As if on cue, the coroner’s investigator made the scene. “Where the hell is the van and the lights? What am I supposed to do with this one in the dark?”
He looked really pissed off. Spencer stepped forward, introducing himself. “Looks like your Saturday night just took a turn for the worse.”
“Had theater tickets.” He frowned. “How many Malones are there, anyway?”
“More than a gang, but less than a mob.”
A smile touched his mouth; he looked at Tony. “Thought you retired.”
“No such luck, my friend. You know Terry Landry.”
“Everybody knows the Terror.” The pathologist nodded in the man’s direction, then scowled. “Where’s that van?”
Several of the department’s crime-scene vans were fitted with high-powered, alley lights for nighttime crime scenes.
“I’ll check it out,” Terry said.
The pathologist made his way to the body; Tony followed him. Spencer flipped open his cell and dialed Stacy.
“Hello, Killian.”
“Malone.”
To his ears, she sounded pleased. He smiled. “FYI, Pogo’s dead.”
He heard her sharply indrawn breath. “How?”
“Don’t know for certain yet. He washed up on the riverbank. Throat was slit.”
“When?”
“Looks like it happened a couple of days ago. Hard to tell ’cause our killer dumped him into the river. You know warm water and corpses.”
Her silence said it all: they had blown it. With their best lead dead, they had nothing.
Pogo’s murder was no coincidence.
The White Rabbit had silenced him, so he couldn’t talk.
The area flooded with light. The van had arrived.
“Gotta go, Stacy. Just thought you’d want to know.”
He flipped the phone shut and wandered over to Tony. The man grinned at him. “What?” he asked.
“The prickly Ms. Killian, I presume?”
“What about it?”
“You’re going to look good with a pasta gut, Slick.”
“Blow me, Sciame.”
Tony’s laughter echoed on the water, a strange complement to Walter Pogolapoulos’s decomposing form.
CHAPTER 35
Saturday, March 12, 2005
7:00 p.m.
Stacy closed her cell phone. Pogo dead. Murdered.
She took a deep breath and headed back inside the Noble mansion, to the front parlor where Leo and Kay waited for her. Even though the NOPD had done a thorough search of the house and grounds, Stacy did her own. And like them, she found nothing.
When she entered the room, Leo leaped to his feet. “Well?”
“I didn’t find anything out of order,” she said. “No signs of forced entry. A few unlocked windows, but I don’t find that unusual this time of year. And none of the screens looked to have been tampered with.”
Kay sat on the big, overstuffed parlor couch, legs curled under her, a glass of white wine in her hand. She looked at Stacy. “You checked all the closets and cubbies?”
“Yes.”
“The attics and under the beds?”
Stacy felt for the woman. “Yes,” she said softly. “I promise you, there is no one hiding in this house.”
Leo made a sound. Almost like a growl. She turned and watched him pace. She felt his frustration. He wasn’t accustomed to being unable to control his destiny.
“You haven’t been threatened,” she said. “That’s the good news.”
He stopped. Met her eyes. “Really? I find a stranger writing a message in blood on my office floor damn threatening, thank you.”
Her cheeks heated. She pictured the cat’s head, strung up above her tub. “I’m sure you do,” she said softly. “Your life, however, has not been overtly threatened. And that’s a good thing.”
Kay whimpered. “How do you know we aren’t the playing cards?”
“Because I do. If you were his intended victims, he wouldn’t have sent you the message. It’s a game move.”
In truth, it hadn’t escaped her that the hypothesis might work for her as well.
The woman set her wine down so sharply some of the beverage sloshed over its rim. “I hate this.”
“Let’s think about the game. We played it this afternoon. Let’s figure out what he’s up to. Head him off at the pass.”
Leo nodded. “It’s the White Rabbit’s game. He’s in control.”
“He creates the story,” Stacy said. “He created this one.”
“There’s a band of heroes. They are on a mission to save Wonderland. And ultimately the rest of the world.”
“The dormouse is dead. She was under the rabbit’s control, which means that one of the heroes killed her.”
“The playing cards are also in peril.”
“Or already dead.” She glanced at Kay. She had dropped her head into her hands. “I’m in the game. Either as the Cheshire Cat or-”
“One of the heroes.” Leo snapped his fingers. “Of course! You can’t be the cat because he’s-”
“Under the control of the White Rabbit.”
“Same with us,” Kay said suddenly, lifting her head. “Thank God.”
“Before you celebrate, love, remember the heroes are always in jeopardy. From the Rabbit or his minions. And sometimes-” he paused “-from each other.”
Kay moaned; Stacy shook her head. “Someone is physically playing the game. A group. Like the one Cassie was a member of. It seems unlikely that Rosie Allen was a player which means this bastard chooses people to represent the characters.”
“Or this could be the work of a lone sicko.” Leo paused. “If it’s a group, they could be e-players.”
Her thoughts raced as she considered the various options, putting the pieces together, getting a feel for them. “The group could be an active part of the killing. Or-”
“Unwitting participants.”
They fell silent. They needed to narrow the field. She needed to tell them about Pogo.
She turned and met her boss’s eyes. “That artist, the one who created the cards, he’s dead.”
“Dead?” he repeated, looking confused. “But you and Detective Malone just-”
“He was murdered, Leo. His throat was slit, his body dumped in the Mississippi River.”
Kay caught her breath. “Oh, my God.”
“Mom?”
They turned. Alice stood in the doorway, eyes wide, cheeks pasty.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
Kay shot Leo an angry glance, even as they both rushed to the girl’s side. She took the teenager into her arms, comforting her. Stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort.
Ones that sounded authentic: promises that everything would be okay, that she had nothing to fear. Things Stacy knew the woman didn’t feel. Kay was able to put aside her own fears to relieve her daughter’s.
Stacy had thought Kay a cold perfectionist. Now, she would never look at the woman the same again.
On the other hand, Leo stood stiffly and silently beside them, looking like a fish out of water.
Kay looked accusingly at Leo once more. “I’m going to take her upstairs.”
He nodded, visibly upset, then turned and crossed to the couch. He sat heavily. “Kay blames me.”
Stacy agreed, but didn’t see where saying so would help.
“I didn’t make this happen. It’s not my fault.”
“I know,” she said softly, feeling for him. “She’s scared. She’s not thinking clearly.”
“I hate not being able to do anything. Alice is…she’s the most important thing in the world to me. To see her so shaken up and being unable to-”
He bit the words off on a sound of frustration. “That artist was our best lead.”
Their only real lead. “Yes.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Wait. Use caution in everything we do. And hope the police do their jobs.”
“Screw the police. W
hat are we going to do?”
“We know that the artist wasn’t our guy. He was only the hired help.”
“The White Rabbit did it.”
“It could be. We don’t know that for sure.”
He laughed suddenly, the sound tight. “Of course it was the White Rabbit. You believe in coincidences no more than I do. When you and Detective Malone got close, he killed the artist to protect his own identity.”
She didn’t respond. That was her assessment as well, based not on fact, but common sense-and a strong gut feeling.
“It’s someone close,” she said. “Within your circle. I still believe that.”
“So, move in.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to stay here. With us.”
“Leo, I don’t think-”
“Kay’s upset. You saw Alice. They’ll feel safer with you living here.”
“Hire professional security. Get a dog. An electric fence. The video surveillance that Kay mentioned. Security isn’t my line.”
“I’d feel safer with you than with paid muscle.”
“Why? And don’t tell me it’s because I was a cop, that doesn’t wash.”
“Because you wouldn’t just be protecting us. You’d be protecting yourself, too.”
“I’m not worried about protecting-”
“You’re in the game, Stacy. You damn well better be interested in protecting yourself. Plus, the outcome of this matters to you. And if you’re here, you’re more likely to be a part of that outcome.”
CHAPTER 36
Monday, March 14, 2005
Noon
In the end, Stacy agreed to move into the Noble mansion. Not because she thought she could protect the Nobles. And not because she felt she would be safer in the company of others.
But because the closer she was to the Nobles, the closer she was to the investigation. If she was in the middle of it, Malone couldn’t shut her out.
She had insisted, however, that Leo install a video surveillance system. She had also strongly suggested that Alice and Kay move from the guest house to the main house. Although Kay had refused for herself, she’d compelled Alice to do it. That very day, they had moved Alice’s daybed into the room that already served as her schoolroom.
Outfitted with a computer, high-speed Internet and cable TV, the teenager had little reason to emerge from the room. Or lair, as Stacy already thought of it.
Alice’s response to the change had been typical teenage cynicism. The frightened girl Stacy had glimpsed was gone, replaced by a sullen teenager. Living with a teenager, she was discovering, was akin to living with a victim of multiple-personality disorder.
Stacy snatched up the books she needed for her evening class, then headed out, locking her door behind her.
“That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?”
Stacy glanced over her shoulder. Alice stood just outside her schoolroom door. She looked bored.
Stacy smiled. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Nice cliché.”
“But true. How’re you doing?”
“Fine and dandy.” She smirked. “Speaking of clichés.”
Stacy cringed at the sarcasm in the girl’s tone. “I don’t plan on getting in your way.”
“Whatever.”
“The other day you were frightened. But not anymore?”
“No.” She lifted a shoulder. “I figured it out. You engineered all this, to get closer to my dad.”
Stacy held back a sound of amused disbelief. “And why would I do that?”
“Star power.”
Clark called the girl back to her studies then. He caught Stacy’s glance and rolled his eyes. She grinned. Obviously, he had overheard their conversation.
The rest of the day rocked by. Stacy worked on a paper due the next afternoon. Instead of working in her room, she set up in the kitchen, to keep better tabs on the comings and goings in the mansion.
Mrs. Maitlin wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement.
“Can I get you something?” the woman asked as she made herself a cup of coffee.
“You don’t have to wait on me.” Stacy smiled. “But thanks for the offer.”
The housekeeper stood at the counter with her coffee, looking uncomfortable.
“Have a seat.” Stacy motioned to the chair across from hers.
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“It’s your kitchen.” Stacy closed her laptop, stood and got herself a cup of coffee. The woman sat, but not before bringing out a tin of gourmet chocolate cookies.
Stacy helped herself to one, then returned to her seat. “How long have you worked for the Nobles?”
“A little over seventeen years.”
“You must like your job.”
She didn’t reply, and Stacy got the impression that she’d stepped over some line. Or that the woman just didn’t trust Stacy with an answer.
“I’m not a spy,” she said softly. “Just making conversation.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You moved with them. That must have been a difficult decision to make.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Not that hard. I don’t have a family of my own.”
Stacy thought of Jane. “Not even siblings?”
“Not even.”
The Nobles were her family.
The woman gazed into her coffee for a moment, then met Stacy’s eyes once more. “Why are you here? Not as a technical assistant.”
“No.”
“It has something to do with those cards. And that weird message.”
“Yes.”
“Should I be afraid?”
Stacy thought a moment. She wanted to be honest with the woman, but there was a razor’s edge between educating and alarming. “Be careful. Watchful.”
She nodded, expression relieved, brought a cookie to her mouth, then set it down, untasted. “It’s changed around here. It’s not the way-” She bit the thought back. Stacy didn’t push.
“I’ve been with the family since before Alice was born. She was such a cute baby. A sweet child. So smart. She-”
Again, she bit her words back. Stacy sensed a deep sadness in the woman. “The house used to be filled with laughter. You wouldn’t recognize Mr. and Mrs. Noble. And Alice. She-”
The housekeeper looked at her watch and stood. “I better get back to work.”
Stacy reached up and touched her hand. “Alice is a teenager now. It’s a difficult time. For them. And those who love them.”
The woman looked startled. She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. When they stopped laughing, so did Alice.”
Clearly uncomfortable, she picked up her cup and carried it to the sink. She dumped the contents, rinsed it and stuck it in the dishwasher.
“Mrs. Maitlin?”
The woman glanced back. “May I call you by your first name?”
She smiled. “That’d be nice. It’s Valerie.”
Stacy watched her go, frowning over what she had said. What had the Nobles been like seventeen years ago? Why had they divorced? They cared deeply for each other, that was obvious. They were committed to each other and Alice, also obvious. In essence, they still lived together.
When they stopped laughing, so did Alice.
She glanced at her laptop, then stood and headed out into the bright day. The idea of working on her paper didn’t appeal, and a quick spin around the property every hour or two was a good thing.
She lifted her face to the sky. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. It looked as if the sunny afternoon would give way to a stormy evening.
At present, the security guys were installing the new system. Troy was chatting with one of them while he took a cigarette break. Previously, the driver had been sunning himself in a lawn chair. He’d hung his yellow polo shirt on the chair’s back. She realized she’d only seen him fully clothed a handful of times.
She smiled to herself. As near as she could tell, Troy had pretty much the least stressful
job on earth. He hung around, waiting for Leo to need him for something-run an errand, drive him someplace. He sunned, he washed the cars, he smoked.
Tough life. She wondered at the man’s salary and where she could apply.
The installation tech put out his smoke and went back to work. Troy caught sight of her and smiled, his teeth almost startlingly white against his tanned face.
“Hi, Stacy,” he said.
She stopped. “Hi, Troy. Keeping busy?”
“You know, typical day.” He motioned to the workman. “That’s a high-tech system they’re putting in. The dude was trying to explain it to me.” Troy shrugged, indicating he hadn’t really gotten it. “Mr. Noble, if he’s going to have something, it’s going to be state of the art. Only the best.” He scratched his chest, the movement almost absentminded. “I don’t know why he’s doing it, though. I’m pretty much always around. I keep an eye on things.”
“Maybe it’s for the times you’re not?”
He nodded, drawing his eyebrows together. Something in his expression suggested that, like her, he was thinking of Saturday and the message Leo had been left.
Whoever had done it had slipped in and out during the hour he and the housekeeper had been gone.
He fell silent, as if with thought. After a moment, he looked at her. “What’s going on? The new system. Alice moving into the main house. You. Has someone threatened Leo or Alice?”
“Someone’s playing a sick game,” she said. “Leo’s just being cautious.”
He stared at her a moment. They both knew she wasn’t being completely truthful. But he didn’t call her on it.
He shrugged and started back toward his chair. “If you need anything, I’m here.”
She watched as he settled in, then glanced up at the second-floor windows.
And found Alice staring down at her.
Stacy lifted her hand to acknowledge the girl. Instead of returning the friendly gesture, Alice flounced off.
Stacy shook her head in partial amusement. It seemed she didn’t have to do much of anything to offend young Ms. Noble. She was beginning to suspect that just her breathing did it.
Tough nuts, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.
CHAPTER 37
Monday, March 14, 2005
Killer Takes All Page 18