Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“What about the police officer?” she asked. “Is he still there?”

“Out front.”

“Good. I want you to get Alice,” she said, working to keep her voice even. “Call her to the phone. Do not mention my name to Clark. Understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“When Alice is inside and safe, get the officer. Have him stay by Alice’s side until I get there.”

“What’s going on?” The woman sounded rattled. “Should I call-”

“Just get Alice. Now, Valerie.”

Stacy heard the woman lay down the phone as she went after the teenager. She counted the seconds as they ticked past, heart thundering in her ears, praying the man didn’t catch wind that they were onto him and hurt Alice.

Just as she began to sweat, Alice came on the line. “Stacy, what-”

“Clark’s the one, Alice. The White Rabbit. Mrs. Maitlin is getting the police officer, and I’m just two blocks away.”

“Clark? That can’t-”

“It is.” Alice sounded terrified. “Stay put, do you understand? Until the officer comes inside, pretend you’re still on the phone.”

Alice agreed; Stacy reholstered her cell and broke into a run. It made perfect sense. Clark, with unfettered access to the household. To everyone in it, their schedules and routines. As Alice’s tutor, access to her thoughts and feelings. Her computer. As Kay’s lover, he had been privy to the woman’s most intimate thoughts.

The night she disappeared, Kay had welcomed him into the guest house. That’s why there’d been no sign of forced entry.

Until the bedroom, where he’d attacked her. Until the point she realized he wasn’t who he professed to be.

He had played them all. Expertly.

But that’s what a game master did.

Spencer and Tony arrived at the Nobles only a moment behind her. She waited for them at the front gate.

“Clark’s here,” she said, without greeting the two men. She filled them in on her call to the mansion.

“Good work,” Tony said.

“Thanks.” She glanced at Spencer. “You ran a background check on Dunbar?”

“Clark Dunbar doesn’t exist. Bogus social. Not registered at the DMV. How much you want to bet the Nobles never checked even one of his references?”

It never ceased to amaze Stacy how trusting people were. Even ones with as much to lose as Leo Noble.

“How did you know?”

“Billie. She learned that Danson’s real name wasn’t Dick. It was Charles Richard Danson. Guess what Clark’s middle name begins with?”

“An R.”

“Bingo. Billie also learned that the murdered dentist who identified Danson by his dental records volunteered his services to the poor and disenfranchised.”

“The ‘poor and disenfranchised,’” he repeated. “The kind of folks who can go missing without anyone sounding an alarm.”

“Give the man a gold star.”

“So, he faked his own death, changed his appearance with plastic surgery-”

“And headed down to New Orleans to rain a little bizarre justice down on his former partner and ex-girlfriend.”

They reached the front door, which, as usual, was opened by Mrs. Maitlin. Alice stood with her, clinging to the woman’s arm. “He’s gone,” Mrs. Maitlin cried. “When I called Alice inside, he walked to his car, climbed in and drove off. I realized what had happened and got Officer Nolan, but it was too late.”

“Where is Nolan?”

“He went after Clark.”

Spencer swung to Tony. “Get him on the radio!”

The other man sprang to action. Stacy wouldn’t have guessed Tony could move so fast. She indicated to Spencer that she would take care of Alice and Mrs. Maitlin. He nodded and she herded them inside.

They waited in the kitchen. Mrs. Maitlin made herself busy baking cookies, distracting Alice by enlisting her help. Just as the delicious aroma from the first batch began to fill the room, Spencer appeared at the doorway. He motioned to her.

“Don’t eat them all while I’m gone,” Stacy teased, forcing lightness into her tone.

Spencer led her out to the foyer. “Nolan lost him. We put out a broadcast for Danson and his car. A search warrant for his quarters is on the way.”

Her cell buzzed. She saw it was Leo. She mouthed the man’s name to Spencer, then picked up the call. “Leo, where are you?”

“Downtown.” The connection crackled. “I got your message. Clark’s the White Rabbit? My God, how did you-”

“There’s more, Leo. Clark is Danson.”

“Dick? You can’t mean-”

“I do. He faked his own death. Must have changed his appearance with plastic surgery, intent on punishing you for how he imagined you cheated him.”

Leo went silent, so silent Stacy thought the call had been dropped. “Leo? Are you still-”

“Yes, I’m here. Just digesting. It’s hard to believe-” His words broke on a sound of surprise. “What the…my God, you’re-”

Stacy heard a loud pop.

A gunshot.

“Leo!” she shouted. “Shit, Leo-”

Spencer grabbed the phone. “Mr. Noble? This is Detective Malone. Are you all right? Mr. Noble?”

Stacy watched Spencer, hoping, knowing her hope was futile.

He looked at her, expression grim. “I don’t want the kid to be alone,” he said, handing her the phone.

She looked at its display.

Call ended.

9:57 a.m.

Stacy swallowed hard, hurting for the teenager. “I’ll stay with her.”

“Better yet, I’ll send her over to Tony’s. She’ll be safer there.”

Saturday, March 19, 2005

5:20 p.m.

New Orleans’ central business district at 5:00 p.m. on Saturday resembled a movie set more than a bustling commercial district. Dusk had begun to settle over the tops of the skyscrapers, although calling them skyscrapers was a little like calling a donut a beignet. The two had elements in common, but the donut lacked the Ahh quality of a beignet.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk just beyond the established perimeter, a narrow alley across the street from the International House Hotel. Tony pulled up, parking his Ford behind the Camaro.

They’d located Leo. He and Tony had gotten the call just as they finished the search of Danson’s quarters and storage locker. The preliminary search had uncovered little, besides proof that Clark really was Dick Danson. Spencer hoped they had better luck here.

Leo had been shot once. Right between the eyes.

“How’s the kid?” Spencer asked, referring to Alice.

“Scared,” Tony answered. “Carly’s taken her under her wing.”

“Did you hear from the aunt?”

“Not yet. Left a message.”

Alice hadn’t been told about her dad-yet. Spencer prayed her mother was alive to comfort her, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

They crossed to the first officer, signed in, then ducked under the crime scene tape. The crime-scene guys and the photographer were doing their thing; they spared little more than a glance and nod in acknowledgment of Spencer and Tony’s arrival.

They crossed to the body, located not twenty-five feet from the entrance of the alley.

Noble lay flat on his back, eyes open, staring blankly up. Judging by the wound, he’d been shot at close range, probably with a small caliber pistol. Cell phone and briefcase beside the body.

Tony squatted beside Noble. “Still wearing his Rolex. Briefcase looks intact.”

Spencer snapped on latex gloves and checked for the man’s wallet. He found it; eased it out and flipped it open. “Three hundred bucks. Credit cards. Motive certainly wasn’t robbery.”

“You surprised by that?”

Spencer smiled grimly. “I look surprised, right?”