Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“Excellent.”

“There’s more. Cross-referenced the results against blood taken from the attack on Stacy Killian at the UNO library and got ourselves a solid match.”

She opened her mouth as if to question him more; he held up a hand, stopping her. “It gets better. They ran the results against the semen samples taken from the three UNO rape victims. Solid matches all.”

She looked pleased. “Good work.”

He thought so, too. “Stacy Killian was convinced the guy who attacked her was warning her away from poking her nose into the Finch investigation. That works now.”

“You didn’t buy it then.”

“We didn’t have the DNA link to Gautreaux then.”

She nodded. “You said she nailed him pretty good with the pen. He should still have the wound.”

“He does. Which we photographed, of course. In terms of the Finch and Wagner homicides, throw in his print from the scene, the strand of Finch’s hair we collected from his clothing and the threats he had made against the woman, we’ve got ourselves a compelling case.”

Mr. Gautreaux was going to spend the remainder of his youth behind bars.

“I agree. But you’re holding on the murder charge and moving forward on the rapes.”

He smiled. “You got it. Because of the serial nature of his crimes, the judge will deny bail, and we can take our sweet time amassing the evidence to put him away for murder one.”

She murmured her agreement. “No sense setting the judicial clock ticking until we have to. Is he in custody yet?”

“Being processed as we speak.”

“Good. What about the White Rabbit case?”

“The playing cards are dead.”

“I heard. Leads?”

“Working on one. The game inventor.”

“Keep me posted.” She sighed and glanced at the wall clock. “Damn, I’m ready to get out of here.”

“It won’t be much longer. How’s Uncle Sammy doing without you?”

“Eating pizza every night, the idiot. He’ll be in here with a clogged artery next.”

Chuckling, Spencer stood, bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stop by later.”

“Wait.” She caught his hand. “Any trouble for you? Personally?”

He knew what she meant-had he heard from PID?

He shook his head. “No. Tony’s asked around, nobody’s heard anything. But I have this sensation at the back of my neck, like hot breath.”

She nodded, understanding. “By the book, Malone. Not one finger out of line.”

He saluted and headed out. As he stepped off the elevator on the first floor, his cell rang. He checked the display, saw that it was Tony.

“Pasta Man.”

“Where are you?”

“Just left Aunt Patti. Heading downtown now.”

“Don’t bother. Head for the Noble place instead.”

He stopped. The sensation at the back of his neck grew stronger. “What’s up?”

“Kay Noble’s missing.”

Friday, March 18, 2005

11:10 a.m.

When Spencer arrived at the Noble mansion, the first officer directed him to the guest house. He found Tony inside.

“Hey, Slick. Made good time.”

“A land speed record.” He looked over the tidy room, noting how tasteful it was. Like something out of Southern Living magazine. He wondered if the now-deceased designers, Wright and Zapeda, had done the decorating. “Fill me in.”

“Apparently, Kay didn’t show for breakfast this morning. The housekeeper didn’t think too much about it. Although the woman’s typically an early bird, once in a while she sleeps in. Suffers with migraines, too. Again, occasionally.”

He glanced at his notes. “Complained of one coming on the afternoon before.”

“Who finally sounded the alarm?”

“The kid.”

“Alice?”

“Yes. When Kay didn’t show by ten-thirty, Leo sent Alice over to check on her mom.”

“Door was unlocked?”

“Yup.”

“Why’d they call us? She could be taking a walk or out with friends.”

“Not likely. Take a look at this.”

His partner led him to the bedroom. Unlike the front room, which had been pin neat, this one showed signs of a violent struggle. Lamp toppled. Paintings askew. Bed torn apart.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the jumbled bedding. The periwinkle-blue-and-bone silk spread was marred by dark stains.

Blood. He crossed to the bed. There wasn’t a tremendous amount, but more than could have been caused by a scratch or other small wound. More blood on the floor led to an arched doorway at the back of the room. At the archway, a bloody handprint stood in stark contrast to the light-hued wall.

Spencer crossed to it. He studied the print a moment, then looked at the other man. “Size is consistent with a woman’s.”

Tony nodded. “We should test it against the hands of other members of the household. See if the glass slipper fits.”

Might be the perp’s print, not the vic’s. It didn’t feel that way, but that didn’t necessarily mean squat.

Spencer motioned to the doorway.

“A study,” Tony said. “Patio beyond.”

Spencer nodded. Mindful not to destroy evidence, he picked his way around the trail of blood. Every drop would be collected and tested. Only testing would prove whether or not all of it was from the same person.

The study also showed signs of a struggle. Furniture at odd angles. Knickknacks toppled, broken. As if Kay had been struggling, grabbing onto furniture, putting up a fight.

A good thing. It meant Kay had still been alive.

The sliding glass doors that led to the patio stood open. More blood, on the door frame and glass panel.

He crossed to them and peered out. The patio was surrounded by shrubs, making it private, like a courtyard. The perp had known the guest house layout, had chosen this route to be away from prying eyes. He had wanted to keep the alarm from sounding as long as possible.

“Crime-scene techs on their way?” Spencer asked.

“Called ’em myself.”

“You talk to anybody yet?”

“Nope. Got it all from Jackson.”

DIU, Third District. “So Noble called 911?”

“Yup. Communications contacted DIU first. The guys at the Third realized the connection to our case, called me.”

“Wonder why Noble didn’t call us directly?” Spencer murmured more to himself than Tony.

Maybe to delay that alarm.

“I want to interview everybody on the property. Let’s start with the big man himself.”

“You want us to stick together or split up?” Tony asked.

“Split up, we’ll cover ground more quickly. Start with the housekeeper, then move on from there. We’ll compare notes later.”

Tony agreed and headed for the kitchen. Spencer found Leo in his office. He sat at his desk, staring into space, expression flat. His daughter, on the other hand, huddled in the corner of the couch, knees to her chest. Unlike her dad, she looked devastated.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Noble.”

“Leo,” he corrected. “Go ahead.”

“When did you last see your wife?”

“Ex-wife. Last night. About seven o’clock.”

“Working late?”

“We all had dinner together. Right, pumpkin?”

The teenager looked up, like a deer caught in headlights, and nodded. “We went for sushi.”

Her voice cracked and she pressed her forehead to her knees. Spencer motioned toward the doorway. “Perhaps we should talk in the hall?”

“Sure. Of course.” He crossed to his daughter. “Pumpkin?” She looked up. “The detective and I will be in the hall. Will you be okay alone?”

She nodded, looking terrified.

“Call me if you need me. Okay?”