The interior smelled of moisture and mold. Of decay. “Alice!” she called. “It’s Stacy.”
Silence answered. One that shouted the absence of human life. All life here buzzed, hummed or silently crept, devouring walls, floors and anything else in its path.
She wasn’t here.
The caretaker’s cottage.
Stacy carefully backed out. When she’d cleared the stairs, she made her way to the back of the property. Toward the cottage.
No light shone from the interior of the building. She touched the door; it creaked open. She slipped inside, weapon out. Stacy saw a small living area, empty save for beer cans, a couple milk crates and a smattering of cigarette butts. She wrinkled her nose. It stank of urine. Ahead lay two doorways, one to the right, the other to the left.
She moved toward the left first. The door had no handle. She saw that it stood slightly ajar. Gun gripped in both hands, she eased the door open with her foot.
In the dim light spilling through the adjacent window, she saw Kay and Alice huddled together in the corner. Their hands and feet were tied, their mouths secured with duct tape. The side of Kay’s head was caked with what looked to be dried blood. From what she could see, Alice was unhurt.
Kay looked her way, eyes wide with alarm. Not for her own fate, for Stacy’s.
A trap. RPGs were known for them.
He was either behind her. Or in the closet directly across from the women.
Stacy didn’t enter the room. She mouthed the question to Kay. The woman’s eyes flickered toward the closet.
Made sense. He expected her to race across to the pair to free them. Which would put her directly in his line of fire.
Alice straightened suddenly, as if becoming aware of something going on. She looked Stacy’s way.
Which tipped the White Rabbit.
The closet door burst open; Stacy swung, aimed and fired. Once, then again and again, emptying her magazine into him.
He went down without getting off one shot.
Troy, Stacy saw. She gazed at him with a sense of relief. That it was over. The White Rabbit was dead, Alice and Kay had been saved.
And of disbelief that Troy, the handsome bimbo, “Mr. The-Living-is-Easy,” was the White Rabbit? He was the last person she would have attributed enough smarts-or ambition-to have orchestrated this thing.
She’d been fooled before. By a man who’d been just as handsome. And just as heartless.
Stacy turned away from the fallen man and hurried across to the two women. She untied Kay first, then Alice, freezing at the distinctive click of a revolver’s hammer being cocked.
“Turn around slowly.”
Troy. Still alive.
He’d come prepared.
Stacy did as he ordered, cursing that she’d emptied her magazine. She met his eyes. “Back from the dead so soon?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t expect you to be armed? Or that I didn’t know you were an expert shot?” He thumped his chest. “A Kevlar vest, available from any number of gun dealers.”
She forced a cocky smile. “Stings like hell, though, doesn’t it?”
“Worth the sting, because now you’re empty, another predictable move, by the way.” He lifted his weapon, aiming directly at her head. “So, what are you going to do, hero?”
She stared at the gun’s barrel, realizing she had come to the end of the road. She was flat out of both ideas and options.
“Game over, Killian.”
He laughed. She heard Alice’s scream, the roar of blood in her head. The shot’s blast drowned out both. But the moment of shattering pain didn’t come. Instead, Troy’s head seemed to explode. He stumbled backward, then fell.
Stacy turned. Malone stood in the doorway, gun trained on Troy’s still form.
CHAPTER 61
Sunday, March 20, 2005
7:35 p.m.
The next minutes passed in a blur. Malone called for an ambulance and a crime-scene unit. Informed dispatch of a fatality. Tony and Stacy led the two women outside to a car.
Moments later, Spencer joined them. “Everyone’s on their way. Including an EMT unit.” He turned to Kay. “Do you feel strong enough to answer some questions, Mrs. Noble?”
She nodded, though Stacy saw her clasp her hands in her lap-as if to keep them from shaking. Or keep her strong.
“He was crazy,” Kay began softly. “Obsessed with White Rabbit. He bragged about how smart he was, how he was playing us all. Even Leo, the Supreme White Rabbit.”
“Start at the beginning,” Spencer said softly. “The night he abducted you.”
“All right.” She glanced at Alice with concern, then began. “He came to my door. Asked if he could speak with me. I let him in. I never thou-I never-”
Her voice cracked; she brought a hand to her mouth, visibly fighting for control. “I fought him. Kicked and clawed. He hit me. I don’t know what with. Next thing I remember, I was in a car trunk. Tied up. We were moving.”
“What happened then, Mrs. Noble?”
“He brought me here.” She swallowed hard. “He came and went. He told me about…about killing-”
Alice began to cry. Kay put an arm around her shoulders and drew her daughter closer.
“He bragged about how he had taken out the King of Hearts.”
“Leo?”
She nodded, eyes welling with tears. “Sometimes he just rambled.”
“About?”
“The game. Characters.” She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Killing Alice was his goal,” Kay said. “He set it up to watch her character kill one player after another. Then when they were all eliminated, he’d kill her.”
The woman looked at Stacy. “You eluded him. He couldn’t kill Alice until you were out of the way.”
And Alice was the bait to get her out here.
“There were other Alices,” the girl said quietly. “I wasn’t the first.”
Spencer’s mouth tightened. “Where? Did he say?”
They both shook their heads. Kay caught her daughter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “But she was the ultimate. The Alice. He found us through news stories and online interviews.”
The EMTs arrived. Tony helped Kay and Alice to the ambulance.
Stacy watched them a moment, then turned to Spencer. “How’d you get here in time? We’re two hours from your stomping grounds.”
“You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”
“The busboy dropping the pan of dishes?”
“Nope. Your promise not to do anything stupid. Got the okay to install a GPS tracking device to your SUV.”
“How’d you get a judge to okay that?”
“Fudged the facts.”
“I suppose I should be pissed.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Funny, I’m thinking I’m the one who should be pissed.” He leaned toward her, lowered his voice. “That was a pretty dumb stunt. You know that, right?”
She could be dead. She would be, if not for him. “Yeah, I know that. Thanks, Malone. I owe you.”
CHAPTER 62
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
1:15 p.m.
March became April. Much had happened in the two weeks since that night at Belle Chere. Stacy had given her statement no less than four times. It was discovered that Troy had been a drifter, an underachiever who had used his looks to prey on women-leaving them both broke and brokenhearted.
But very much alive. Without priors, his turn as the White Rabbit didn’t fit a profile. But did prove that anything was possible when it came to criminal behavior.
The police were contacting the various places he’d lived, looking for any unsolved murders of girls named Alice.
So far they hadn’t found any, but their search had just begun.
The White Rabbit case had been officially closed. Leo had been buried. Spencer and Chief Battard in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, had been in touch.
The accident the Carmel police had originally classified as Dick Dan
son’s suicide had been changed to a homicide perpetrated by Danson. The victim: John Doe. Chief Battard hoped to change that before long.
Bobby Gautreaux had been officially charged with the murders of Cassie Finch and Beth Wagner. Stacy didn’t know if she bought it, but she had reached the end of the road. Her leads had dried up, and the police and D.A. believed they had enough for a conviction.
Who was she to say otherwise? She wasn’t a cop anymore. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Of course, nor was she a grad student. Stacy pulled up in front of her apartment, parked and climbed out of her Bronco. She’d officially flunked out. The head of the English Department had acknowledged there’d been extenuating circumstances and agreed to allow her back in the fall. After all, up until Cassie’s murder, she had been performing well.
She appreciated his understanding and offer, but had told him she wasn’t certain what she wanted to do.
She was burned out.
Nothing moving back to Dallas wouldn’t cure. Or so her sister said. They’d spoken that morning. Jane had done her best to convince Stacy to come home, at least until she knew for certain what she wanted to do. She’d filled her in on all Annie’s firsts: she had begun to crawl, she was sleeping through the night, laughed at herself in the mirror.
Stacy missed her, too. She longed to be a part of Annie’s life.
Then there was Spencer. She’d spoken with him that morning, as well. They’d hardly seen each other since that night at Belle Chere Plantation. Not that she wasn’t interested in him.
But she had to take charge of her life, do what was best for her, long term.
A cocky homicide detective wasn’t it.
At least, she didn’t think so. Damn, but she was turning into a wishy-washy pain in the ass.
She climbed her porch steps and crossed to her door. Her new neighbor, a perky, rail-thin blonde, popped her head out her door.
“Hi, Stacy.”
“Hey, Julie.” The girl wore a spandex shorts set. From her apartment came the sound of an aerobic workout video. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got a package for you.”
She ducked back inside, then a moment later returned with a FedEx box. “They dropped this just after you left. Told ’em I’d make certain you got it.”
Stacy took the box. For its size, it was fairly heavy. She rocked it, and the contents thumped against the sides of the box.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Have a great day!”
The girl disappeared inside. Stacy crossed to her own door, unlocked it and entered the house. She kicked the door shut behind her, dumped her purse and keys on the entryway table, then turned her attention to the package. She quickly realized there wasn’t a shipping label affixed to the box and frowned.
She headed back over to her neighbor’s and knocked.
Julie appeared at the door. “Hi, Stacy.”
“Got a question. The package doesn’t have a shipping label. Did they hand you one?”
“Nope. I gave you just what they gave me.”
“You signed for it?”
The blonde looked confused. “No. I assumed I didn’t need to. ’Cause they left a form or something at your door.”
“They didn’t.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Stacy.” By her tone, her confusion had become irritation.
“No probl-Wait! One last question.”
The blonde stopped in her doorway, expression exasperated.
“The FedEx guy, was he in uniform?”
“She,” Julie corrected, drawing her eyebrows together, as if trying to recall. “Don’t remember.”
“What about the truck? Did you see it?”
“Sorry.” When Stacy opened her mouth to ask another question, the girl cut her off. “I’m missing the best part of the workout. Do you mind?”
Stacy said she didn’t and headed back into her own apartment. She crossed to the box, grabbed the pull tab, tore it open and eased its contents out. The item had been secured in bubble wrap. A note card was taped to the wrap.
She freed the card and flipped it open. It read, simply:
The game’s not over yet.
Stacy’s hands began to shake. The White Rabbit.
It couldn’t be.
Carefully, Stacy loosened the tape. Pulled away the bubble wrap.
Her breath caught. A laptop computer. An Apple, twelve-inch. Pretty white case.
One she recognized.
Cassie’s computer.
Even as she told herself it could be any Apple laptop, she opened it, hit the “on” button. The device sprang to life.
She forced herself to breathe as the programs loaded; then the finder filled the screen. She scanned the files, stopping on one titled My Pics.
Stacy opened it. The preferences had been set for a slide show. Rows of thumbnail-size photos popped up. She clicked on the first. A photo filled the screen. Cassie and Magda, wearing New Year’s Eve’s hats and blowing horns. Next appeared one of the rest of the game group, doing a cancan. Then a photo of Cassie’s mom and sister.
The next caused her heart to lurch to her throat.
She and Cassie. At Café Noir. Mugging for the camera.
A cry slipped past Stacy’s lips. She jumped to her feet and strode to the front window. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, struggling against the pain. The sense of loss.
She remembered the day that picture had been taken. Billie had taken it. With her camera phone. It seemed like just yesterday.
Cassie had been alive. And now she was gone.
Stacy balled her hands into fists. She had to focus. Not on the past. Not on the pain. But on what was happening. Why it was happening.
Bobby Gautreaux hadn’t killed Cassie and Beth.
But who had? And why had they sent her the computer?
She dropped her hands and turned toward the device. They’d wanted her to know that Cassie’s death and White Rabbit were linked. That Troy’s death hadn’t ended the game.
The White Rabbit was still at large.
Stacy sucked in a sharp breath, turned and went back to the computer. She closed the photo file and scrolled down the Finder menu, stopping on a file labeled White Rabbit.
Bingo.
She clicked on the item. It opened to a menu with only one item listed.
The Game.
Judging by the date, the document had been created Sunday, February 27, at 10:15 p.m.
The night Cassie had been killed.
Stacy opened it and began to read. A play-by-play game strategy, she realized. The game as she, Malone and the others had played that day. The White Rabbit had assembled all the characters. Da Vinci and Angel. The Professor. Nero. Alice.
And just as in the game they had played, the Dormouse, the two playing cards and the Cheshire Cat weren’t characters.
They were the obstacles. The monsters sent by the White Rabbit to weaken or kill players.
The players.
Of course. They were all dead now. Even the White Rabbit.
All except Angel and Alice.
Stacy leaped to her feet. That was it! Of course. Sure, Leo got everything if Kay was out of the picture.
But that scenario worked in reverse, as well. None of them had considered it.
With Leo gone, Kay got everything.
Stacy began to pace. Excited. Kay had been the one who had known Pogo, who had put Leo’s name on Gallery 124’s mailing list. She’d been in cahoots with Troy. Somehow their plans had gone awry.
Because of her. It had to be.
So, who had sent her the computer?
Alice.
Alice had figured it out. Alice knew her mother was guilty. That she had killed Leo.
Killer Takes All. All the spoils. Leo’s entire estate. The profits from the recent, lucrative licensing deals.
Stacy would bet Troy had become an employee of Wonderland Creations sometime after those deals had been ma
de.
But what of Dunbar? Stacy rubbed her temples. Had Kay recognized him right off? Is that what had gotten her going? Had she realized Danson made a perfect fall guy and enlisted Troy’s help?
The woman was brilliant. The plan had been brilliant.
I’m smarter than both of them. Did he tell you that?
Alice. She’d figured it out.
Of course, Stacy realized. Two characters still stood. The game wouldn’t be over until all players were dead but one.
Killer Takes All.
Alice needed help.
Stacy brought a hand to her mouth. Did Kay intend to kill Alice, as well? Down the line, in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion?
How did Leo’s will read? Was Kay the sole recipient of Leo’s wealth? Or was she merely a trustee?
Stacy snatched up her cell phone, punched in Malone’s number, then hung up when she got the message service. Next she dialed ISD. The woman who answered informed her that Detective Malone was in a meeting and asked if she could direct her to another detective.
“Is Detective Tony Sciame available?”
He was, and several moments later, he came on the line. “Stacy, what’s up?”
“I’m trying to reach Spencer. It’s important.”
“He’s in with the captain and a couple of the guys from PID.”
Public Integrity Division. Internal Affairs. The division that justified its existence by the number of cops they busted. A meeting with those guys always boded ill. She should know-just before she’d left the Dallas force, they’d raked her over the coals.
She frowned, concerned. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know for sure. It’s the captain’s first half day back, and those jokers come bustin’ in. Next thing we know, Malone’s getting drilled.”
“You’re his partner, Tony. You’ve got to have a sense of what it’s about.”
He was quiet a moment. When he spoke, she sensed how carefully he chose his words. “He’s been under the microscope and there’ve been a few irregularities recently.”
A judge approved that trace?
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