Читать книгу Killer Takes All - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 11

Monday, February 28, 2005 11:10 a.m.

Stacy strode into Café Noir, fuming. Stupid, arrogant, swaggerer. In her experience, bad cops fell into three categories. Top of the list sat the dishonest cop. No explanation necessary. Next came the coaster. Cops who were content to do the minimum for whatever reason. Then came the swaggerers. For this group, the job was all about how it made them look. They endangered their partners by showing off; they jeopardized cases by refusing to see anything but their own glory.

Or by refusing to follow a hunch that was somebody else’s.

Sure, that’s all it was. A hunch. Based on a coincidence and a gut feeling.

Over the years she had learned to trust her hunches. And she wasn’t going to allow some cocky, still-wet-behind-the-ears gun jockey to blow this case. She would not sit back and do nothing while Cassie’s killer went free.

Stacy drew a deep breath, working to calm herself, shifting her thoughts from the past meeting to the one ahead.

Billie. She would be crushed.

Her friend stood at the counter. Six feet tall, blond and beautiful, she turned heads everywhere she went. Stacy had discovered her to be exceptionally smart—and exceptionally funny as well, in a dry, acerbic way.

Billie looked up, met Stacy’s eyes. She had been crying.

Stacy closed the distance between them and held out a hand. “I’m devastated, too.”

Billie clasped her hand tightly. “The police were here. I can’t believe it.”

“Me, neither.”

“They asked me about you, Stacy. Why—”

“I’m the one who found her. And Beth. I called it in.”

“Oh, Stacy … how horrible.”

Tears flooded Stacy’s eyes. “Tell me about it.”

Billie waved her employee over. “Paula, I’ll be in my office. Call me if you need me.”

The young woman looked from one to the other, eyes watery, face pale. No doubt Malone had questioned her as well. “Go ahead,” she said, voice thick, shaky. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the bar.”

Billie ushered Stacy through the stockroom to her office. When they reached it, she partially shut the door. “How are you holding up?”

“Just dandy.” Stacy heard the edge in her voice but knew it would be pointless to try to soften it. She hurt. She itched to take her anger and despair out on someone.

Cassie had been one of the sweetest people she had ever met. Her death wasn’t only a senseless loss, how she’d died was an affront to life.

Stacy faced Billie. “I could have saved her.”

“What? You couldn’t—”

“I was right next door. I have a gun, I’m a former cop. Why didn’t I know?”

“Because,” Billie said gently, “you’re not a psychic.”

Stacy fisted her fingers, knowing Billie was right but finding more comfort in blame than helplessness. “She told me about this White Rabbit. I had a feeling about it. I warned her to be careful.”

Billie cleared off the small office’s single chair. “Sit. Back up. Tell me everything.”

Stacy recounted the story. Billie listened, eyes growing wet. When she finished, Stacy saw her friend struggle to compose herself and speak. When she did, her voice quivered.

“It’s just too awful. It’s—Who would do this? Why? Cassie is … she—”

Was.

Past tense now.

Billie choked the words back. It hurt too much, Stacy knew, to say them aloud. She took over. “This game, White Rabbit, you ever heard of it?”

Billie shook her head.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cassie was really excited,” Stacy continued. “She said this person agreed to set up a meeting between her and an expert at the game.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I was rushing to class and thought we would see each other—” Her voice cracked; she couldn’t finish.

Later. She had thought they would see each other later.

This time Billie stepped in. “And you think she met with this person and that he might have had something to do with her death?”

“It’s possible. Cassie was so trusting. It would have been totally like her to invite a stranger into her house.”

Billie nodded. “The whole White Rabbit thing could have been a ruse. This person, whoever he is, might have known she was a gamer and used the lure of a new game scenario to get into her house.”

“But why?” Stacy stood and began to pace, too agitated to stay still. “The way it looked to me, Cassie was killed first. Beth simply because she was there. It didn’t look as if they’d been robbed or raped.”

She paused, glanced back at Billie. “The police asked if she had a computer.”

“They asked me about it, too.”

“What else did they ask you?”

“Who Cassie hung out with. About her game group. If she had any enemies. Run-ins with anybody.” Standard stuff.

“Did they ask about White Rabbit?” “No.”

Stacy brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her head throbbed. “I’m thinking they asked about the computer because they didn’t see one.”

“She took it everywhere with her. I asked her once if she slept with it.” Billie’s eyes filled. “She laughed. Said she did.”

“Exactly. Which means her killer took it. The question is, why?”

“Because he didn’t want the police to see something on it?” Billie offered. “Something that would lead them to him. Or her.”

“That’s my theory. Which leads me back to this person she was meeting with.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Ask around about it. Talk to Cassie’s gamer friends. See if they know anything about this White Rabbit. Find out if it’s played on the computer or real time. Maybe she told them about this White Rabbit person.”

“I’ll ask around, too. A lot of gamers come in here, somebody’s bound to know something.”

Stacy caught her friend’s hand. “Be careful, Billie. You get any negative vibes, call me or Detective Malone right away. We’re trying to expose someone who’s killed two people already, two that we know of. Believe me, he won’t hesitate to do it again to protect himself.”