Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 12

Thursday, March 3, 2005

3:50 p.m.

“This is it,” Spencer said, indicating the Esplanade Avenue mansion Leonardo Noble called home. “Pull over.”

Tony did, whistling long and low. “It appears there’s big money in fun and games.”

Spencer grunted a response, eyes on the Noble residence. He’d done a search and discovered that Leonardo Noble, White Rabbit’s creator, did indeed live in New Orleans. He’d also learned the man had no priors, no outstandings, not so much as an unpaid parking ticket.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty as hell. Only that if he was, he was smart enough to get away with it.

They crossed to the wrought-iron gate and let themselves through. No dogs barked. No alarms went off. He glanced at the house; not a burglar bar on even one window.

Obviously Noble felt safe. Risky in a marginal neighborhood like this one, especially with such obvious wealth.

They rang the bell and a woman in a black dress and crisp white apron answered. They introduced themselves and asked to see Leonardo Noble. In a matter of moments, a forty-something-looking man with an athletic build and a head of wild, wavy hair hurried out to greet them.

He held out a hand. “Leonardo Noble. How can I help you?”

Spencer shook his hand. “Detective Malone. My partner, Detective Sciame. NOPD.”

He looked at them expectantly, eyebrows raised in question.

“We’re investigating the murder of a UNO coed.”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“You haven’t told me anything yet, Mr. Noble.”

The man laughed. “I’m sorry, I already spoke with your associate. Detective Killian. Stacy Killian.”

It took a second for the man’s words to register and a split second more for Spencer’s temper to flare. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Noble. But you’ve been duped, there is no Stacy Killian at the NOPD.”

The man stared at them, expression confused. “But I spoke with her. Yesterday.”

“Did she show you her-”

“Leo,” a woman said from behind them, “what’s going on?”

Spencer turned. A beautiful, dark-haired woman crossed to stand beside Leonardo Noble.

“Kay, Detectives Malone and Sciame. My business manager, Kay Noble.”

She shook both their hands, smiling warmly. “His ex-wife as well, Detectives.”

Spencer returned her smile. “That would explain the name.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

The inventor cleared his throat. “They say the woman who was here the other day wasn’t a police officer at all.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Did she show you a badge, ma’am?”

“Not me, our housekeeper. I’ll get her. Excuse me a moment.”

Spencer experienced a moment of pity for the housekeeper. Kay Noble didn’t look like the type of woman who tolerated mistakes.

Moments later, she returned with the woman, who looked upset. “Tell the officers what you told me, Valerie.”

The housekeeper-sixtyish with iron-gray hair swept up into a flattering French twist-clasped her hands in front of her. “The woman flashed a badge…or what I thought was a badge. She asked to speak with Mr. Noble.”

“You didn’t take a good look at her identification?”

“No. I-” The woman cut her eyes toward her employer. “She looked like the police and sounded like…” Her words trailed off; she cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry this happened. I promise it won’t again.”

Before Kay Noble could comment, Spencer stepped in. “Let me assure you, I don’t believe any harm’s been done. She was a friend of the deceased and is also an ex-cop. Not NOPD.”

“It’s no wonder you were fooled,” Tony added, “she’s got the whole cop schtick down pat.”

The housekeeper looked relieved; Kay Noble furious. Leonardo surprised them all by laughing loudly.

“I hardly find this funny, Leo,” Kay snapped.

“Of course it is, love,” he said. “It’s all funny.”

Color flooded her face. “But she could have been anybody. What if Alice -”

“Nothing happened. Like the officer said, no harm done.” He gave her a quick hug, then turned to Spencer. “So, Detectives, how can I help you?”

A half hour later, Spencer and Tony thanked Leonardo Noble and headed for their car. The inventor had answered all their questions. He hadn’t known Cassie Finch. Had never been to either UNO or Café Noir. Nor did he know, or was he in contact with, any local White Rabbit players. He explained that he and a friend had invented the game, that they’d never published it and that his co-inventor was dead.

The two detectives didn’t speak until they had settled inside, safety belts fastened, motor idling. “What do you think?” Spencer asked.

“Babe one, Slick zero.”

“Kiss my ass, Pasta Man. ”

Tony laughed. “I’ll pass. Frankly, I’m not into that.”

“I was talking about Noble, by the way. What did you think?”

“He’s a little different. And that thing about working with his ex-wife. No way I could work with mine.”

“You and Betty have been married forever.”

“Yeah, but if we weren’t, she’d drive me crazy.”

“You think he’s on the up-and-up?”

“Struck me that way, but hard to tell without the element of surprise.”

“Killian,” Spencer muttered. “She’s in my way.”

“What’re you going to do about it, hotshot?”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Café Noir is just up the street. Let’s see if the meddling Ms. Killian is there.”