Erica Spindler - Last Known Victim

“See? I’m telling the truth.” She dropped them. “I can take you there. Stacy may be there. Shauna…I just ran. I was so scared.”

What if she was telling the truth?

Her cell phone vibrated. Instead of answering, she retrieved her cuffs.

“What are you-”

She snapped one around Yvette’s right wrist, then the left.

“Patti, please! I-”

“Excuse me while I take this call. O’Shay here.”

It was Spencer. “Aunt Patti, I’m with Ray Hollister. He’s confirmed that Riley was shot. Twice.”

“Self-inflicted?”

“He doesn’t think so, judging by the entry-point locations. Autopsy will confirm, but his bet is Riley was dead before the fire reached him.”

“Which would most probably mean he wasn’t our guy.”

“But he may have known who was.”

“Bingo. Let’s try to find out if he was killed at the gallery or dumped there.”

“You’ve got it.” He paused. “Where are you?”

“At my house.”

“Your house? What-”

“I’ve got to go. Keep me posted.”

“You were talking about Riley, weren’t you?”

At the choked question, Patti glanced at Yvette. She looked…devastated, as if her world had come to an end.

Patti stared at the young woman. Riley was dead, shot twice. His body had been found in the blackened rubble of the torched gallery. Three women were still unaccounted for-Shauna, Stacy and June.

Riley. The gallery.

Then Patti knew. Beyond all reason. She fought back a sound of disbelief. Of despair.

Riley had, indeed, caught on to the killer. A killer who had a connection to the missing women. To Riley and the gallery. The black-and-white shih tzu and Ray’s Perfect Pups. A killer no one would have suspected-and everyone would trust. Including her.

That killer wasn’t Yvette Borger.

It was June Benson.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

2:35 p.m.

Spencer swung the Camaro into Patti’s driveway and braked sharply. Leaving the car running, he leapt out and ran to the front door. Patti hadn’t sounded like herself on the phone. She’d had no reason to be home.

When that had sunk in, he’d rung her back. Several times. She hadn’t answered.

Patti had left him at the scene, told him she would get a cruiser to take her back to headquarters. So how had she ended up here?

And more important, why?

He struggled to remember what she had been doing right before she exited the scene.

Checking her cell phone.

He pounded on the door. “Aunt Patti! It’s Spencer. Open up!”

When she didn’t answer, he tried the door and found it locked, then went around back. There he found a broken window. Whoever had broken it had used it as a way to enter the house. They had cut themselves going in, he saw. Blood on the glass, the inside sill.

He tried the rear door, found it locked, then reared back and kicked it in. “Sorry, Aunt Patti,” he muttered, and slipped inside.

Little out of place. Sandwich fixings on the kitchen counter. PB & J. Half-drunk Coke. Looked like some had spilled onto the tile floor.

He made his way into the living room, then the bedroom.

There he found a pile of discarded garments. They were dirty. Bloodstained.

He stared at those stains, growing dizzy with fear. Not Aunt Patti. Dear God, not her, too. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, working to clear his head. Think it through.

Grabbing a tissue, he carefully lifted one of the garments. Capri pants. Ridiculously small. A size 0, or some such number. Aunt Patti was a trim woman, but these were tiny.

Yvette’s clothes.

They stunk. He wrinkled his nose. But of wha-

He realized then. Of mold and mildew. From water damage. The way the entire freaking city had smelled for a year. The way some parts still smel-

The lower Ninth ward. Pockets of St. Bernard. Son of a bitch.

He unholstered his cell and dialed Tony. “I know where they are,” he said when his partner answered. “Lower Ninth. Assemble a search-”

“What about the captain?”

“MIA. Either with Yvette or the Handyman.”

“That makes no damn sense.”

“Live with it. Assemble a team. Lower Ninth.”

“Wait! That’s a big place, Slick. Where do you want this team to start?”

“Where we found Messinger’s body. I’m on my way now.”

Saturday, May 19, 2007

2:50 p.m.

Patti pulled onto a long, gravel drive and followed its graceful curve. The setting was beautiful: gently rolling hills, vibrant green pastures, mature oak, maple and dogwood trees, lush, manicured landscaping.

Folsum. Louisiana horse country. Home to celebrity polo, thoroughbred horse farms and country homes for the wealthy.

“This isn’t it,” Yvette burst out. “It’s so not it.”

Patti ignored her, just as she had ignored her the entire hour they had been on the road. Finally the young woman had given up and dozed.

The house came into view then, a sprawling Southern country house, white with black shutters and a front porch that ran the length of the house, lined with white rocking chairs.

Visiting Mimosa, as the Bensons’ country place was named, was like taking a step back in time. To a gentle, uncomplicated era.

Patti had always found this one of the most beautiful places on earth. A place where she came to refresh her soul.

Until today.

“I don’t understand why we’re here.”

Patti wasn’t sure she did, either. What she was thinking defied all logic. Defied all she knew to be true-not just with her head, but her heart as well-about her oldest and dearest friend.

“This is June’s country place,” she said softly, drawing to a stop in front of the house. “I’m checking out a hunch.”

More than a hunch. A horrible, taunting fear.

Yvette held out her arms, rattled the cuffs. “Are you going to take these things off me?”

“Not until I know I can trust you.”

“No! Plea-”

Patti opened her door and slid out. “Wait here.” Before Yvette could respond, she slammed the door and started for the house.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet. Her heart beat heavily against the wall of her chest.

This couldn’t be. June was her best friend.

To even consider this, she must be losing her mind. Sammy’s death and the stress of the storm had finally gotten to her.

Patti removed her Glock from her shoulder holster.

All roads led directly back to June. Riley. The gallery. Max. June was the last woman to disappear.

She let herself in. Moved from the foyer into the large living room. The house was perfect, as always. It smelled of flowers and lemon polish; sunlight dappled the interior in a warm, welcoming light.

June stepped through the patio door and stopped dead. She held a big basket of fresh-cut flowers. Her cheeks were pink from the warm day.

“Patti! What in the world are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“For me? I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t answer your cell phone.”

“I wanted to get away…I’ve been so stressed. Overwhelmed. Riley’s been driving me absolutely bonkers…” She frowned. “Patti, why do you have your gun?”

“We thought you’d been abducted.” She took several steps toward her.

“Abducted?” June laughed. “That’s just silly.”

“You left Max home alone.”

“Never. Riley’s taking care of him, of course.”

But Riley was dead. Murdered.

June shook her head, closed the patio door and headed into the room. “How about I get us an iced tea? You don’t have to go back to the city right away, do you?”