Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

Fifteen minutes and counting.

She started the car, backed out of her parking space, then roared out of the lot, kicking up gravel as she did. She flipped open her phone and dialed Malone. An automated message announced the subscriber was unavailable, then dumped her into his voice mail.

“The White Rabbit has Alice. He said he’d kill her if I didn’t come alone. Don’t worry, I’m not alone. Mr. Glock’s with me. Belle Chere Plantation. Six miles up from Walton’s River Road Café in Vacherie.”

She snapped the phone shut, knowing he’d be furious with her.

She didn’t blame him. If it’d been her case, she’d be furious, too.

Stacy followed the Rabbit’s directions and soon came upon the plantation. A chain barred access to the drive-a sweeping pathway lined by a double row of towering oaks, their branches creating a magnificent, arched canopy. A No Trespassing-Private Property sign was posted on either end of the chain barricade.

Stacy parked her car as best she could, then climbed out. She started up the oak alley.

Her first look at Belle Chere took her breath. It stood in ruins, a ghostly, crumbling hulk. It looked as if much of the roof had caved in. Two of the columns had toppled, their ornate Corinthian capitals lay abandoned, fallen soldiers in the army of time.

Yet it was still beautiful. A magnificent specter, glowing in the twilight.

Beyond what was left of the big house stood a small, ramshackle structure. It didn’t look like one of the original buildings. A caretaker’s cottage? she wondered. By the looks of it, also abandoned.

Stacy started toward the main house, then picked her way up the rotting stairs to the front gallery. The doors had long since disappeared, either to decay or scavengers, and she made her way into the structure, Glock gripped firmly in both hands. As it was considerably darker inside than out, she wished she’d brought a flashlight.

The interior smelled of moisture and mold. Of decay. “Alice!” she called. “It’s Stacy.”

Silence answered. One that shouted the absence of human life. All life here buzzed, hummed or silently crept, devouring walls, floors and anything else in its path.

She wasn’t here.

The caretaker’s cottage.

Stacy carefully backed out. When she’d cleared the stairs, she made her way to the back of the property. Toward the cottage.

No light shone from the interior of the building. She touched the door; it creaked open. She slipped inside, weapon out. Stacy saw a small living area, empty save for beer cans, a couple milk crates and a smattering of cigarette butts. She wrinkled her nose. It stank of urine. Ahead lay two doorways, one to the right, the other to the left.

She moved toward the left first. The door had no handle. She saw that it stood slightly ajar. Gun gripped in both hands, she eased the door open with her foot.

In the dim light spilling through the adjacent window, she saw Kay and Alice huddled together in the corner. Their hands and feet were tied, their mouths secured with duct tape. The side of Kay’s head was caked with what looked to be dried blood. From what she could see, Alice was unhurt.

Kay looked her way, eyes wide with alarm. Not for her own fate, for Stacy’s.

A trap. RPGs were known for them.

He was either behind her. Or in the closet directly across from the women.

Stacy didn’t enter the room. She mouthed the question to Kay. The woman’s eyes flickered toward the closet.

Made sense. He expected her to race across to the pair to free them. Which would put her directly in his line of fire.

Alice straightened suddenly, as if becoming aware of something going on. She looked Stacy’s way.

Which tipped the White Rabbit.

The closet door burst open; Stacy swung, aimed and fired. Once, then again and again, emptying her magazine into him.

He went down without getting off one shot.

Troy, Stacy saw. She gazed at him with a sense of relief. That it was over. The White Rabbit was dead, Alice and Kay had been saved.

And of disbelief that Troy, the handsome bimbo, “Mr. The-Living-is-Easy,” was the White Rabbit? He was the last person she would have attributed enough smarts-or ambition-to have orchestrated this thing.

She’d been fooled before. By a man who’d been just as handsome. And just as heartless.

Stacy turned away from the fallen man and hurried across to the two women. She untied Kay first, then Alice, freezing at the distinctive click of a revolver’s hammer being cocked.

“Turn around slowly.”

Troy. Still alive.

He’d come prepared.

Stacy did as he ordered, cursing that she’d emptied her magazine. She met his eyes. “Back from the dead so soon?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t expect you to be armed? Or that I didn’t know you were an expert shot?” He thumped his chest. “A Kevlar vest, available from any number of gun dealers.”

She forced a cocky smile. “Stings like hell, though, doesn’t it?”

“Worth the sting, because now you’re empty, another predictable move, by the way.” He lifted his weapon, aiming directly at her head. “So, what are you going to do, hero?”

She stared at the gun’s barrel, realizing she had come to the end of the road. She was flat out of both ideas and options.

“Game over, Killian.”

He laughed. She heard Alice’s scream, the roar of blood in her head. The shot’s blast drowned out both. But the moment of shattering pain didn’t come. Instead, Troy’s head seemed to explode. He stumbled backward, then fell.

Stacy turned. Malone stood in the doorway, gun trained on Troy’s still form.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

7:35 p.m.

The next minutes passed in a blur. Malone called for an ambulance and a crime-scene unit. Informed dispatch of a fatality. Tony and Stacy led the two women outside to a car.

Moments later, Spencer joined them. “Everyone’s on their way. Including an EMT unit.” He turned to Kay. “Do you feel strong enough to answer some questions, Mrs. Noble?”

She nodded, though Stacy saw her clasp her hands in her lap-as if to keep them from shaking. Or keep her strong.

“He was crazy,” Kay began softly. “Obsessed with White Rabbit. He bragged about how smart he was, how he was playing us all. Even Leo, the Supreme White Rabbit.”

“Start at the beginning,” Spencer said softly. “The night he abducted you.”

“All right.” She glanced at Alice with concern, then began. “He came to my door. Asked if he could speak with me. I let him in. I never thou-I never-”

Her voice cracked; she brought a hand to her mouth, visibly fighting for control. “I fought him. Kicked and clawed. He hit me. I don’t know what with. Next thing I remember, I was in a car trunk. Tied up. We were moving.”

“What happened then, Mrs. Noble?”

“He brought me here.” She swallowed hard. “He came and went. He told me about…about killing-”

Alice began to cry. Kay put an arm around her shoulders and drew her daughter closer.

“He bragged about how he had taken out the King of Hearts.”

“Leo?”

She nodded, eyes welling with tears. “Sometimes he just rambled.”

“About?”

“The game. Characters.” She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Killing Alice was his goal,” Kay said. “He set it up to watch her character kill one player after another. Then when they were all eliminated, he’d kill her.”

The woman looked at Stacy. “You eluded him. He couldn’t kill Alice until you were out of the way.”

And Alice was the bait to get her out here.

“There were other Alices,” the girl said quietly. “I wasn’t the first.”