The King of Hearts card.
Tony absently rubbed his five o’clock shadow. “I like a psycho who clearly tells us it’s his crime. Takes the guesswork out of the job.”
“Let’s bag it and tag it,” Spencer said to the tech.
“If it’s Dunbar, he knows we’re onto him. He wants to get the job done, even if it means getting nailed.”
“Figures he’s made already.” Spencer narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad the kid’s squared away. Until this asshole’s in custody, she’s a mark.”
“Maybe our guy just wanted to take out the big kahunas?”
“Uh-uh. Remember Pogo’s drawing of Alice hanging by the neck, quite obviously dead.”
“Right. But no King of Hearts, and he got whacked.”
Spencer glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky, then back at his partner. “Stacy had a theory on that. The artist simply hadn’t gotten to that illustration. I wasn’t buying that then. Am now.”
“Smart lady. Maybe you should let her know what’s going on?”
“That wouldn’t exactly be by the book.”
“Screw the book. She’s one of the good guys.” Tony motioned to the first officer. “I’ll get a canvas of the area started. Maybe somebody in one of these businesses saw something.”
Spencer nodded and watched his partner walk away. Stacy was one of the good guys.
But that wasn’t why he wanted to call her.
He unclipped his cell and dialed Stacy. “Hey,” he said when she answered. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Is Leo-”
“Yes. Dead-shot between the eyes.”
“The White Rabbit?”
“If a certain playing card here at the scene is any indication.”
“Shit. Poor Alice. You’ve got to find Kay.”
“We’re doing our best.” He glanced over his shoulder; the coroner’s investigator and his driver had arrived. “Got to go, Killian. Call you later.”
CHAPTER 56
Saturday, March 19, 2005
8:45 p.m.
Spencer did one better than calling Stacy. He went to see her.
He rang the bell.
Stacy answered the door after a couple of rings. He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected she had been crying.
“Haven’t you heard? Game’s over. Leo’s dead.”
He held up a takeout sack. “I brought Subway. Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about some company?”
“Why not?” She turned and headed into the double. He followed her, shutting the door behind them.
They ended up in the kitchen. He saw a bottle of beer on the table, her Glock beside it.
She crossed to the fridge, got another beer and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow, watching as she returned to her table and took another drink.
“None of this is your fault,” he said softly.
“No? You’re sure?” Her voice vibrated with a combination of grief and fury. “Leo’s dead. Kay’s most probably dead. They hired me to keep them safe. And if so, Alice-” her voice broke “-is an orphan now. I did a great job, didn’t I?”
“You did the best job you could.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She balled her hands into fists. “He was right under my nose. This whole time, he-”
Spencer crossed to her, drew her to her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “He was under all our noses the whole time. You’re the only one who had a clue what was really going on.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “A lot of bloody good it did anybody.”
She was trying so hard to be tough. To focus on her anger. To pretend she didn’t hurt. Didn’t feel helpless.
He trailed his thumbs across her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop it. Stop looking at me that way.”
“Sorry, Killian. No can do.”
He bent and kissed her. Her lips trembled beneath his. He tasted the saltiness of her tears.
She flattened her hands against his chest. “Stop it,” she said again. “Stop making me feel weak.”
“Because you have to be strong.”
She tilted up her chin. “Yes.”
“So you can stand up to the bad guys. Kick their asses, maybe even save the world.”
She stepped away from him. “I think you should go.”
“So it can be just you and Mr. Glock?”
“Yes.”
“Your choice, Stacy. If you change your mind, you have my number.”
He drained his beer, collected the take-out and left her. He crossed to the NOPD cruiser parked in front of the duplex. He bent and greeted the officers inside. “Keep a close eye on the place. I’m going to catch a few hours’ shut-eye, then I’ll be back.”
CHAPTER 57
2:00 a.m.
Stacy awakened with a start. She realized she was uncomfortably hot. That she was sweating. She moved her gaze over the dark room, focused on the illuminated dial of her bedside clock.
As she registered the hour, a floorboard creaked.
She wasn’t alone.
Stacy rolled, reaching for her gun.
It wasn’t there.
“Hello, Stacy.” Clark stepped out of the shadows, her Glock in his hand. Pointed at her. “Surprised to see me?”
She scrambled into a sitting position, heart thundering. “You could say that. Someone as smart as you, I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“Really? And where would I go?” He sucked in an angry sounding breath. “Everything was going so well until you stuck your nose into it. My business. Mine!”
She worked to keep her head, keep the panic at bay. To maintain regular breathing and heartbeat. She did a mental inventory of her position, the situation. No one to hear her scream. No weapon.
Only her wits.
She couldn’t lose them.
He crossed to stand beside the bed, gun trained on the point directly between her eyes.
Between the eyes. That’s where Spencer said he’d put the bullet that killed Leo.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked. “Why throw your whole life away?”
“What life?” He all but spit the words at her. “I was in debt up to my eyeballs. The cops circling like vultures to pick at my carcass. And Leo, living like royalty. I deserved to live like that. He stole my ideas! He refused to give me my due!”
“And Kay, did he steal her, too?”
He laughed. “You can’t imagine the satisfaction it gave me, knowing I was screwing his wife, right under his nose.”
She stared at him a moment, looking for some resemblance to the young man pictured in Leo’s yearbook. She found none. “Ex-wife,” she corrected. “I think that would have dimmed your satisfaction a bit.”
Color flooded his face. He meant to make his move.
She rolled to the right, reaching for the bedside clock, intent on smashing it into his face. She didn’t move fast enough. His hand closed over hers, wrenching the device away.
He flung it aside; it hit the wall and shattered. In the next instant, he was on top of her, the gun’s barrel pressed to her temple. He brought his free hand to her throat. “I could kill you now. So easily. Hand to your throat, gun to your head. So many choices.”
“What’s stopping you?”
She asked, though she knew. He wanted to brag. Wanted to relive his actions through her reactions to them.
He didn’t let her down. “It was fun. Watching them squirm. Poisoning Alice’s mind. Turning her, little by little, away from her parents. They treated her like a baby. I pointed that out constantly. I reminded her that she was smarter than both of them. That they only thought of themselves, their needs.”
She watched his face, the light in his eyes as he spoke. The man was a maniac.
She told him so.
He laughed. “That day, when Kay and I walked in on you and Leo,” he said, “we laughed about it later. Leo still loved Kay. In his own perverse way. But he thought of her as his property. He’d have had a fit if he’d known about us. She told me. She told me everything.”
“When exactly was that? Before you killed her? Or while you were doing it?”
“You think you’re so smart. But you don’t know shit.” He smirked at her. “Maybe I should show you what a real man can do? Kay told me I was better in bed than Leo. That he never satisfied her the way I did.” His weight pressed her into the soft mattress. Trapping her. Smothering her. “I could do the same for you.”
She struggled for a breath and against the urge to fight. Fighting would do nothing but force him to act. She silently counted each breath to ten, then tried another tack.
“You were angry,” she said quietly, tone nonjudgmental. “Furious with Leo. And Kay. You decided to use the very game Leo stole as a way to make him pay. A way to get away with killing him.”
He laughed, the sound derisive. “Stupid, stupid bitch. I’m not the White Rabbit.”
Considering the circumstances, his declaration took her by surprise. He saw that and leered at her. “Your precious Leo is. He came up with the whole White Rabbit thing to get away with killing Kay. Because she gets half of everything. The half that should have been mine. Greedy bastard wanted more, so he decided to get rid of her.
“She told me she was afraid of him,” he continued. “She told me she feared he was behind the notes. That he might do something to hurt her. Because of the money.”
“That’d be a neat explanation, Mr. Danson. Except for one small problem. Leo’s dead. You killed him this afternoon.”
For an instant, his expression went slack. With surprise. Disbelief. His hand shook. She felt the gun tremble against her temple.
He intended to pull the trigger.
Stacy thought of her sister, Jane, her baby; she thought of all the things she had never done.
She didn’t want to die.
“You’re going to jail for a long time,” she said, hearing the desperation in her voice. “Killing me isn’t going to change that. They know who you are. You have nowhere to go. If you think-”
“If you think I’m going to jail, think again, bitch.”
Before she could react, he turned the weapon on himself and pulled the trigger.
Her scream mingled with the sound of the blast.
His brains decorated the delicate floral wallpaper with gore.
CHAPTER 58
Sunday, March 20, 2005
3:12 a.m.
“We have to stop meeting like this.”
Stacy lifted her head and looked at Spencer, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore soft-looking blue jeans, a House of Blues T-shirt and the windbreaker from the night at the library. She wondered if he had a Snickers bar tucked into the pocket.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Define okay.”
He crossed to her, bent and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. The gesture brought tears to her eyes. She fought them.
She hadn’t cried earlier. She wouldn’t now.
He pulled a chair out, turned it to face her and sat. “Can you talk about it?”
She nodded and ran a trembling hand through her hair, still damp from the shower. After the officers stationed out front had found her and helped her get out from under Danson’s dead weight, she’d run to the bathroom to wash-to try to cleanse herself of the experience.
She explained about waking, about Danson confronting her with her own gun.
“He hated Leo. Blamed him for everything that had gone wrong with his life. He admitted his affair with Kay. Claimed he was poisoning Alice’s mind against her parents. Getting sick kicks out of it.”
She looked away, then back. “He wasn’t the White Rabbit.”
“Come again?”
“He claimed Leo was. That Leo had created an elaborate plan to get rid of Kay. For financial gain. He claimed Kay was afraid of Leo. That she believed he might hurt her, because of their financial agreement.”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s a big problem with that theory.”
“No joke. He realized it, too, when he learned Leo was dead.” She pressed her point. “He didn’t know Leo was dead. When I told him…he got this look. He knew he was screwed. That he was going to jail. So he blew his brains out.”
He frowned. “I don’t know, Stacy. Maybe you should sleep on this.”
“You still think Danson’s our guy?”
“Sorry.”
She supposed she didn’t blame him-he hadn’t been there, he hadn’t seen Danson’s face when he learned about Leo.
Stacy stood, shocked to realize her legs shook. More shocked to realize she had no idea what to do. Of her next move. She felt numb and uncertain.
Numbness she was familiar
with. Cops turned off their emotions a lot, some with alcohol or drugs. It was one of the reasons the divorce rate for cops far outpaced that of the civilian population.
Uncertainty was another matter. She’d always been a woman prone to action, even when that action proved rash.
To not know what move to make next, terrified her.
He crossed to her, took her hands in his. “They’re cold.”
“I’m cold.”
He folded her in his arms and rubbed her back. “Better?”
“Yes.” He made a move, as if to ease away from her, and she tightened her arms. “Don’t go. Hold me.”
He complied and gradually his body warmed hers. She stepped regretfully away from him. The broken contact brought a sense of loss. A thread of panic. “It’s really late, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You should sleep.”
“Lovely thought. Problem is, when I close my eyes-” She pressed her trembling lips together, hating the show of weakness.
“I could stay?”
She met his direct gaze, held out a hand.
He took it. And led her to the guest bedroom.
Fully dressed, they slid under the covers and lay facing each other.
He had known, without asking, without having to be told, that wanting him to stay had been about comfort. And company. Not sex or sexual desire.
“Warmer now?”
“Much.” She curled her fingers into his soft T-shirt. “Would you believe that once upon a time, I was in control of my life? I hardly ever made mistakes. Now…I’m a total screwup.”
He laughed softly and trailed his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. “You, Stacy Killian, are the antithesis of a screwup.”
“Antithesis is a mighty big word.”
“I learned that one just to impress you. Did it work?”
She’d already been impressed. She smiled weakly. “Absolutely.”
“Glad to hear that. I’ll learn another one for tomorrow.” He rested his forehead on hers. “It’s true, you know. You are the most capable, self-assured, kick-ass woman I’ve ever known. Excluding my aunt Patti, of course.”