Killer Takes All

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. What 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.”