Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 51

Friday, March 18, 2005

10:30 p.m.

Stacy made Malone’s Irish Channel address in no time at all. He lived in an in-the-process-of-being-renovated Creole cottage, which made her wonder if he was doing the work himself. And if he was, when he found the time.

The front door opened just before she knocked. Malone leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. His soft, worn T-shirt pulled across his shoulders.

“Going to ask me in?”

“Do I have to?”

“Asshole.”

He laughed and stepped aside.

She entered his house and he shut the door behind her. He’d been eating a pizza, she saw. Out of the box. In front of the TV. ESPN.

Typical guy.

“Beer?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

He got one for both of them, handed her hers, then turned off the television. Facing her, he asked, “The kid had information?”

“Insight, really.”

He cocked an eyebrow; she suspected he was onto her already-that she was not here with information, but to plead her case. Again.

She set the stage, anyway, explaining how Alice had described Wonderland being a spiral and about the King and Queen being at its epicenter. “Each death brought the killer, through Alice, a step closer to them.”

“So?”

“So, it makes sense that Danson-”

“The ex-partner thing again?”

“What can I say, I’m a one-note song.”

“Right.” One corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement. “Shoot.”

“Alice is playing the game, but none of the deaths has been by chance. The drawings you recovered from Pogo’s studio prove that all the deaths are predestined. The White Rabbit is executing his very well-thought-out plan in an effort to terrorize.”

“Or create a smoke screen.”

She ignored that. “Obviously, to be able to control the game the way he has required someone with superior knowledge of the game. A master player.”

He opened his mouth to comment; she stopped him. “He also has to be someone who had no hesitation about involving Alice in murder.”

“And her father wouldn’t?”

“Think about it, Spencer. A father involving his daughter in the murder not just of others, but of her mother, as well. That’d make him-”

“A monster?”

“Yes.”

“If not a monster, how do you describe someone who’s willing to kill for nothing more than financial gain? Where do you draw the line?”

“Hear me out. Danson’s the game’s co-inventor. He and Leo parted acrimoniously. Leo went on to wealth and celebrity and Danson-”

“Killed himself.”

“Or not. He’s brilliant. He concocts a plan to punish Leo-”

“You’re beautiful when you’re determined.”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

“Why not? It worked.”

She made a sound of frustration.

“You always have to be right, Killian? You always have to be in the driver’s seat?”

“Don’t make this personal.”

He set his beer bottle on the kitchen counter. “All right, the facts. Leo’s also co-inventor. He’s the one who received the first messages from the White Rabbit. He had personal knowledge of each of the victims. He’s the one with the most to gain from Kay’s death.”

“Says you.”

“Consider this, Stacy. The drawings we recovered from Pogo’s, there were drawings of all the major characters, except the King of Hearts. What do you think that means?”

That he was a better cop than she had given him credit for.

She decided to defy logic, anyway. “Perhaps the artist simply hadn’t started that drawing.”

“That’s bullshit. And you know it. No drawing means the King of Hearts’ death wasn’t predestined. Because he’s the killer.”

It all made sense. Perfect sense. Why couldn’t she buy into it?

“Leo’s on Gallery 124’s mailing list,” he added. “Put on about the time of Pogo’s show.”

No wonder they had been closing in on Leo, even before Kay disappeared. “What about Cassie? What’s the connection there?”

“There’s not,” he said flatly. “We arrested Bobby Gautreaux this morning. We charged him with the three UNO rapes. And plan to charge him with Cassie Finch’s and Beth Wagner’s murders soon.”

She caught her breath. “On what evidence?”

“DNA. He left a hair at the scene. We swabbed him and got a match. I checked it against the blood your attacker left in the library-”

“And got a match,” she finished for him.

“Yup. From the blood left there…and the semen from the rapes.”

He took a swallow of his beer. “In addition, he left a print at the Finch and Wagner scene. He threatened and stalked Cassie. We found her hair on his clothing. And he warned you to keep your nose out of the investigation.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Bobby Gautreaux had been the one who attacked her. He was a serial rapist. And he’d left solid physical evidence tying himself to the murder scene. It was shaping up to be a strong case.

She was glad. Relieved.

Her goal had been to ensure Cassie’s killer would be caught.

But it didn’t feel right. Why?

“What’s he saying?” she asked.

“That he’s innocent. That he was there that night, but he didn’t kill her. What he whispered in your ear, you were correct about it. He was warning you to keep your nose out of the investigation. Because he’d been there. But he claims he didn’t kill either of the women.”

Same thing they all said. “Why’d he go to Cassie’s that night?”

“Wanted to talk to her. About their relationship.”

“They had no relationship. They hadn’t in nearly a year.”

“Of course they didn’t. He’s lying. That’s what snakes like Bobby Gautreaux do. What was he supposed to tell me, he went there to murder her?”

“You think he went there intending to kill her?”

“I like it. With intent means the state can go for murder one.”

“Find the weapon?”

He frowned slightly. “No.”

She took a long drink of her warming beer. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“This doesn’t change my thoughts on Leo’s inno-”

“Maybe this will.” He took a step toward her. “Remember how I accused Leo of creating an elaborate smoke screen to get away with killing his wife? That after meeting you, he handpicked you to help him?”

“How could I forget?”

He took another step closer. “He’s writing a screenplay, Stacy. About a game inventor who receives threatening cards depicting the deaths of characters from his most famous creation.”

She felt as if Spencer had punched her.

“You’re in the story, Stacy,” he said softly, crossing to stand behind her. “The emotionally wounded ex-cop who’s running from her past.”

Leo had manipulated her from the get-go.

The past was repeating itself.

She turned away from him, crossed to the window, stared out at the darkness. What? Did she have a sign on her forehead proclaiming Easy Mark. Stupid, Gullible Fool?

“And ultimately,” he continued, “she can’t resist the inventor’s charms and falls willingly into his arms-”

“Stop it, Spencer.” She whirled to face him. “Just shut up.”

She held his gaze, even as she struggled to keep what he was saying in perspective. To fit all the pieces of the puzzle together, including this one.

Struggling to separate herself from the feeling of betrayal threatening to strangle her.

Leo had been writing a screenplay. The whole time. He’d planned this, used her.

“You uncovered it in today’s search.”

It wasn’t a question; he answered, anyway. “Yes. Locked in his desk.”

“You questioned him about it?”

“Yes. Claimed he just started it. That he recognized its ‘narrative potential.’”

That’s what Leo’s guilty expression had been about tonight. The reason why he had avoided meeting her eyes and shifted uncomfortably.

“Narrative potential,” she repeated, hearing the bitter edge in her own voice. “People are dying.”

“For a brilliant man,” Spencer said softly, “he sure is stupid.”

“Leaving such potentially damning evidence hardly seems the work of a supergenius, does it?”

“Stupid to cross such a smart, beautiful woman,” he corrected.

She made a sound of pain. “I surely don’t feel either of those things right now. Try gullible idiot.”

Several moments passed. He swore, then cupped her face in his palms. “Strong. Smart. Determined.”

As she gazed at him, something inside her turned over. Or opened up. Without pausing to think it through, she kissed him. After a moment, she broke the contact. “I thought you wouldn’t make a pass at me because I’d kick your ass?”

“You made the pass. All ass-kicking is off.”

Stacy smiled. “I can live with that.”