Читать книгу Killer Takes All - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 8

Monday, February 28, 2005 2:20 a.m.

Stacy shivered and adjusted Caesar against her chest. The pup, barely old enough to have been weaned, whimpered a protest. She should have crated him, Stacy thought. Her arms ached; any moment he would awaken and want to play.

But she hadn’t been able to let go. She still couldn’t.

She rubbed her cheek against his soft, silky head. Between the time she’d made the call and the first officers arrived, she had returned to her apartment, stashed her Glock and grabbed a coat. She carried a permit for the gun but knew from experience that an armed civilian at the scene of a homicide would be at worst suspect, at best a distraction.

She’d never been on this side of the process before—the helpless bystander, loved one of the deceased—though she had come terrifyingly close last year. Her sister Jane had narrowly escaped a murderer’s grasp. In those moments, when Stacy had thought she’d lost her, she’d decided she’d had enough. Of the badge. What went along with it. The blood. The cruelty and death.

It had become clear to Stacy that she yearned for a normal life, a healthy relationship. Eventually, a family of her own. And that it wasn’t going to happen while she was in the job. Police work had marked her in a way that made “normal” and “healthy” impossible. As if she wore an invisible S. One that stood for shit. The worst life had to offer. The ugliest, man’s inhumanity to man.

She had acknowledged that nobody could change her life but her.

Now, here she was again. Death had followed her.

Only this time, it had found Cassie. And Beth.

Sudden anger surged through her. Where the hell were the detectives? Why were they moving so slowly? At this rate the killer would be in Mississippi before these two finished processing the scene.

“Stacy Killian?”

She turned. The younger of the two detectives stood behind her. He flashed his shield. “Detective Malone. I understand you called this in?”

“I did.”

“Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?” “No, I’m okay.”

He motioned to Caesar. “Cute pup. Lab?”

She nodded. “But he’s not … he was … Cassie’s.” She hated the way her voice thickened and fought to steady it. “Look, could we just get on with this?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, as if surprised by her brusque response. He probably thought her cold and uncaring. He couldn’t know how far from the truth that assessment was—she cared so much, she could hardly breathe.

He took out his notebook, a pocket-size spiral bound identical to the kind she had used. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened.”

“I was sleeping. Thought I heard gunshots and went to check on my friends.”

Something flickered across his face and was gone. “You live here?” He indicated her unit.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“I’m not sure that’s important, but yes, I live alone.” “How long?”

“I moved in the first week of January.” “And before that?”

“Dallas. I moved to New Orleans to attend graduate school at UNO.”

“How well did you know the victims?”

Victims. She winced at the label. “Cassie and I were good friends. Beth just moved in a week or so ago. Cassie’s original roommate dropped out of school, went home.”

“You categorize the two of you as good friends? You only knew each other a matter of what, a couple months?”

“We shouldn’t have been, I suppose. But we just … clicked.”

He looked unconvinced. “You say you were awakened by gunshots and went to check on your friends? What made you so certain? Couldn’t the sound have been firecrackers? A car back-firing?”

“I knew they were gunshots, Detective.” She looked away, then back at him. “I was a cop for ten years. In Dallas.”

Again, his eyebrows lifted slightly; obviously the information had altered his original opinion of her. “What happened next?”

She explained about heading out front, circling the property and seeing Cassie’s light on. “That’s when I realized the sound … it had come from next door.”

The other detective emerged from the doorway behind him. Detective Malone followed her gaze and turned. She used the opportunity to study the two men. The aging cop partnered with the hotshot novice, a duo depicted in any number of Hollywood films.

In her experience, she’d found the fictionalized coupling much more effective than its real life inspiration. Too often, the older of the two was a burnout or a coaster, the younger a swaggerer.

The man crossed to them. “Detective Sciame,” he said.

At the sound of the other man’s voice, Caesar opened his eyes and wagged his tail. She set the puppy down and held out a hand. “Stacy Killian.”

“Ms. Killian here is a former cop.”

Detective Sciame turned his gaze back to her, warm brown eyes friendly. And intelligent. He may be a coaster, she decided, but he was a smart one. “That so?” he said, shaking her hand. “Detective First Grade. Homicide, Dallas PD. Call me Stacy.”

“Tony. What are you doing in our beautiful city?” “Graduate school at UNO. English lit.” He nodded. “Had enough of the job, huh? Thought about leaving myself, a number of times. Got retirement in sight now, no sense making a change.” “Why grad school?” Malone asked.

“Why not?”

He frowned. “English lit seems a world away from law enforcement.” “Exactly.”

Tony motioned to Cassie’s half of the double. “You take a good look at the scene?”

“I did.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“Cassie was killed first. Beth when she got up to investigate. Robbery was not a motive. Neither was sexual assault, though the pathologist will make the final determination. I’m thinking the killer was either a friend or acquaintance of Cassie’s. She let him in, locked up Caesar.”

“You were a friend of hers.” This came from Malone. “True. But I didn’t kill her.” “So you say. First to the scene—” “Is always a suspect. Standard operating procedure, I know.”

Tony nodded. “You carry a gun, Stacy?”

She wasn’t surprised the man asked the question. She was grateful, actually. It gave her confidence this might get solved.

“A Glock .40.”

“Same bad boy we carry. You got a permit?”

“Of course. Would you like to see both?”

He said he would and she scooped up the puppy and headed inside. They followed. She didn’t protest. Again, standard operating procedure. Because she was first to the scene, she was—if only momentarily—a suspect. No detective worth his or her salt would allow a possible suspect to disappear into their home to retrieve a gun. Or anything else, for that matter. Nine times out of ten, said suspect would disappear out the back door. Or come back out the front, gun blazing.

After leaving Caesar in her bedroom, she produced the gun and permit. Both detectives inspected them. Obviously, the Glock hadn’t been fired recently and Tony handed it back.

“Cassie have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Any enemies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Was she into the bar scene?”

Stacy shook her head. “RPGs and school. That’s it.”

Malone frowned. “RPGs?”

“Role-playing games. Her favorites were Dungeons & Dragons and Vampire: the Masquerade, though she played others.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” Tony said, “are these board games? Video games?”

“Neither. Each game has set characters and a scenario, decided upon by the game master. The participants role-play the characters.”

Tony scratched his head. “It’s a live-action game?”

“Not really.” She smiled. “I don’t play, but the way Cassie explained it, RPGs are played with the imagination. The player is like an actor in a role, following an unfolding script, without costumes, special effects or sets. The games can be played real-time or by e-mail.”

“Why don’t you play?” Detective Malone said.

Stacy paused. “Cassie invited me to join her group, but her description of play didn’t appeal. Danger at every turn, living by your wits. I had no desire to role-play that, I lived it. Every day I spent on the force.”

“Know any of her fellow gamers?”

“Not really.”

Detective Malone cocked an eyebrow. “Not really. What does that mean?”

“She introduced me to several of them. I see them around the University Center sometimes. They occasionally play at Café Noir.”

Tony stepped in. “Café Noir?”

“A coffeehouse on Esplanade. Cassie spent a lot of time there. We both did. Studying.”

“When did you last see Ms. Finch?”

“Friday afternoon … out at scho—”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. It came flooding back, their last meeting. Cassie had been excited, she’d met someone who played a game called White Rabbit. This person had promised to hook her up with what she’d called a Supreme White Rabbit. Arrange a private meeting with him.

“Ms. Killian? Have you remembered something?”

She filled them in, but they appeared unimpressed.

“A Supreme White Rabbit?” Tony asked. “What in God’s name is that?”

“Like I said, I don’t play. But as I understand it, in RPGs there’s something called the game master. In D & D that person’s the Dungeon Master, who basically controls the game.”

“And in this new scenario, that person’s called the White Rabbit,” Tony said.

“Exactly.” She pressed on. “The thought of her meeting this guy struck me wrong. Cassie was really trusting. Too trusting. I reminded her that this person was a stranger and urged her to select a public place for their meeting.”

“What was her response to your warning?” What do you think, some game geek’s going to get pissed off and shoot me?

“She laughed,” Stacy said. “Told me to lighten up.”

“So the meeting took place?”

“I don’t know.”

“She give you a name?”

“No. But I didn’t ask.”

“The person who promised the introduction, where’d she meet him?”

“She didn’t say and, again, I didn’t ask.” Stacy heard the frustration in her own voice. “I’m thinking it was a guy, though I’m not even certain of that.”

“Anything else?”

“I have a feeling about this.”

“Women’s intuition?” Malone asked.

She narrowed her eyes, irritated. “The instinct of a seasoned detective.”

She saw the older man’s mouth twitch, as if with amusement.

“What about her roommate?” Tony asked. “Beth? She play those games?”

“No.”

“Did your friend have a computer?” Malone asked. She swung her gaze to him. “A laptop. Why?” He didn’t answer. “She play these games on her computer?”

“Sometimes, I think. Mostly she played real time, with her game group.”

“So they can be played online.”

“I think so.” She shifted her gaze between the two.

“Why?”

“Thank you, Ms. Killian. You’ve been helpful.”

“Wait.” She caught the older detective’s arm. “Her computer’s gone, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Stacy,” Tony murmured, sounding like he meant it. “We can’t say any more.”

She would have done the same; it pissed her off, anyway. “I suggest you check out this White Rabbit game. Ask around, see who’s playing. What the game involves.”

“We will, Ms. Killian.” Malone closed his notebook. “Thank you for your help.”

She opened her mouth to say more, to ask if they would update her on their progress, then shut it without speaking. Because she knew they wouldn’t. Even if they agreed to, it would be an empty platitude.

She didn’t have the right to the information, she acknowledged, watching the two walk away. She was a civilian. Not even family of the deceased. They weren’t required to give her anything but courtesy.

For the first time since leaving the force, she understood the ramifications of what she had done. Of what she was.

A civilian. Outside the blue circle. Alone.

Stacy Killian wasn’t a cop anymore.