Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“My God.” Leo stood and crossed to the counter, visibly upset. There, he stopped, as if uncertain what to do next.

“I don’t understand,” Kay murmured. “Why is this happening?”

“You tell me.”

She looked startled. “Excuse me?”

“It seems to me both of you might have a better idea why this is happening than I would. I’m a late addition.”

Leo spread his hands. “Someone’s obsessed with the game.”

“Or with you,” Stacy countered. “Because of the game.”

“But why?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“The very nature of obsession defies logic.”

Mrs. Maitlin appeared at the kitchen doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Noble, those detectives from the other day are here. They say they need to speak with you.”

“Send them back, Valerie.”

He looked at Stacy in question. She saw what she thought was fear in his eyes. She shook her head. “As far as I know, nobody’s dead.”

Mrs. Maitlin showed them in. After a round of greetings, Spencer began. “We identified the artist who created the cards you received. A local guy named Walter Pogolapoulos, Pogo for short. Do you know him?”

They looked at each other, then shook their heads.

“Heard the name before?”

Again, they indicated they hadn’t.

Tony showed them a picture. “Ever seen him? Hanging around the neighborhood? At the mall, in the park? Anything like that?”

“No,” Leo said, sounding frustrated. “Kay?”

She stared at the photo, then hugged herself. “No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Is he the one who…killed that woman?”

“We don’t know,” Tony said, sliding the photo back into his pocket. “He could be. Or he simply could have been hired to create the drawings.”

“We’ve yet to question him,” Spencer said. “But we will.”

Leo looked confused. “If you’ve identified him, why haven’t you questioned-”

“He got wind of us and disappeared.”

“But don’t worry,” Tony added. “We’ll get him.”

The couple didn’t look convinced. Stacy couldn’t blame them.

“Have you received another card?” Spencer asked.

“No.” Leo frowned. “Do you expect us to?”

Spencer was silent a long moment. Stacy knew he was deciding what he should say and what he should keep to himself.

He began. “We found sketches of the cards you received as well as several others, in various stages of completion.”

“Others?” the man repeated.

Stacy stepped in, though she knew doing so might earn her Spencer’s ire. “One of the cards depicted the Cheshire Cat, its bloody head floating above its body.”

“Dear God.” Kay clasped her hands together.

“If the Allen murder set the pattern, the chances are good that I’m the Cheshire Cat.”

Spencer sent her an irritated glance, then continued. “In addition to the Cheshire Cat, we found cards depicting the deaths of the Five and Seven of Spades, the March Hare, the Queen of Hearts and Alice.”

“Alice,” Kay repeated weakly. “You don’t think that’s our-”

“Of course it’s not our Alice,” Leo exclaimed, voice gruff. “What a thought, Kay!”

Spencer and Tony exchanged glances. “Is it so far from the realm of possibility, Mr. Noble?”

They all knew it wasn’t. Leo frowned. “Let’s just say, I refuse to accept it as a possibility. I have no clue what any of this is about.”

Kay turned to her husband, obviously upset. “How can you take that blindly optimistic approach? It very well could be our Alice. For all we know, I could be the Queen of Hearts!”

The room fell silent. Stacy studied the others. Malone and his partner were already thinking ahead, to the next bullet on their agenda. Leo and Kay, on the other hand, were scrambling to figure out how much danger they were in.

“I don’t like this,” Kay said, breaking the silence. “Maybe I should take Alice and go somewhere. Call it a holiday, a mother and daughter excurs-”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

They all turned. Alice stood in the doorway, ramrod straight, hands balled into fists. “I mean it. I’m not.”

Leo took a step toward her, hand out. “Alice, sweetheart, now’s not the time to discuss this. Go to your room and-”

“It is the time! I’m not a baby, Dad. When are you going to get that?”

“Go to your room!”

She held her ground. “No.”

Leo’s mouth dropped, as if he couldn’t even imagine such defiance coming from his daughter’s lips.

“I know something’s going on.” She turned to Stacy. “You’re not a technical consultant. You’re interested in Dad’s game, White Rabbit.

“And you two-” she indicated Malone and Sciame “-are cops. You were here the other night and again now. Why?”

Kay and Leo exchanged glances. Kay nodded and Leo turned back to his daughter. “The police are asking our help in tracking down a killer. He claims to be the White Rabbit.”

“That’s why they were here the other night,” Alice said. “Because someone had been murdered.”

“Yes.”

She moved her gaze between the adults, as if deciding whether they were being truthful. “But why take me away?”

Kay took a step toward her. “Because your father…he might…he’s-”

“In danger?” The words seem to catch in the girl’s throat. She suddenly looked younger than her sixteen years. And as vulnerable as any child.

Leo crossed to her and hugged her. “We don’t know that for certain, pumpkin. But we’re not taking any chances.”

She seemed to digest that. “Am I in danger?”

Spencer stepped in. “At this moment, we don’t have a strong reason to believe so.”

The girl was silent. When she spoke, the vulnerability was gone. “If I’m not in danger, why send me away? Seems to me, Dad’s the one who should consider running.”

“We don’t want to expose you to danger,” Kay said. “If some crazy person has targeted your-”

“I’m not leaving Dad.”

Leo sighed. Kay looked frustrated. Stacy felt for them. She turned to Spencer. “Do you think it’s safe for Alice here?”

He frowned, then nodded. “For the moment, yes. That could change.”

Stacy looked at the teenager. “If it did, would you go then?”

“Maybe,” she said. “We could talk about it.”

She sounded like an adult. Had the intellect to reason like one. But she wasn’t an adult. She was a child. And one who didn’t live in the real world. Because of her intellect. And because of her wealth.

Alice squared her shoulders and looked directly at Spencer. “I want to help. What can I do?”

Leo pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Pumpkin, I’m sure the detectives appreciate your offer, but you’re-”

Stacy cut him off. The teenager knew enough to be afraid. Helping might ease those fears.

“Detective Malone and I have an idea,” she said. “It’s something you might be able to help with, Alice.”

The girl turned eagerly toward her. Stacy ignored the Nobles’ shocked expressions. “We figure we need to get into this guy’s head. He claims to be a White Rabbit, so-”

“You want to play the game,” Alice said. “Of course. What better way to anticipate his moves?”

Saturday, March 12, 2005

2:00 p.m.

Leo had been reluctant to play; said he’d left gaming behind years before. Kay had flatly refused. White Rabbit belonged to a time of their lives she would rather not relive.

Stacy had attempted to overcome Leo’s reluctance by explaining that Alice was absolutely right when she’d ascertained that they planned to use the game as a way to understand who they were up against. Getting into the head of a killer was a technique as old as crime and investigation, but perfected by the FBI in the 1980s.