Last Known Victim
Authors: Erica Spindler
ERICA SPINDLER
“
[Last Known Victim]
is another sweeping thriller, from a top-notch bestselling author! Erica Spindler weaves a masterful tale of murder and suspense against the backdrop of a city transformed by disaster. It truly is a story you won't soon forget.”
â
BookCoveReviews.com
“[A] bloodcurdling romantic thriller.”
â
Publishers Weekly
on
Copycat
Spindler “is able to effectively weave a web of suspicion over a great number of characters, gradually eliminating suspectsâby mortality or otherwiseâbut making it almost impossible to predict the outcome.”
â
Bookreporter.com
on
Killer Takes All
“If you enjoy the suspense of the classic âwoman in jeopardy' mystery,
See Jane Die
makes perfect beach reading.”
â
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Creepy and compelling,
In Silence
is a real page-turner.”
â
Times Picayune
“Fans of Erica Spindler know that, in her hands, even an old idea gets a new spin. That's what makes
In Silence
her best to date.”
â
Globe and Mail
“A classic confrontation between good and evil.”
â
Publishers Weekly
on
Dead Run
All Fall Down
is “shocking, emotional, an engrossing read.”
âStella Cameron, author of
Kiss Them Goodbye
SPINDLER
LAST KNOWN VICTIM
I dedicate this book to the city of New Orleans:
To her beauty and grace. Her history, diversity and color.
To the strength and joie de vivre of her people.
Laissez les bons temps rouler!
When hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast, my novel
Killer Takes All
had just recently been released in hardcover. Set in present-day New Orleans, the book suddenly felt dated to me. It felt wrong. This piece of the world had dramatically changed, never to be the same.
A psychologist friend told me he and his colleagues “were the wounded attempting to treat the wounded.” We of the Gulf Coast region have all been profoundly changed by Katrina, even those with no or minimal damage to our personal property.
I simply had to continue the story of detectives Stacy Killian, Spencer Malone and the entire Malone family (first introduced in 2001's
Bone Cold).
I felt compelled to pick up their lives post-K and show how they had been affected by the disaster.
I loved writing this story. Perhaps I was attempting to heal myself through storytellingâusing my gift to come to grips with this new, changed world, to set my little piece of the universe right. Life does, indeed, go on.
In creating
Last Known Victim
I had to make some educated guesses about two years in the future. How far along would the rebuilding process be? Surely the NOPD would be back in their Perdido Street headquarters, the wheels of justice turning smoothly?
Some of my guesses were wrong. As of the writing of this note, the police force is still scattered between many locations, ISD is defunct and nothing is running smoothlyâwith the exception of our beloved Saints. (Go, Saints!)
I'd like to thank all those who helped bring
Last Known Victim
to life: My agent Evan Marshall, assistant Beth Jackson, editor Dianne Moggy and the entire MIRA Books crew. Donald Martin at the LSU Fire & Emergency Training Institute for information on fire forensics and Bob Becker, CEO City Park, New Orleans. Thanks also to Scott Greenbaum at GlockFAQ.com, Barrett Brockhage at LockPicks.com and Russ at Lockpicksonline.com.
I can't end this without expressing my gratitude to my familyâI hear a writer isn't always the easiest person to live withâand to my God, for His many blessings.
Best wishes,
New Orleans, Louisiana
Sunday, August 28, 2005
4:00 p.m.
T
he gods were watching over New Orleans. Or so it seemed. How else could this historic city built below sea level, this beautiful jewel set in a swamp, have survived?
Survival. Of the species. The fittest. The self. An instinctual response to fight for life. To fight back.
Would she?
Walk to the door. Open it.
There she was. Lying on the bed. Asleep. Bitch! Cheap, faithless whore!
She deserves it. She betrayed you. Broke your heart.
She stirred. Moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.
Quickly! Cross to the bed. Put your hands around her throat and squeeze.
Her eyes snapped open. Pools of blue terror. She bucked and clawed.
Tighter. Tighter. Her fault. Hers. Bitch! Betrayer!
Her creamy skin mottled, then purpled. Her eyes bulged, popping out like those of some freakish cartoon character.
No pity. No second thoughts. She brought this on herself. She deserves it.
Her hands dropped. Her body shuddered, then stilled.
Halfway there. Breathe deeply. Calm yourself. Finish what she forced you to do.
A scream shattered the silence. A loud crack, like a gunshot, shook the house.
Only the wind. Katrina's fury. Move, quickly! Good. Now check your equipment. Make certain you have everything you need.
Industrial-strength trash bags. Rubber gloves and boots. Foul-weather gear. Shiny new bone saw. Pretty, pretty saw.
Zip-closure plastic bag.
No one to hear. No one to come. All gone.
An empty city.