Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

Whoever had done it had slipped in and out during the hour he and the housekeeper had been gone.

He fell silent, as if with thought. After a moment, he looked at her. “What’s going on? The new system. Alice moving into the main house. You. Has someone threatened Leo or Alice?”

“Someone’s playing a sick game,” she said. “Leo’s just being cautious.”

He stared at her a moment. They both knew she wasn’t being completely truthful. But he didn’t call her on it.

He shrugged and started back toward his chair. “If you need anything, I’m here.”

She watched as he settled in, then glanced up at the second-floor windows.

And found Alice staring down at her.

Stacy lifted her hand to acknowledge the girl. Instead of returning the friendly gesture, Alice flounced off.

Stacy shook her head in partial amusement. It seemed she didn’t have to do much of anything to offend young Ms. Noble. She was beginning to suspect that just her breathing did it.

Tough nuts, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.

Monday, March 14, 2005

6:10 p.m.

Shannon’s Tavern, a blue-collar bar and NOPD hangout, was located in the area of the city called the Irish Channel. Run by a mountain of a man named Shannon, the bar was a fine place to wait out a storm.

If you made it inside before the storm struck.

Spencer and Tony hadn’t. They burst into the tavern, bringing the wind and rain with them. Shannon took one look at them and shook his head. “Cops.”

“Blame John Jr.,” Spencer said, catching the towel the barkeep tossed him. He dried his hair first, then the rest of himself, as best he could, anyway. A call from John Jr. had, indeed, gotten this particular ball rolling. Their mother and father’s fiftieth wedding anniversary was only six months off; they needed to start planning immediately. That John Jr. had been the one to remember hadn’t been a surprise. As oldest of the brood, John Jr. always played the role of the conscientious one.

And thank God he did. With seven of them to organize and corral, it took someone willing to own the job.

Tony had come along because Betty and Carly were shopping for a prom dress, and he was on his own for dinner.

Shannon served more than ice-cold beer; he cooked up some of the best burgers in the city-big, juicy and priced to fit a cop’s wallet.

Quentin and his wife Anna arrived next. Spencer couldn’t have special-ordered a better sister-in-law. He credited her with giving Quentin the confidence to follow his dreams. The rest of the family felt the same way about her as he did.

“Yo, little bro,” Quentin said, slapping him on the back. “Shannon, draft and a mineral water.”

“Anna.” Spencer kissed his sister-in-law’s cheek, then held her at arm’s length. “You look wonderful.”

Three months pregnant with their first child, she radiated joy.

“How’s the writing biz?”

“Murder,” she said, tone dry. “As usual.”

Anna was a successful suspense novelist. She knew Tony through Quentin and happily took the bar stool beside the older cops.

Percy and Patrick trundled in, dripping wet. John Jr. followed moments later. His wife, Julie, a registered nurse, with him. Shauna and Mary followed.

Big, loud and good-looking, the Malone brothers always attracted attention. Mostly from females, but in New Orleans, that wasn’t necessarily a given. The Malone women had learned to use their brothers’ charisma to their own advantage. While all the available women in a given place vied for their brothers’ attention, the Malone girls had taken their pick of everyone else.

More times than not, it worked like a charm.

Tonight, however, they had serious plans to discuss.

“Aunt Patti and Uncle Sammy are coming,” Mary said, kissing each of her brothers on the cheek. “I talked to her on the way over. They’re a couple minutes late.”

“No problem,” Percy said, signaling to Shannon, “we’ve never started a family powwow on time in our lives.”

“I resent that,” John Jr. replied, taking a long swallow of his draft.

“Represent that, you mean,” Patrick, the accountant said, tone dry. “Keep in mind this is tax season. Unlike you guys, I need to pull twelve-hour days for the next month. Let’s get this show going.”

His siblings’ responses ranged from rolled eyes to comments about the world’s smallest violin. Spencer grinned. Patrick, the family’s square peg.

The door burst open and Aunt Patti and Uncle Sammy sloshed in. With them came another rush of wind and rain.

“It’s miserable out there,” she exclaimed, closing her umbrella and dropping it in the stand by the door. “Could you have picked a worse night, John Jr.?”

Her comment was met by whistles and applause. John Jr. flushed. “Without me, this family would fall apart.”

The older couple made the rounds of hugs and kisses. When his aunt reached him, she leaned close. “We have to talk. Tonight. Catch me before you go.”

He frowned at her tone. “What’s up?”

She shook her head slightly, indicating she couldn’t discuss why now. Whatever it was, he could tell, it was about work. And serious.

Two and a half hours later, the group began breaking up. Although loud, unruly and borderline obnoxious, they’d managed to accomplish all they needed to. Plans had been made; each sibling had a job to do. John Jr. expected committee reports within the week.

Spencer looked at his aunt. She signaled he should meet her in the poolroom in back.

He found her there, back to him. When she turned, he frowned. She looked drawn. Her color off.

“Are you all right, Aunt Patti?”

“Fine.” Her no-nonsense tone told him she had her captain hat firmly in place. “PID called on me today.”

Public Integrity Division. The NOPD’s version of Internal Affairs.

He went cold, the past crashing over him. Two years ago, when his last captain called him into the office, two PID guys had been waiting for him.

It’d been an ambush. A PID specialty.

“They were asking about you, Spencer. This case.”

“This case? The White Rab-”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know for sure.” She rubbed her chest, almost absently. “He was fishing.”

“Why’s this happening?”

“You tell me.”

“There’s nothing.” He searched his memory. “Everything’s been by the book.”

“There’s more. Chief called me. About you. About the case.”

Not good. The chief’s attention always spelled trouble.

He shook his head again. “Why? I don’t get it.”

She curled her fingers around his forearm. “You and Tony,” she said, voice suddenly strained, “watch your backs.”

Spencer opened his mouth to comment, swallowing the words as her face contorted with pain. “Aunt Patti? What’s wrong?”

She tried to speak but couldn’t. She brought a hand to her chest. Alarmed, he shouted for his uncle and sister-in-law.

The family members came running. Julie took one look at Aunt Patti and shouted for someone to call 911.

Within twenty minutes, Aunt Patti had been sent by ambulance to Touro Infirmary, where the family learned she had suffered a heart attack.

The entire Malone clan had turned out, which explained the floor nurse’s harried expression.

Spencer knew the nurse would need to get used to the crowds; cops took care of their own. His aunt was likely to have visitors 24/7. No doubt some of them would attempt to smuggle in no-no’s. Things like Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And Krystal burgers.

The waiting seemed endless. They finally let Uncle Sammy in to see Patti, then Spencer’s mother, who had just arrived. The rest had to wait.