Erica Spindler - Last Known Victim

“At least a dozen.”

“Her cell phone-”

“And home. Left messages on both.”

Patti thought of Tonya, of Yvette’s many calls to her. She cleared her throat. “When did this begin?”

“Last night. We-” He bit back whatever he had been about to say.

Patti frowned. “You what?”

“We had a fight. I stormed out.”

“What was the fight about?” Spencer asked.

The man looked uncomfortable. “Her working so much. She accused me of being jealous of her success.”

“Are you?”

“No! Just…it seemed like her painting was getting all her attention and I…We fought about it.”

“You ‘stormed’ out, then had a change of heart and called her?”

“Yes. At first I just figured she was still mad at me. Then I started to worry. Shauna’s not the type…you know, to keep a mad on.”

She wasn’t. She also wasn’t the type to try to punish or scare someone who had hurt her.

“Let’s take a look around.”

He unlocked the apartment; they asked him to wait for them on the porch. “Shauna,” Spencer called, stepping inside. “It’s me. And Aunt Patti.”

Habit from years of on-the-job entering, Patti thought. Announce yourself. Head off ugly surprises.

Shauna didn’t respond, which wasn’t unexpected. As they made their way deeper into the apartment, Patti noted the “frozen moment” condition of the apartment, especially in the studio. Shauna had left her paintbrushes soaking in turpentine, her palette uncovered. On her worktable lay her iPod, headphones and a half-drunk mochassippi, a local coffeehouse chain’s signature drink. She had removed her painting smock and tossed it over the back of a chair.

The hairs at the back of her neck prickling, Patti looked at Spencer. He, too, gazed at the revealing tableau.

“It’s like she was working and stopped suddenly.”

“To answer the door.”

“Or run a quick errand.”

Closer inspection revealed Shauna’s purse and cell phone were gone. Her clothes and toiletries all appeared accounted for. The message light on the phone was blinking. They returned to the kitchen, to the phone’s base station. Patti hit Play. An obviously still angry Rich’s voice filled the room. That call had come in at 9:10 p.m. Then another at nine-forty and another pretty much every half hour. As the calls progressed, his tone shifted from angry to concerned. His were the only calls that had come in.

“He called from his cell phone,” Spencer murmured, checking the display. “They’re 232 numbers. He could have made the calls from anywhere.”

Patti brought a hand to her temple. Exactly what she had said about Yvette’s calls to Tonya.

“Aunt Patti?” There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. She met his gaze.

“That note you got this morning from the Artist. What did it say again?”

“Now you begin to regret your interference.”

“That’s what I thought it said. Do you think there’s any chance-”

“I don’t want to go there, Spencer. Not yet. Let’s make certain she’s actually missing. Call everyone in the family, find out if they’ve heard from her and when’s the last time they talked to her. Call June and Riley at the gallery, ask the same thing.”

“And if none of them have heard from her?”

“Move on to friends and acquaintances. Anyone you can think of. Get a couple of uniforms over to begin a door-to-door, and bring Ruston downtown for further questioning.”

“And if none of it pans out?”

“Then we’ll talk about the Artist.”

Friday, May 18, 2007

12:10 p.m.

No one in the family had heard from Shauna. The neighborhood sweep had turned up little except for one neighbor confirming the time of Shauna and Rich’s fight and that he had, indeed, stormed out. This information had come from the single mother who lived next door.

Rich had provided a list of friends and acquaintances; the ones they had been able to reach had not seen or heard from her.

Spencer had yet to speak with Stacy, but he didn’t hold out much hope that Shauna was with her.

He tapped on Patti’s open door.

She waved him in. “How’d it go with Ruston?”

“He stuck to his story like he was glued to it. Never varied.”

“You think he’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I do. He didn’t exhibit any of the signs of lying. Kept eye contact, didn’t even break a sweat. Seemed genuinely freaked out. Of course, none of that means he was being truthful.”

Just that, if he was lying, he was really good at it.

“I want to put someone on Ruston, anyway. I don’t want him to make a move we don’t know about.”

“Agreed.” Spencer flexed his fingers, frustrated, itching to act. “This is such bullshit! Why are we sitting here when we should be out there, looking for her!”

“An all-radio bulletin has been sent,” she said, countering his emotion with calm. “Every patrol unit has Shauna’s description.”

“Where the hell’s the rest of the family?”

“On their way.”

As if on cue, John Jr. burst into the office. Moments behind him was Percy, then Mary. Quentin rolled in last, out of breath.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was in court. What’s the emergency?”

“Shauna,” Percy said. “She’s gone missing.”

“Gone missing? What the hell?”

“Where’s Stacy?” Mary asked.

“Not certain,” Spencer replied. “On the job. I’ll fill her in.”

Patti began, “There’s a chance Shauna’s been abducted by a killer who calls himself the Artist.”

She passed around the note she’d received that morning. While they each read it, she filled them in on the investigation so far-their suspicions about Yvette, the notes, the connection to the Handyman case and the Maytree and Messinger murders.

Spencer stepped in. “This chick’s good, no doubt about it. But parts of her story weren’t adding up. We called her in for questioning yesterday, then acquired a search warrant. Now she’s gone.”

“And suddenly the Artist is back in play,” Patti added. “In addition, the department psychologist said it’s possible that Yvette’s acting out a fantasy. When I stopped believing in it, I incurred her ire.”

“But why would Shauna go anywhere with Borger?” asked Percy.

“Shauna met Yvette at June’s gallery the night of her opening,” Patti said. “So she wouldn’t have been a stranger. Somehow she convinced her into coming with her.”

They all began talking at once.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Ruston’s a creep, he could be lying.”

“Could be,” Patti agreed, “but we don’t think so.”

“We have another option,” Quentin offered quietly.

Everyone looked at him. “That Yvette was telling the truth about the Artist.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Mary cleared her throat. “Which could mean the Artist has Yvette and Shauna.”

Two women’s lives in danger.

Spencer’s cell phone vibrated; certain it was finally Stacy, he answered without checking the display.

“I was getting worried. Where are you?”

“Malone?”

Not Stacy. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Rene Baxter. I was wondering if Killian’s with you.”

For a moment Spencer allowed himself to doubt what he’d heard, then he went cold with dread.

Not Stacy. Please not Stacy, too.

He lifted his gaze-and found Patti looking at him. He shifted his attention back to Rene. “She’s not there?”

“Checked in this morning, then disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’? She’s not a goddammed ghost!”