Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 46

Friday, March 18, 2005

11:10 a.m.

When Spencer arrived at the Noble mansion, the first officer directed him to the guest house. He found Tony inside.

“Hey, Slick. Made good time.”

“A land speed record.” He looked over the tidy room, noting how tasteful it was. Like something out of Southern Living magazine. He wondered if the now-deceased designers, Wright and Zapeda, had done the decorating. “Fill me in.”

“Apparently, Kay didn’t show for breakfast this morning. The housekeeper didn’t think too much about it. Although the woman’s typically an early bird, once in a while she sleeps in. Suffers with migraines, too. Again, occasionally.”

He glanced at his notes. “Complained of one coming on the afternoon before.”

“Who finally sounded the alarm?”

“The kid.”

“Alice?”

“Yes. When Kay didn’t show by ten-thirty, Leo sent Alice over to check on her mom.”

“Door was unlocked?”

“Yup.”

“Why’d they call us? She could be taking a walk or out with friends.”

“Not likely. Take a look at this.”

His partner led him to the bedroom. Unlike the front room, which had been pin neat, this one showed signs of a violent struggle. Lamp toppled. Paintings askew. Bed torn apart.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the jumbled bedding. The periwinkle-blue-and-bone silk spread was marred by dark stains.

Blood. He crossed to the bed. There wasn’t a tremendous amount, but more than could have been caused by a scratch or other small wound. More blood on the floor led to an arched doorway at the back of the room. At the archway, a bloody handprint stood in stark contrast to the light-hued wall.

Spencer crossed to it. He studied the print a moment, then looked at the other man. “Size is consistent with a woman’s.”

Tony nodded. “We should test it against the hands of other members of the household. See if the glass slipper fits.”

Might be the perp’s print, not the vic’s. It didn’t feel that way, but that didn’t necessarily mean squat.

Spencer motioned to the doorway.

“A study,” Tony said. “Patio beyond.”

Spencer nodded. Mindful not to destroy evidence, he picked his way around the trail of blood. Every drop would be collected and tested. Only testing would prove whether or not all of it was from the same person.

The study also showed signs of a struggle. Furniture at odd angles. Knickknacks toppled, broken. As if Kay had been struggling, grabbing onto furniture, putting up a fight.

A good thing. It meant Kay had still been alive.

The sliding glass doors that led to the patio stood open. More blood, on the door frame and glass panel.

He crossed to them and peered out. The patio was surrounded by shrubs, making it private, like a courtyard. The perp had known the guest house layout, had chosen this route to be away from prying eyes. He had wanted to keep the alarm from sounding as long as possible.

“Crime-scene techs on their way?” Spencer asked.

“Called ’em myself.”

“You talk to anybody yet?”

“Nope. Got it all from Jackson.”

DIU, Third District. “So Noble called 911?”

“Yup. Communications contacted DIU first. The guys at the Third realized the connection to our case, called me.”

“Wonder why Noble didn’t call us directly?” Spencer murmured more to himself than Tony.

Maybe to delay that alarm.

“I want to interview everybody on the property. Let’s start with the big man himself.”

“You want us to stick together or split up?” Tony asked.

“Split up, we’ll cover ground more quickly. Start with the housekeeper, then move on from there. We’ll compare notes later.”

Tony agreed and headed for the kitchen. Spencer found Leo in his office. He sat at his desk, staring into space, expression flat. His daughter, on the other hand, huddled in the corner of the couch, knees to her chest. Unlike her dad, she looked devastated.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Noble.”

“Leo,” he corrected. “Go ahead.”

“When did you last see your wife?”

“Ex-wife. Last night. About seven o’clock.”

“Working late?”

“We all had dinner together. Right, pumpkin?”

The teenager looked up, like a deer caught in headlights, and nodded. “We went for sushi.”

Her voice cracked and she pressed her forehead to her knees. Spencer motioned toward the doorway. “Perhaps we should talk in the hall?”

“Sure. Of course.” He crossed to his daughter. “Pumpkin?” She looked up. “The detective and I will be in the hall. Will you be okay alone?”

She nodded, looking terrified.

“Call me if you need me. Okay?”

She indicated she would, and the two men left the room, quietly shutting the door behind them.

“I thought it’d be better if she didn’t overhear us,” Spencer said softly. Which was true-just not for the reason Noble thought. He didn’t want the father’s answers to influence the daughter’s.

“I should have thought of that,” Leo said. “I sent her to get Kay. It’s my fault she saw-” His voice cracked. “Why didn’t I go myself?”

He sounded genuinely guilty. But over what? Inadvertently exposing his daughter to what very well may have been the scene of her mother’s death? Or for having involved her in his crime?

“Let’s go back to the previous evening,” Spencer said. “The name of the sushi restaurant?”

“Japanese Garden. Just up the street.”

Spencer made a note. “Do you do that often, have dinner together?”

“Several times a week. After all, we’re a family.”

“But not the typical family.”

“It’s a world filled with variation, Detective.”

“And you didn’t see her again after dinner?”

“No. I was out on the back porch around midnight-”

“Midnight?”

“Smoking a cigar. Her light was on.”

He said it as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “At dinner, she say anything about a headache?”

“A headache? Not that I recall. Why?”

Spencer ignored the question, sending another of his own. “Typically, she a night owl?”

“No. That’s my role.”

“She ever leave her door unlocked?”

“Never. I used to tease her, call her anal retentive about such things. She was always a detail person.”

Spencer jumped on his use of the past tense. “Was? Do you know something we don’t, Mr. Noble?”

The man flushed. “Of course not. I was referring to the years we were married. And her business abilities.”

“In terms of your business, what role does Kay play?”

“Basically, she’s my business manager. She works with the accountants and lawyers, reviews the contracts, stays on top of the employees…and generally leaves me to be creative.”

“To be creative,” Spencer repeated. “If you’ll pardon me, that sounds pretty self-indulgent.”

“To you, I suppose it does. Most people don’t understand the creative process.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“The brain has two sides, the left and right. The left side controls organization and logic. It also controls language and speech, critical thinking and so forth.”

“So you had Kay to take care of all those left-brain details. Could you have hired someone else to do the job?”

He looked perplexed by the question. “Sure. But why would I?”

Spencer shrugged. “I suspect you would have to pay less. As your ex-wife, she probably feels entitled to half of everything you have.”

Leo flushed. “She is entitled. I’ve never made a secret of that. Without Kay, I wouldn’t have gotten where I am. She kept me focused, harnessed my enthusiasm and creativity in a way that allowed me to make money using my imagination.”

“You say she’s entitled to half. That’s what you give her?”

“Yes. Half.”

“Of everything?”

His expression altered, as with understanding. “You think I had something to do with this?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“Of everything.” He flexed his fingers. “I’m not that kind of man, Detective.”

“What kind is that?”

“The kind who puts money before people. Money doesn’t mean that much to me.”

“I can tell.”

At Spencer’s sarcasm, color flooded Leo’s face. “I know who did this, and you should, too!”

“And who would that be, Mr. Noble?”

“The White Rabbit.”