Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“Oh, yeah. Brazen son-of-a-bitch. Did it in broad daylight. Downtown, just off Camp Street.”

Spencer visually inspected the contour of the body, then moved his gaze outward. “Where’s his calling card?”

As if on cue, one of the techs called, “Yo fellas, you might want to take a look at this.”

They crossed to the man. He had his flashlight beam pointed at a doorway, at several pieces of debris the wind had pushed into the corner.

Spencer saw immediately what had caught the tech’s attention: a Ziploc plastic bag.

Spencer bent and carefully retrieved the bag. The killer had drawn a smiley face on it. Inside he’d placed a single item. The King of Hearts card.

Tony absently rubbed his five o’clock shadow. “I like a psycho who clearly tells us it’s his crime. Takes the guesswork out of the job.”

“Let’s bag it and tag it,” Spencer said to the tech.

“If it’s Dunbar, he knows we’re onto him. He wants to get the job done, even if it means getting nailed.”

“Figures he’s made already.” Spencer narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad the kid’s squared away. Until this asshole’s in custody, she’s a mark.”

“Maybe our guy just wanted to take out the big kahunas?”

“Uh-uh. Remember Pogo’s drawing of Alice hanging by the neck, quite obviously dead.”

“Right. But no King of Hearts, and he got whacked.”

Spencer glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky, then back at his partner. “Stacy had a theory on that. The artist simply hadn’t gotten to that illustration. I wasn’t buying that then. Am now.”

“Smart lady. Maybe you should let her know what’s going on?”

“That wouldn’t exactly be by the book.”

“Screw the book. She’s one of the good guys.” Tony motioned to the first officer. “I’ll get a canvas of the area started. Maybe somebody in one of these businesses saw something.”

Spencer nodded and watched his partner walk away. Stacy was one of the good guys.

But that wasn’t why he wanted to call her.

He unclipped his cell and dialed Stacy. “Hey,” he said when she answered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Is Leo-”

“Yes. Dead-shot between the eyes.”

“The White Rabbit?”

“If a certain playing card here at the scene is any indication.”

“Shit. Poor Alice. You’ve got to find Kay.”

“We’re doing our best.” He glanced over his shoulder; the coroner’s investigator and his driver had arrived. “Got to go, Killian. Call you later.”

Saturday, March 19, 2005

8:45 p.m.

Spencer did one better than calling Stacy. He went to see her.

He rang the bell.

Stacy answered the door after a couple of rings. He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected she had been crying.

“Haven’t you heard? Game’s over. Leo’s dead.”

He held up a takeout sack. “I brought Subway. Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“How about some company?”

“Why not?” She turned and headed into the double. He followed her, shutting the door behind them.

They ended up in the kitchen. He saw a bottle of beer on the table, her Glock beside it.

She crossed to the fridge, got another beer and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow, watching as she returned to her table and took another drink.

“None of this is your fault,” he said softly.

“No? You’re sure?” Her voice vibrated with a combination of grief and fury. “Leo’s dead. Kay’s most probably dead. They hired me to keep them safe. And if so, Alice-” her voice broke “-is an orphan now. I did a great job, didn’t I?”

“You did the best job you could.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She balled her hands into fists. “He was right under my nose. This whole time, he-”

Spencer crossed to her, drew her to her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “He was under all our noses the whole time. You’re the only one who had a clue what was really going on.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “A lot of bloody good it did anybody.”

She was trying so hard to be tough. To focus on her anger. To pretend she didn’t hurt. Didn’t feel helpless.

He trailed his thumbs across her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. Stop looking at me that way.”

“Sorry, Killian. No can do.”

He bent and kissed her. Her lips trembled beneath his. He tasted the saltiness of her tears.

She flattened her hands against his chest. “Stop it,” she said again. “Stop making me feel weak.”

“Because you have to be strong.”

She tilted up her chin. “Yes.”

“So you can stand up to the bad guys. Kick their asses, maybe even save the world.”

She stepped away from him. “I think you should go.”

“So it can be just you and Mr. Glock?”

“Yes.”

“Your choice, Stacy. If you change your mind, you have my number.”

He drained his beer, collected the take-out and left her. He crossed to the NOPD cruiser parked in front of the duplex. He bent and greeted the officers inside. “Keep a close eye on the place. I’m going to catch a few hours’ shut-eye, then I’ll be back.”

Sunday, March 20, 2005

2:00 a.m.

Stacy awakened with a start. She realized she was uncomfortably hot. That she was sweating. She moved her gaze over the dark room, focused on the illuminated dial of her bedside clock.

As she registered the hour, a floorboard creaked.

She wasn’t alone.

Stacy rolled, reaching for her gun.

It wasn’t there.

“Hello, Stacy.” Clark stepped out of the shadows, her Glock in his hand. Pointed at her. “Surprised to see me?”

She scrambled into a sitting position, heart thundering. “You could say that. Someone as smart as you, I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

“Really? And where would I go?” He sucked in an angry sounding breath. “Everything was going so well until you stuck your nose into it. My business. Mine!”

She worked to keep her head, keep the panic at bay. To maintain regular breathing and heartbeat. She did a mental inventory of her position, the situation. No one to hear her scream. No weapon.

Only her wits.

She couldn’t lose them.

He crossed to stand beside the bed, gun trained on the point directly between her eyes.

Between the eyes. That’s where Spencer said he’d put the bullet that killed Leo.

“Why’d you do it?” she asked. “Why throw your whole life away?”

“What life?” He all but spit the words at her. “I was in debt up to my eyeballs. The cops circling like vultures to pick at my carcass. And Leo, living like royalty. I deserved to live like that. He stole my ideas! He refused to give me my due!”

“And Kay, did he steal her, too?”

He laughed. “You can’t imagine the satisfaction it gave me, knowing I was screwing his wife, right under his nose.”

She stared at him a moment, looking for some resemblance to the young man pictured in Leo’s yearbook. She found none. “Ex-wife,” she corrected. “I think that would have dimmed your satisfaction a bit.”

Color flooded his face. He meant to make his move.

She rolled to the right, reaching for the bedside clock, intent on smashing it into his face. She didn’t move fast enough. His hand closed over hers, wrenching the device away.

He flung it aside; it hit the wall and shattered. In the next instant, he was on top of her, the gun’s barrel pressed to her temple. He brought his free hand to her throat. “I could kill you now. So easily. Hand to your throat, gun to your head. So many choices.”