Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

She punched in the number. It rang once, then clicked over to voice mail. She angled the phone so Spencer could hear it as well.

“Hi. You’ve reached Kay Noble of Wonderland Creations. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Stacy ended the call. “Not a good turn of events.”

“No shit.” He strode across to the bed, snatched up his own cell phone and punched in a number. “Rise and shine, Pasta Man. We’ve got mail.”

While he spoke to his partner, Stacy scooped up the rest of her clothing and headed to the bathroom to finish dressing. When she returned to the bedroom, Spencer was fully dressed and strapping on his shoulder holster.

She remembered when she’d had a shoulder holster. Remembered the weight of it, the way it had hugged her side. The way wearing it had made her feel.

“Tony’s working on getting the location that call came from. At the least, the cell company will be able to triangulate a position. At best, with GPS technology, they’ll pinpoint the exact location. I’m predicting the latter. I seriously doubt Kay Noble was carrying anything but the most up-to-the-moment cell technology.”

“You think she’s dead, don’t you?”

He stilled, looked at her. “I hope to hell she’s not.”

But it didn’t look good. Not for Kay Noble.

And not for her.

Six hours, forty-five minutes. And counting.

“I need a favor,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“I want to talk to Bobby.”

“That’s going to be tough, he’s in the Old Parish Prison. I doubt he’d put you on his visitor list.”

“You could get me in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me?”

“After last night, I would have thought it the other way around.”

He had a point, she thought, a smile tugging at her mouth. She held her ground, anyway. “If I hadn’t injured young Mr. Gautreaux, you wouldn’t have had the blood to link him to me, then to the three coeds.”

Spencer folded his arms across his chest. “True.”

“Look, I just want to talk to him. I want to hear it from his own lips. That he didn’t kill Cassie and Beth.”

He paused, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But you have until two o’clock this afternoon to do your thing.”

“Then what? I turn into a pumpkin?”

“I put about a dozen men trailing you. If this guy makes a move on you, we’ll be there.”

Saturday, March 19, 2005

8:10 a.m.

Malone made a couple of calls and managed to get her on the prison admit list. But before she paid Bobby a visit, she needed to check on Alice.

“How’re things there?” Stacy asked when Mrs. Maitlin answered the phone.

“I’ve never seen Mr. Leo so subdued.”

“How about Alice?”

“Quiet.”

“May I speak with her?”

The woman agreed and went in search of the teenager. Moments later the girl greeted her. “Stacy? Where are you?” she asked.

“Checking out a lead. Are you all right?”

“Fine. The police sent someone over. He’s out front, guarding the place.”

Probably shooting the shit with Troy. “Good.”

“You didn’t come home last night.”

“I stayed with a friend. How’s your dad?”

“He’s getting ready for a meeting downtown. You want to talk to him?”

She thought of his screenplay. “No, I don’t think so.”

For a long moment, Alice was silent. When she finally spoke, her tone was hushed. “Dad’s scared. He won’t admit it, but I can tell.”

Scared of getting killed? Or caught? “It’s going to be okay, Alice. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Not long. Don’t do anything until I get there. Understand? No messages to the Rabbit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She used the title to tease and Stacy smiled. What had happened to the surly teenager who had once warned Stacy to stay out of her way?

Stacy ended the call by reminding Alice she was no farther than a phone call away.

Spencer had arranged her admit pass to the prison through his cousin, who happened to be on staff there. He’d told Stacy to ask for Connie O’Shay; she was being admitted as a court-appointed therapist.

“Thanks for doing this,” Stacy told the redhead.

“Always happy to help a fellow clinician.”

Stacy didn’t correct her, and within minutes she was facing Bobby through unbreakable Plexiglas.

She picked up the phone. He did the same. “Hi, Bobby.”

He sneered at her. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Not interested.”

He started to hang up, but she stopped him. “What if I tell you I don’t believe you killed Cassie and Beth?”

Her words surprised her as much as they appeared to surprise him. He returned to his seat.

“Is this a joke?”

“No. You may be a rapist, Bobby, but I don’t think you’re a killer.”

“Why?”

Just a hunch, slimeball. “Let me ask the questions.”

“Whatever.” He slouched in his seat.

“Why’d you go to Cassie’s that night?”

“I wanted to talk to her.”

“About?”

“Getting back together.”

“Right.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Call me a romantic.”

“So, you didn’t go there to kill her?”

“No.”

“Then why? To rape her?”

“No.”

“I see why the police arrested you, Bobby. You have no credibility.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks.” She stood. “Have a nice stay.”

“Wait! Sit down.” He waved her toward the seat. “I saw her leaving Luigi’s, out by campus. So I followed her home.”

“Just because?”

“Yeah. Like a fuckin’ idiot.”

“And?”

“I sat out front. For a long time.”

She could imagine the young man, staring at Cassie’s house, getting angrier by the moment. Hating her. Wanting to punish her. To make her pay for hurting him. His ego.

For rejecting him.

“And?”

“I decided to force the issue.”

Force. Bad word for a serial rapist to use.

“What happened?”

“She answered the door. Let me in. We talked.”

“That credibility thing’s happening again.” He didn’t respond; she pressed the issue. “She wouldn’t have willingly let you in, Bobby.”

“No?”

“No. So, you pushed your way in. You’re angry. You want to let her have it for rejecting you. Embarrassing you.”

She leaned slightly forward. “What stopped you?”

“Someone came to the door.”

She experienced a tickle of excitement. “Who?”

“Don’t know. It was some guy. Never saw him before.”

“Could you pick him out of a photo lineup?”

“Maybe.” At her disbelieving look, he became defensive. “I was angry. Jealous. Figured she was screwing him. I left.”

“Did she greet him by name? Think, Bobby. It’s important. The sentencing difference between a rape and murder conviction is the rest of your life.”

“She didn’t.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, damn it!”

“You told the police this?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “They figured I was lying.”

So they weren’t bothering to look. They had their guy. “Was he tall? Short? Medium height?”

“Medium to tall.”

“Dark-haired or-”

“He had a cap on.”

“A cap?”

“Yeah, a stocking cap. The kind that hip-hop dude, Eminem, wears. Black.”

“He carrying anything?”

Bobby screwed up his face, as with thought. “Nope.”

“You see Caesar?”

“Her mutt?” He nodded. “Little shit tried to piss on my shoes.”