Karen Rose - Die for Me

Liz smiled. “Yes, we do. You were at the hospital when we brought her in.”

Vito straightened in his chair. “We have Stacy Savard? Here?”

“Yep. We found her parking her car at the airport. Apparently she was going to take whichever flight left the country first. When you’re up to it, she’s all yours.”

Vito smiled grimly. “Oh, we’re up to it. I can’t wait to talk to that cold bitch.”

Saturday, January 20, 4:50

P.M.

Taking out Van Zandt had been harder than he’d planned, but now that he knew his adversary, taking Johannsen would be easier. He’d planned for every contingency, from a uniformed police escort to the detectives who’d stuck to her like glue. He was ready.

Simon’s mouth curved. Soon a nurse would be changing Grandma’s IV. Bells would ring, alarms would clang. Sweet Sophie would get a frantic phone call. A frantic authentic phone call. One thing he’d always admired about Johannsen was her passion for authenticity. There was a certain… symmetry in Sophie’s fate.

Grandma was dying, so she’d come home. Because she was home, he’d met her. Because he’d met her, studied under her, he’d gained superior knowledge of the medieval world, and because of that knowledge, he’d created one hell of an authentic game. But because of the game and because of Johannsen’s involvement, the police were entirely too close. He’d always planned to eliminate her when the time was right, but the proximity of the police had forced him to play his hand sooner than he’d planned, and because of that … He checked his watch. It was time. Because of that, Grandma was dying. Authentically.

It was one big, beautiful circle. It was fate.

He straightened abruptly. There she was, coming into the lobby from the Great Hall, dressed in a suit of armor. He hoped she’d take it off before making what would certainly be a mad dash. She was a tall woman. It would take a great deal of strength to move her in regular clothes. The armor would be an unwelcome impediment, but he would deal with it if he must. He moved a little closer to the window. Soon there would be no glass between them to denigrate his entertainment experience. Soon, he’d have her in his possession, in his dungeon, where there were cameras and lights. The better to see you die, my dear.

Saturday, January 20, 5:00

P.M.

Stacy Savard sat at the interrogation table, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She stared ahead sullenly until Vito and Nick came in, then looked at them with eyes dripping with pathetic despair. “What’s happened? Why have you brought me here?”

“Cut the drama, Stacy.” Vito took the chair next to hers. “We know what you’ve done. We have your laptop and Claire’s laptop. We know about Claire and Arthur Vartanian, and we found your fat little bank account.” He made his expression puzzled. “What I don’t get is how you could have betrayed Claire like that. You loved her.”

Stacy’s face was impassive for a long moment, then she shrugged. “I didn’t love Claire. Nobody loved Claire except her parents, and that’s only because they didn’t know who she really was. Claire was mean… and a good lay. That’s all.”

Nick’s laugh was short and incredulous. “That’s all? So what happened, Stacy? Did you know she was blackmailing Frasier Lewis from the beginning?”

Stacy scoffed. “Like Claire would share something like that. She was going to keep everything she got from the Vartanians for herself. She was a bitch.”

Vito shook his head, disbelieving. “So when did you know Claire was dead?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I want full immunity.”

Vito laughed hard, then sobered abruptly. “No.”

Stacy sat back. “Then you get nothing more from me.”

Anticipating just such a reaction, Nick slid a photo of the mangled Van Zandt across the table and they watched Stacy pale.

“Who… who is that?”

“The last idiot who wanted immunity,” Vito said caustically.

“And the last idiot who tried to cross Frasier Lewis,” Nick said softly. “We could let you go, you know. And tell Frasier where to find you.”

Her eyes darkened in fear. “You wouldn’t tell him. That would be murder.”

Vito sighed. “She’s got us there. But, if the story were to leak… It might not be until this comes to trial, but he will find out. It’s too sensational to keep quiet.”

“And you’ll be lookin’ over your shoulder until he drops a grenade in your pocket.”

Stacy sucked in a cheek, stewing. Then she looked up. “I was supposed to have dinner with Claire back in October, fifteen months ago. She never showed, so I went to her apartment. I had a key. I found her laptop and pictures she’d taken of ‘Frasier Lewis’ while they sat in the waiting room.” One side of her mouth lifted. “One thing about Claire, she took good notes. She’d planned to write a book about it somewhere down the line. She recognized Lewis as Simon Vartanian, which she thought was odd.”

“Because he was supposed to be dead,” Vito said.

“Yeah. She researched Frasier Lewis, found out he was some guy in Iowa.”

Nick blinked at her. “So you knew about the insurance fraud, too.”

Stacy’s lips firmed stubbornly, and with a long-suffering sigh Vito put a photo of Derek Harrington with a hole in his forehead next to Van Zandt. “You don’t want to mess with Simon Vartanian, Stacy. Any more than you want to mess with us. Answer Detective Lawrence’s question.”

“Yes,” she bit out. “I knew about the insurance fraud. I found the e-mails on Claire’s computer-the ones she’d sent to Simon and his father. The father’s said ‘I know what your son did.’”

“What did you think she meant?” Nick asked and she shrugged.

“That he was cheating the insurance company and that he’d faked his death. Her e-mail to Simon said ‘I know who you are, Simon.’ The father paid. Simon insisted she meet him, and like a stupid idiot, Claire did.”

“Where?” Vito asked tightly. “Where did she meet him?”

“Simon mentioned meeting her outside the library where she worked. But she didn’t show up for a few days, anywhere. So I made the logical assumption she was dead.”

“You sent the letters,” Nick said. “To the library and to yourself.”

“Yes. I sent the letters.”

Vito kept thinking he’d seen his fill of sociopaths on this case, but they just kept coming. “And you took up where she left off.”

“Only with the father, not with Simon.”

“Why not?” Nick asked and Stacy shot him an incredulous look.

“Because he was a killer. Duh. Claire was stupid. I’m not.”

“Here you are, so your intelligence isn’t necessarily a fact in evidence,” Nick said mildly. But a muscle in his cheek twitched and Vito knew the calm was a thin facade.

“Because he was a killer.” Vito shook his head. “You looked at him every time he came into your office for a checkup. You knew he wasn’t Frasier Lewis. You knew he’d killed Claire Reynolds and you never said a word ?”

Again she shrugged. “What was the point? Claire was dead. Nothing I could do would bring her back, and obviously Arthur Vartanian could spare the money.”

Nick huffed out a chuckle. “God, this case just keeps getting better and better. So, Stacy, tell us. What made Arthur Vartanian come to find you?”

Stacy blinked. “He never came to find me. He just kept paying.”

“Oh, he came to find you all right. Now he’s dead. We found him and his wife buried near Claire.” Nick raised a brow. “You wanna see the pictures?”

Stacy shook her head. “He wanted proof that I knew his son, but he kept paying.”