Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“No. I can’t imagine she did, anyway.”

“Altercations with anyone?”

“No.” Her voice shook. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I understand she was into fantasy role-playing games.” He paused; when she didn’t disagree, he went on. “She always have her laptop with her?”

“Always.”

“Never saw her without it?”

“Never.”

He nodded. “I’d like to speak with your employees, Ms. Bellini.”

“Of course. Nick and Josie are coming in at two and five, respectively. That’s Paula. Shall I call her over?” He nodded and retrieved a business card from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, call me.”

It turned out Paula knew even less than her boss had, but Spencer gave her a business card as well.

He stepped out of the coffeehouse and into the cool, bright morning. Channel 6’s meteorologist had predicted the mercury would top seventy today, and judging by the warmth already, she’d been right.

Loosening his tie, he started for his car, which was parked at the curb.

“Detective Malone, wait!”

He stopped, turned. Stacy Killian slammed her car door and hurried toward him. “Hello, Ms. Killian.”

She motioned to the coffeehouse. “Did you get everything you needed here?”

“For the moment. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering, have you looked into White Rabbit yet?”

“Not yet.”

“May I ask what’s taking so long?”

He looked at his watch, then back at her. “By my calculations, this investigation is only eight hours old.”

“And the probability of it being solved lessens with each passing hour.”

“Why’d you leave the Dallas force, Ms. Killian?”

“Excuse me?”

He noticed the way she subtly stiffened. “It was a simple question. Why’d you leave?”

“I needed a change.”

“That the only reason?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything, Detective.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I just wondered since you seem pretty anxious to do my job.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Cassie was my friend. I don’t want her killer to get away.”

“Neither do I. Back off and let me do my job.”

He started past her; she caught his arm. “White Rabbit is the best lead you have.”

“Says you. I’m not convinced.”

“Cassie had met someone who promised to introduce her to the game. They had planned to meet.”

“Could be a coincidence. We meet people all the time, Ms. Killian. They come and go in our lives, strangers who cross our paths on a daily basis, making deliveries, speaking to us in the checkout line, offering to pick up something we’ve dropped. But they don’t kill us.”

“Most of the time they don’t,” she corrected. “Her computer was gone, wasn’t it? Why do you think that is?”

“Her killer took it as a trophy. Or decided he needed one. Or it’s at the repair shop.”

“Some games are played online. Maybe White Rabbit is one of them?”

He shook off her hand. “You’re stretching, Ms. Killian. And you know it.”

“I was a detective for ten years-”

“But you’re not now,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re a civilian. Don’t get in my way. Don’t interfere with this investigation. I won’t ask you so nicely next time.”

Monday, February 28, 2005

11:10 a.m.

Stacy strode into Café Noir, fuming. Stupid, arrogant, swaggerer. In her experience, bad cops fell into three categories. Top of the list sat the dishonest cop. No explanation necessary. Next came the coaster. Cops who were content to do the minimum for whatever reason. Then came the swaggerers. For this group, the job was all about how it made them look. They endangered their partners by showing off; they jeopardized cases by refusing to see anything but their own glory.

Or by refusing to follow a hunch that was somebody else’s.

Sure, that’s all it was. A hunch. Based on a coincidence and a gut feeling.

Over the years she had learned to trust her hunches. And she wasn’t going to allow some cocky, still-wet-behind-the-ears gun jockey to blow this case. She would not sit back and do nothing while Cassie’s killer went free.

Stacy drew a deep breath, working to calm herself, shifting her thoughts from the past meeting to the one ahead.

Billie. She would be crushed.

Her friend stood at the counter. Six feet tall, blond and beautiful, she turned heads everywhere she went. Stacy had discovered her to be exceptionally smart-and exceptionally funny as well, in a dry, acerbic way.

Billie looked up, met Stacy’s eyes. She had been crying.

Stacy closed the distance between them and held out a hand. “I’m devastated, too.”

Billie clasped her hand tightly. “The police were here. I can’t believe it.”

“Me, neither.”

“They asked me about you, Stacy. Why-”

“I’m the one who found her. And Beth. I called it in.”

“Oh, Stacy…how horrible.”

Tears flooded Stacy’s eyes. “Tell me about it.”

Billie waved her employee over. “Paula, I’ll be in my office. Call me if you need me.”

The young woman looked from one to the other, eyes watery, face pale. No doubt Malone had questioned her as well. “Go ahead,” she said, voice thick, shaky. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the bar.”

Billie ushered Stacy through the stockroom to her office. When they reached it, she partially shut the door. “How are you holding up?”

“Just dandy.” Stacy heard the edge in her voice but knew it would be pointless to try to soften it. She hurt. She itched to take her anger and despair out on someone.

Cassie had been one of the sweetest people she had ever met. Her death wasn’t only a senseless loss, how she’d died was an affront to life.

Stacy faced Billie. “I could have saved her.”

“What? You couldn’t-”

“I was right next door. I have a gun, I’m a former cop. Why didn’t I know?”

“Because,” Billie said gently, “you’re not a psychic.”

Stacy fisted her fingers, knowing Billie was right but finding more comfort in blame than helplessness. “She told me about this White Rabbit. I had a feeling about it. I warned her to be careful.”

Billie cleared off the small office’s single chair. “Sit. Back up. Tell me everything.”

Stacy recounted the story. Billie listened, eyes growing wet. When she finished, Stacy saw her friend struggle to compose herself and speak. When she did, her voice quivered.

“It’s just too awful. It’s- Who would do this? Why? Cassie is…she-”

Was.

Past tense now.

Billie choked the words back. It hurt too much, Stacy knew, to say them aloud. She took over. “This game, White Rabbit, you ever heard of it?”

Billie shook her head.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cassie was really excited,” Stacy continued. “She said this person agreed to set up a meeting between her and an expert at the game.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I was rushing to class and thought we would see each other-” Her voice cracked; she couldn’t finish.

Later. She had thought they would see each other later.

This time Billie stepped in. “And you think she met with this person and that he might have had something to do with her death?”

“It’s possible. Cassie was so trusting. It would have been totally like her to invite a stranger into her house.”

Billie nodded. “The whole White Rabbit thing could have been a ruse. This person, whoever he is, might have known she was a gamer and used the lure of a new game scenario to get into her house.”