Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 55

Saturday, March 19, 2005

5:20 p.m.

New Orleans’ central business district at 5:00 p.m. on Saturday resembled a movie set more than a bustling commercial district. Dusk had begun to settle over the tops of the skyscrapers, although calling them skyscrapers was a little like calling a donut a beignet. The two had elements in common, but the donut lacked the Ahh quality of a beignet.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk just beyond the established perimeter, a narrow alley across the street from the International House Hotel. Tony pulled up, parking his Ford behind the Camaro.

They’d located Leo. He and Tony had gotten the call just as they finished the search of Danson’s quarters and storage locker. The preliminary search had uncovered little, besides proof that Clark really was Dick Danson. Spencer hoped they had better luck here.

Leo had been shot once. Right between the eyes.

“How’s the kid?” Spencer asked, referring to Alice.

“Scared,” Tony answered. “Carly’s taken her under her wing.”

“Did you hear from the aunt?”

“Not yet. Left a message.”

Alice hadn’t been told about her dad-yet. Spencer prayed her mother was alive to comfort her, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

They crossed to the first officer, signed in, then ducked under the crime scene tape. The crime-scene guys and the photographer were doing their thing; they spared little more than a glance and nod in acknowledgment of Spencer and Tony’s arrival.

They crossed to the body, located not twenty-five feet from the entrance of the alley.

Noble lay flat on his back, eyes open, staring blankly up. Judging by the wound, he’d been shot at close range, probably with a small caliber pistol. Cell phone and briefcase beside the body.

Tony squatted beside Noble. “Still wearing his Rolex. Briefcase looks intact.”

Spencer snapped on latex gloves and checked for the man’s wallet. He found it; eased it out and flipped it open. “Three hundred bucks. Credit cards. Motive certainly wasn’t robbery.”

“You surprised by that?”

Spencer smiled grimly. “I look surprised, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Brazen son-of-a-bitch. Did it in broad daylight. Downtown, just off Camp Street.”

Spencer visually inspected the contour of the body, then moved his gaze outward. “Where’s his calling card?”

As if on cue, one of the techs called, “Yo fellas, you might want to take a look at this.”

They crossed to the man. He had his flashlight beam pointed at a doorway, at several pieces of debris the wind had pushed into the corner.

Spencer saw immediately what had caught the tech’s attention: a Ziploc plastic bag.

Spencer bent and carefully retrieved the bag. The killer had drawn a smiley face on it. Inside he’d placed a single item. The King of Hearts card.

Tony absently rubbed his five o’clock shadow. “I like a psycho who clearly tells us it’s his crime. Takes the guesswork out of the job.”

“Let’s bag it and tag it,” Spencer said to the tech.

“If it’s Dunbar, he knows we’re onto him. He wants to get the job done, even if it means getting nailed.”

“Figures he’s made already.” Spencer narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad the kid’s squared away. Until this asshole’s in custody, she’s a mark.”

“Maybe our guy just wanted to take out the big kahunas?”

“Uh-uh. Remember Pogo’s drawing of Alice hanging by the neck, quite obviously dead.”

“Right. But no King of Hearts, and he got whacked.”

Spencer glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky, then back at his partner. “Stacy had a theory on that. The artist simply hadn’t gotten to that illustration. I wasn’t buying that then. Am now.”

“Smart lady. Maybe you should let her know what’s going on?”

“That wouldn’t exactly be by the book.”

“Screw the book. She’s one of the good guys.” Tony motioned to the first officer. “I’ll get a canvas of the area started. Maybe somebody in one of these businesses saw something.”

Spencer nodded and watched his partner walk away. Stacy was one of the good guys.

But that wasn’t why he wanted to call her.

He unclipped his cell and dialed Stacy. “Hey,” he said when she answered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Is Leo-”

“Yes. Dead-shot between the eyes.”

“The White Rabbit?”

“If a certain playing card here at the scene is any indication.”

“Shit. Poor Alice. You’ve got to find Kay.”

“We’re doing our best.” He glanced over his shoulder; the coroner’s investigator and his driver had arrived. “Got to go, Killian. Call you later.”