He opened the door and smiled that goofy, lopsided smile of his. “Someone else walking the floors at midnight,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”
“May I come in?”
At the formality in her tone, his smile slipped. “Sure.”
She entered; he left the door open. Pointedly, she thought.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “For this afternoon.”
“You’ve already apologized. It’s over.”
“Is it? I’m not so sure.”
“Leo-”
“I’m attracted to you. I think you’re attracted to me. What’s the problem?”
Stacy looked away. Then back, meeting his eyes directly. “Even if I was interested, you’re still in love with your ex-wife.”
He didn’t deny it, didn’t try to explain or make excuses. His silence was her answer. Or rather, the damning confirmation of what she had already known was true. “This isn’t why I’m here, Leo. I want you to tell me about your ex-partner.”
“Dick? Why?”
“I’m not sure. I’m working on something and need more information. He died three years ago?”
“Yes. Went over a cliff in Carmel, California.”
“You found out about the accident how?”
“A lawyer contacted us. Dick’s death freed up some of our joint ventures, including White Rabbit.”
“The lawyer tell you any more about the death?”
“No. But we didn’t ask.”
She digested that. “You said you guys split for personal reasons. That he wasn’t the man you’d thought he was.”
“Yes. But-”
“Humor me, please. Did those feelings have anything to do with Kay?”
His expression went from surprised to admiring. “How did you know?”
“A look you and Kay exchanged that first day. But that doesn’t matter. Tell me what happened.”
Leo let out a resigned-sounding breath. “Begin at the beginning?”
“That’s usually best.”
“Dick and I met at Berkeley. As you already know, we became good friends. We were both brilliant and creative, both into role-playing games.”
No false modesty there. “Where does Kay fit into this?”
“I’m getting to that. I met Kay through Dick. They’d dated.”
Classic motivation. A lover’s triangle-which equaled jealousy and revenge.
Which equaled all sorts of nasties, including murder.
“I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. They’d broken up before I ever came into the picture. And they’d remained friends.”
“Until the two of you started dating.”
Again, he seemed surprised. “Yes, but not at first. At first we were like the Three Musketeers. Flushed with success and excitement over White Rabbit.
“Then Dick began to change. His work became darker. Sadistic and cruel.”
“How so?”
He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. “In the games, it wasn’t enough to kill an enemy. He had to torture him first. And dismember him after.”
“Nice.”
“He insisted that was the way games were going, that we needed to stay at the forefront.” He paused again and Stacy saw how unpleasant this was for him. “We constantly argued. We grew further apart…not only creatively, but personally as well. Then he-”
Leo swore, his lip curling with distaste. “He raped Kay.”
Stacy wasn’t surprised. She had sensed that whatever had come between them had been bigger than a difference of opinion. The bad blood had been almost palpable.
“Kay was destroyed. She and Dick had been close. Friends, she thought. She trusted him.” He made a sound that was part anger, part pain. “That night, he lured her out by telling her he wanted to talk about me. He wanted her advice on how to patch things up between us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Leo passed a hand over his face, the ebullience that made him appear so youthful, gone. “We don’t speak of it.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Did he stand trial?”
“She didn’t press charges.” As if anticipating her response, he held up a hand. “She said she couldn’t bear the publicity. Her personal life being scrutinized. She spoke with a lawyer. He basically said that their former relationship, though it hadn’t been sexual, would blow the case. That Dick would lie, and the defense would crucify her.”
Stacy wished she could argue with that. She couldn’t. Too often, women were afraid of coming forward for just those reasons.
And not only did a rapist go unpunished, it left him free to hurt another woman.
“We thought if we just put it behind us, everything would be fine. That Kay would be able to forget and move on.”
A popular misconception. Hiding from pain didn’t help heal a wound; it simply gave it a place to fester.
But maybe Kay’s experience had been different.
“Did she?”
He looked stricken. “No.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Probably. I could dig around-”
“Could you do it now?”
“Now?” he repeated, looking flustered.
“Yes. It might be important.”
He agreed and went to work. He started rummaging through desk drawers and file cabinets. Halfway through the files, he stopped. “Wait, I know where there’s a picture of Dick.” He crossed to the bookcase and pulled out a yearbook.
He flipped through, found what he was looking for and handed the book to her. It was open to the section on clubs and specialty organizations. There was a picture of a very young Leo and another boy she didn’t recognize. They were both smiling, holding up a certificate that bore what looked to be the university’s seal. The caption read:
Leo Noble and Dick Danson, co-presidents of the university’s first FPRG club.
Two gangly young men, their lives before them. Nothing in Dick Danson’s smile or eyes hinted at a man capable of the violence Leo described. Brown hair, worn long and shaggy. Wire-rimmed glasses and a scruffy goatee. He’d yet to fill out his frame.
She gazed at the man’s image, frustrated. Disappointed. She had hoped she would recognize him. That she would recall having seen him.
She didn’t. It had been a long shot, admittedly. But one she wasn’t quite ready to give up on.
“Can I hang on to this for a while?”
“I suppose. If you tell me why.”
She changed tack. “Do you have the legal papers that turned the game rights over to you?”
“Sure.”
“Could I see them?”
“They’re in a safe deposit box. At a bank downtown. I assure you, they’re for real.”
She looked down at the photo again. “I’ve got a question for you. Could Dick Danson still be alive?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Dead serious. Pardon the pun.”
“Highly unlikely, don’t you think?” When she simply stared at him, he laughed. “Okay, sure, it’s possible. I mean, I didn’t see the body.”
“Maybe nobody did? Some coroners are pretty lax, especially ones who reside in quiet little hamlets. Like Carmel-by-the-Sea.”
“But why play dead? Why give up the rights to projects we produced jointly? It doesn’t make sense.”
This time it was she who laughed, though grimly. “It makes absolute sense, Leo. What better way to seek revenge than from beyond the grave?”
CHAPTER 40
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
10:00 a.m.
Stacy waited until the Café Noir morning rush would have ended to pay Billie a visit. She couldn’t let go of the idea that Cassie’s death and White Rabbit were linked. And Billie never forgot a customer’s face. If Danson had been in the coffee house, Billie would remember.
She entered the coffee shop, Leo’s old yearbook tucked under her arm. It smelled of fresh brew and b
aking cookies. Her mouth watered. She’d already eaten, but it would be damn hard to turn down a cookie. Especially a chocolate chip, warm from the oven.
Billie was sure to offer one. The woman was a master at upselling.
She’d spoken only briefly with her friend since visiting the shop with Alice. She’d called to assure her she was fine and to tell her about Pogo. Billie had sounded distracted and they had ended the call.
Billie and Paula stood at the pastry case, rearranging the goodies, showcasing those that sold best midmorning. Her friend saw her and smiled. “I knew you’d be in this morning.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m psychic.”
Stacy started to laugh, then stopped. Something in her friend’s expression suggested she was serious. “Another of your many talents?”
“Absolutely.”
Stacy crossed to the counter and ordered a cappuccino. She worked to keep herself from looking at the cookies. “You have a minute to powwow?”
“You got it. Cookie to go with that powwow? Chocolate chip?”
“No, thanks. I don’t care for one.”
“Yes, you do.”
“And you would know this how?”
“Because I’m psychic.”
She made a face. “I hate you.”
Billie laughed. “Grab a table, I’ll be right over.”
She brought the coffee and the cookie, still warm and gooey from the oven. Stacy couldn’t resist and broke off a piece. “I really do hate you, you know.”
Her friend laughed and helped herself to the cookie. “Stand in line, girlfriend.”
After washing down the bite with a sip of the cappuccino, Stacy opened the yearbook and slid it across the table to her friend. She tapped Danson’s photo. “Ever seen this man before?”
Billie studied the photo for a few moments before shaking her head. “Sorry.”
“You sure he’s never been in the shop? He’d be twenty-five years older now.”
Billie narrowed her eyes. “I have a great memory for faces, and I don’t recall his.”
Stacy frowned. “I hoped you would recognize him as a customer.”
“Sorry. Who is he?”
“Leo’s former business partner.”
“And?”
“He’s dead. Supposedly.”
A slow smile curved Billie’s mouth. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She broke off another piece of cookie. “Explain.”
Stacy leaned forward. “Most attribute the title of Supreme White Rabbit to Leo-”
“The inventor of the game.”
“Right. But he didn’t invent it alone. He had a co-inventor.”
“This guy.”
“Yes. Drove off a cliff in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, three years ago. Leo and Kay learned about it through a lawyer. His death freed up the rights to some of their joint projects.”
“Interesting. Go on.”
She posed a question instead. “The person behind the letters and murders, why is he doing it?”
“Because he’s a total whack job?”
“Besides that.”
“Anger? Revenge?”
“Exactly. It seems there was plenty of bad blood between the Nobles and Danson, the partner.”
“I get it. This Danson fakes his own death, so he can rain some seriously twisted shit down on Noble.”
“Bingo.” Stacy’s gut told her she was onto something. The instinct that had made her solve record one of the best in the DPD. “The lawyer who visited could have been a fake, someone paid to lie. Even if the papers are legal, giving up the rights to the projects would be nothing compared to the pleasure of destroying Leo’s life.”
“Maybe even taking it,” Billie said softly.
“Probably taking it,” Stacy corrected, reaching for her coffee, hoping the hot liquid would ward off her sudden chill. “And Kay’s, too. Maybe Alice’s. And getting away with it. After all, he’s already dead.”
“An ingenious plan.”
“Not that brilliant. After all, I’m onto him.”
“You have your cell phone?”
She wore it in a holster, clipped to her belt-a habit acquired on the job. And one she couldn’t seem to shake. “Sure. Why?”
“Hand it over.”
She did, though not without asking what for. Billie held up a finger, indicating she should wait, flipped open the phone, then punched in a number.
“Connor, it’s Billie.” She laughed, the sound husky and sexy as hell. “Yes, that Billie. How are you?”
Stacy listened incredulously as her friend chatted with the man on the other end of the line, flirting and cajoling.
The woman was a professional man-eater. How did one learn that skill? Did somebody offer a degree in it?
“I have a friend here who needs a bit of information. Her name’s Stacy. I’ll put her on. Thanks, love, you’re a sweetheart.” Another laugh from Billie, followed by a murmured, “I will, I promise.”
She held out the phone. “Chief Connor Battard.”
“Chief?”
“Of police, silly. Carmel-by-the-Sea.”
Stacy took the phone, doubly amazed. Did the woman know everyone? “Chief Battard, Stacy Killian. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Anything for Billie. How can I help you?”
“I’m investigating a death that occurred three years ago. Dick Danson.”
“Danson’s death, sure I remember it. Drove off Hurricane Point. ’Bout three and a half years ago.”
“I understand the death was classified an accident.”
“A suicide.”
“A suicide,” she repeated, surprised. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. He had a full propane gas tank in the trunk of his 1995 Porsche Carrerra, another in the back seat. He wanted to do the job well, and he did.”
“A very big boom, I’m guessing.”
“Yup. The trunk in that Porsche is in the front of the car, and there’s nothing but a fire wall between it and the fuel tank. The vehicle hit nose first. The medical examiner identified Danson by his dental records.”
“You didn’t see the body?”
“I saw what was left of it.”
“Can you remember anything unusual about the incident?”
“Other than the propane tanks and the warrant for his arrest, not a thing.”
“A warrant? What for?”
“The case is closed, so I’d be happy to share the file with you. If you and Billie were to make a trip out.”
In other words, give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.
Mutual cooperation made the world go ’round.
After thanking the man, she handed the phone back to Billie. The two spoke another moment or two, then Billie ended the call.
“And how do you know Chief Battard?” Stacy asked, reholstering the phone.
“I lived there for a few years. Connor’s a sweetie.” She sighed. “He was in love with me.”
Stacy cocked an eyebrow. Weren’t they all? And judging by the man’s response to the call, there was nothing past tense about his feelings for the woman.
“Does he know you’re married?”
Billie lifted a shoulder. “Suspects, I’m sure. I almost always am.”
“Would you like to see him again?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Road trip?”
“I’d like to see that file. He offered it.” Stacy smiled. “Though, he made it clear I wouldn’t be welcome without you.”
“Rocky’s being such a pain in the ass right now, a road trip would be the perfect attitude adjuster.”
CHAPTER 41
Thursday, March 17, 2005
9:00 a.m.
Stacy and Billie quickly put together a travel itinerary. They found nonstop flights to San Francisco for the next day. Billie insisted that they should rent a car there and drive to the Monterey Coast. Waiting for a connection to the tiny regional airport would have taken longer than the two-hour d
rive. And besides, to miss such a beautiful drive would be a sin.
Especially made in a convertible. Something sleek and European. Or, so said Billie.
Billie believed in traveling in style.
Stacy had decided to make the trip, with or without Leo’s blessing. However, when she’d presented him with her plan, he had not only given her his blessing, he had agreed to pay for the trip.
A good thing, since booking at the last minute had sent the airfare from exorbitant to utterly ridiculous.
Which Billie could easily afford. And Stacy could not.
An exploding credit card was not a pretty sight.
Stacy zipped her carry-on, into which she had stuffed enough for a two-day stay. She quickly scanned the bedroom, then bath to make certain she hadn’t forgotten anything.
That done, she hoisted her bag. As she stepped into the hallway, Stacy glanced left, toward Alice’s room. She thought of her crying the night before. The girl was most likely in class. Acting on instinct, she crossed to the closed door and tapped on it. Clark answered.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “but could I speak with Alice? It’ll just take a moment.”
He lowered his eyes to her bag, then returned them to hers. “Sure.”
A moment later Alice appeared. “Hey,” she said, not quite meeting Stacy’s eyes.
“I have to go out of town for a couple days. If you need me for anything, call me.” She scrawled her cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “If you need anything, Alice. I mean that.”
The girl stared at the paper and its scrawled number, throat working. When she lifted her gaze to Stacy’s, her eyes were bright with tears. Without a word, she turned and went back into the schoolroom. As the door swung shut, Clark looked at Stacy.
She met his eyes just before the door closed.
She stood rooted to the spot as the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
The doorbell sounded.
Billie. Stacy paused a moment more, then readjusted the bag and headed down to meet her friend.
Traffic proved to be on their side, and the trip to Louis Armstrong International Airport took just under twenty minutes. A good thing, because unlike her single carry-on, Billie had two bags to check. Big bags.
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