Killer Takes All (11 page)

Wednesday, March 9, 2005
2:00 a.m.

T
he ringing phone dragged Stacy from sleep. She opened her eyes, disoriented.
Dispatch.
She blinked, fighting to shake off the fog.
Somebody’s dead. Got to—

The device screamed again and she snatched up the receiver, answering as she had on the job.

“Killian here.”

“Got a question.”

Malone, she realized, fog clearing. Not dispatch. New Orleans, not Dallas. She shifted her gaze to the bedside clock.

2:05.

A.M.

“It’d better be a good one.”

“In
Alice in Wonderland,
does a mouse drown? In a pool of tears?”

Stacy sat up, instantly, fully awake. She recalled the pen-and-ink drawing Leo had received, of the creature in a pool of what had looked like blood.

She pushed the hair out of her face. “Why?”

“I’ve got a homicide. Killer left us a message. Poor little mouse, drowned in—”

“A pool of tears,” she finished for him.

“Is it in the story?”

“Not exactly,” she said, glancing at the clock once more, calculating how long it would take her to dress and get to Leo’s. “But yes.”

“Not exactly,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

“That it’s close enough for there to be a connection. Read the Cliff’s Notes, you’ll understand.”

“You know something about this, Killian. What is it?”

Great, now he gets perceptive.
“It’s the middle of the night, Malone. Mind if I get back to my beauty sleep?”

“I’m going to want to talk to your boss.”

“Free country. Talk to you when the sun’s up.” She hung up before he could argue, then punched in Leo’s office number. The man claimed he never slept; she would put that claim to the test.

He answered on the second ring.

“Something’s happened,” she said. “I’m on my way over.”

“You’re headed over? Now?”

“No time to explain. I want to beat Malone and his partner.”

“
Detective
Malone?”

“Trust me, okay?” She scrambled out of bed and started toward the bathroom. “And get some coffee on.”

Wednesday, March 9, 2005
2:55 a.m.

F
ifteen minutes later, Stacy braked in front of Leo’s. She’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a light sweatshirt, taking the time for nothing else but pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

She climbed out of the car and hurried up the walk. The house was dark, save for the gas porch lights. Leo sat on the top step waiting for her.

He stood as she reached him. “There’s been another murder,” she said without preamble. “It appears to be related to
Alice in Wonderland.
And to one of the cards you received.”

He paled. “Which one?”

She quickly explained about Spencer’s call, sharing all she knew. “I fully expect him to show up here. I thought we should talk first.”

He nodded. “Let’s go inside.”

Leo led her to the kitchen. As she had requested, he had coffee waiting. He waited as she lightened and sweetened it.

Obviously a man who understood the powerful pull of caffeine.

“What does this mean?” he asked after she had taken a sip.

“There may be a connection between this murder and you.”

“The game. The White Rabbit.”

“I said there
may
be. You have to show the police the cards.”

“Did you tell Malone—”

“About the cards? No. I thought you should.”

“When will they come?”

“Any minute is my guess. Though they may wait until morning. Depends on what else they have and their sense of urgency.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Leo looked at her; she indicated he should answer and that she would wait in the kitchen.

Moments later he returned with the two detectives.

“Thought you’d be here,” Spencer said when he saw her.

She smiled slightly. “Ditto.”

“Coffee?” Leo asked.

The men both refused, though Tony reluctantly.

Spencer began. “Obviously, Ms. Killian filled you in.”

“Yes.” Leo glanced at her, then back at Malone. “But before we go on, there’s something you need to know.”

“What a surprise,” Spencer said, looking at her.

Stacy ignored his sarcasm. Leo continued. “In the past month, I’ve received three cards from someone claiming to be the White Rabbit. One depicts a mouse, drowned in a pool of tears. The cards are signed the
White Rabbit.
”

Spencer frowned. “From the game?”

“Yes.” Leo quickly explained about the role of the White Rabbit in his game and his fear that someone had begun to play the part for real. “I’ve gotten plenty of crank mail over the years,” he finished, “but these…something about them unnerved me.”

“That’s why he hired me,” Stacy said. “To find out who sent them. And if that person was dangerous.”

“I’d like to see the cards.”

“I’ll get them.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tony said, falling in step with the other man.

Stacy watched them go, then turned to Malone. “What?”

“Going into the private dick business?”

“Just helping a friend.”

“Noble?”

“Cassie. And Beth.”

“You think the cards are from their killer.”

It wasn’t a question; she answered, anyway. “They could be.”

“Or not.”

Leo and Tony returned then. Tony handed Spencer the cards, exchanging a telling glance with his partner. By his expression, Stacy knew he believed they were onto something.

Spencer studied the three cards. He lifted his gaze to Leo’s. “Why didn’t you call us about these?”

“And say what? I wasn’t overtly threatened. Nobody was dead.”

“Somebody’s dead now,” Spencer said. “Drowned in a pool of tears.” He took out a photo and handed it to Leo. “Her name was Rosie Allen. Know her?”

Leo stared at it, shook his head and handed it back.

“What’s going on?”

They turned. Kay stood in the doorway, looking fresher than she should for the hour.

“There’s been a murder,” Leo answered. “A woman named Rosie Allen.”

Kay frowned. “I don’t understand. What does this Rosie have to do with us?”

Spencer stepped in. “She was murdered in a manner similar to a card your ex-husband received.”

“The mouse in a pool of tears,” Leo said.

Spencer held out the photo. “Ever seen this woman before?”

The woman stared at the picture, her face going white. “It’s the sewing lady,” she whispered.

“You know her?”

“No…yes.” She brought a hand to her mouth. Stacy saw that it trembled. “She did some…mending and…alterations for us.”

Spencer and Tony exchanged glances. Stacy knew what the look meant: this was no coincidence. It was a connection.

Leo crossed to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “What we feared, Kay. It’s true. Someone’s playing the game for real.”

The detectives ignored that. “When did you last see Rosie Allen?”

Kay looked blankly at Spencer. He repeated the question. Before she answered, she followed Leo’s lead and sat down. “Just the other day. A suit of mine needed alterations.”

“And she fitted you?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t know her name?”

“Mrs. Maitlin…she takes care of such things.”

Tony frowned. “Such things.”

“Taking care of the help. Arranging appointments. Paying for their services.”

“I’ll need to question her. And the rest of the household staff.”

“Of course. The staff arrives at eight. Will that be soon enough?”

Both detectives checked their watches, then nodded. Having been there herself, she recognized their thought processes. It was five-thirty now. They’d go home for a quick shower, then meet somewhere to grab some grub. That would put them back here just as the staff was arriving for the day.

After telling Leo she would call him later, Stacy followed the two detectives out, hurrying to catch up. She missed Tony, but stopped Malone as he unlocked his car door.

“Spencer!” she called.

He turned, waited. She reached him. “The murder tonight, any similarities to Cassie’s?”

“Nothing that I saw,” Spencer answered.

She fought disappointment. And frustration. “You’d tell me if there was, right?”

“You’ll be the first to know when there’s an arrest.”

“Nice evasion.”

“Damn decent, if you ask me. Don’t think I owe you more than that.”

“I’ll make a deal with you, Malone. Mutual cooperation. I’ll share anything I get with you, if you do the same with me.”

“And why would I want to do that, Killian? You’re not a cop. I am.”

“It’d be the smart thing to do. I’m determined. I’m working for Noble. I could help you.”

“The connection between Noble and Cassie is paper thin. If you don’t see that—”

“Believe me, I do. But it’s the only connection I’ve got, so I’m going with it.” She held out her right hand. “Mutual cooperation?”

He gazed at her outstretched hand a moment, then shook his head. “Nice try. But NOPD doesn’t make deals like that.”

“Their loss. And yours.”

He climbed in his car and drove off. She watched him go, then crossed to her own car. She unlocked it and slipped inside. He’d be back. He was arrogant but not stupid.

The name of the game was solving the case. He needed her to do that.

He just didn’t realize it. Yet.

Wednesday, March 9, 2005
10:40 a.m.

“I
t took you two long enough to make it in this morning,” Captain O’Shay snapped, simultaneously plucking a tissue from the box on her desk.

“Couldn’t be helped, Captain,” Spencer said. “Interviewed a half dozen of the vic’s acquaintances since eight this morning.”

“Where are we?”

“Woman dead in the bathtub. One Rosie Allen. Ran an alteration business out of her home. Looks like she was drowned. Coroner’s report should be back this afternoon.”

“No sign of struggle,” Tony jumped in. “No defensive injuries, hands were clean. We’re figuring her killer subdued her, maybe with a stun gun.”

Spencer took over. “She’s ready for bed, in her robe and pj’s. Opens the door, anyway.”

The captain sneezed, then blew her nose. “She knew the person at the door.”

“That’s what we figure. But this is where the story gets interesting. Killer left us a nice little message. Poor Little Mouse, drowned in a pool of tears.”

“Written on the bathroom wall behind the tub,” Tony said. “Orange lipstick.”

“The lipstick?” Captain O’Shay asked.

“Atrocious, old-lady orange.” Tony made a face.

The captain looked irritated. “Status of?”

“Missing. Taken either as a trophy or to cover his ass.”

“You’re certain it was hers?”

Tony leaned forward. “Affirmative, Captain. Acquaintances all confirmed orange was her shade.”

Spencer took over, filling in his superior on Allen’s connection to Noble, the cards Noble had received and Spencer’s theory that a fanatic had begun to play the game for real.

When he finished, she stared at him, eyes glassy. “You don’t look so good, Captain,” he said.

“Damn allergies,” she said. “Everything’s in bloom.”

“Including your nose.” Tony grinned. “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

She snatched a second tissue from the box. “Not at all. If you don’t mind working Traffic.”

“Backing down, Captain. I’m too old and too fat for that detail.”

A hint of a smile touched her mouth. “This game, tell me about it.”

“Ever heard of Dungeons & Dragons? It got a lot of media attention a few years ago.”

She nodded. “Worked a case back in ’85, involved a couple kids heavily into D & D. They were romantically involved and killed themselves in a suicide pact. Media had a field day with it. Claimed ‘research’ about the game brainwashing the kids. Leading them to murder and suicide.

“It all came to little more than hype. The girl had been diagnosed as clinically depressed and the parents had threatened to break the couple up. The whole gaming angle complicated things, made it tough to do our jobs.”

Typical media.
“This game’s darker than D & D. From what I gather, the most violent of the lot. Based on the book
Alice in Wonderland.
”

She muttered something about nothing being sacred as she blew her nose again.

“This game’s scenario is kill or be killed. The White Rabbit’s the ultimate assassin.”

“Now come to life,” Captain O’Shay said, moving her gaze between her two detectives.

“That’s Noble’s theory,” Spencer agreed.

“For God’s sake, keep it from the media.” The captain grimaced. “That’s all we need, a repeat of the ’85 circus.”

“The Nobles claim they didn’t even know the vic’s name,” Tony said. “The mister didn’t even recognize her from a photo.”

“Just one of the countless many who serve,” Spencer said dryly. “According to the ex-Mrs. Noble, the woman dealt mostly with the housekeeper, Mrs. Maitlin.”

“You spoke with her?”

“Yup. Didn’t have much to bring to the party.” He checked his notes. “Hardly knew her. Found her through an ad. The woman agreed to come to the house for fittings, which isn’t customary. The housekeeper described her as a mousy woman. Her words.”

Patti O’Shay frowned. “Interesting.”

“We thought so,” Tony offered. “Checking the National Crime Information Center for priors. On Maitlin. The rest of the household as well.”

“None of them recalled seeing her. They could be lying, of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Good news. Got a break in the Finch and Wagner murders. A fingerprint match from the scene.”

“Gautreaux?”

“Bingo. Also got a strand of her hair from his jacket. And a strand of hair consistent with his from her T-shirt. Not enough to charge him, because of their past relationship, but—”

“Enough to get a court-ordered DNA swab. If the hair proves to be his, he’s ours.” She pressed a tissue to her nose. “Call Judge—”

“Already done. Should have it within the hour.”

“Good work, Detectives. Keep me informed.”

Her phone rang; she reached for it, signaling their meeting had ended. Spencer and Tony stood and headed for the door. There, Spencer stopped and turned back toward his aunt, waiting for her to finish the call.

She hung up and looked at him in question. The dark circles under her eyes concerned him. He told her so.

She smiled wanly. “No need to be. Hard to sleep when you can’t breathe. It’s taking its toll.”

“You certain that’s all that’s going on?”

“Absolutely.” She straightened, her expression becoming all business. “I heard something I didn’t like this morning.”

Spencer stiffened slightly. “From?”

“From isn’t the pertinent question here.
What
would be more appropriate.”

“I’ll bite. What did you hear?”

“That you were partying at Shannon’s until closing. The night before an important stakeout.”

He felt his temper rise and worked to hold it in check. “I was off duty.”

“Yeah, you were off duty. But three hours later you were on duty.” She rose to look him directly in the eye. “On
my
time. Hungover.”

“I did my job,” he countered defensively.

“Use your head, Spencer. Think about what made you vulnerable to Lieutenant Moran.”

He wanted to argue. He was angry. Pissed at whoever had gone running to her.

But mostly at himself.

Palms on her desk, she leaned toward him. “You’re not going to screw up under my command. I’ll transfer you first. Understand?”

Back to DIU. Or worse. She had the power. No doubt she was under the microscope, being pressured by the same folks who had appeased him by assigning him to ISD.

They wanted him out. They’d figured he wouldn’t last.

That’s why they’d offered him this juicy plum. Got the department off the legal string—and it cost them nothing.

He straightened. Furious. Feeling betrayed by those he had trusted. “Understood, Captain. Don’t worry about me, my eyes are open now.”