“How?”
“Searched his room. Found a receipt for a local storage locker. Lifted the key one afternoon and ta-da, the real Clark Dunbar was revealed.”
She was resourceful, Stacy’d give her that. Evil but resourceful.
“He’d kept all sorts of stuff from his past. Pictures. Letters. Diplomas and papers. Interesting that he’d been unable to let those things go. I could have.”
“No doubt. After all, you were able to murder your parents without so much as a sniffle.”
“Except for Mom, I didn’t actually kill anybody.”
“Troy did.”
“The second piece of the plan.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“Online. An RPG chat room.”
Stacy glanced toward the painting on the far wall, a nondescript landscape. “How’d you get him to join up with you?”
“Easy. Troy liked his women young. And he liked money. A lot.”
The girl’s words sickened her. She continued. “Troy was lazy and stupid. But useful. He was good at following orders, at keeping his eyes on the prize. He wanted that carrot.”
“What’d you promise him?”
“A million bucks.”
A million dollars. The cost of all those lives. Enough to entice a man such as Troy to murder.
Alice curled up on the couch, like a satisfied cat. She sipped her coffee drink. “Would you believe Mom let me do the background check on Troy? It was all I needed to see. I knew he was perfect.”
“When did you get the idea to create a White Rabbit scenario?”
“When I knew who Clark really was. He was the perfect fall guy.”
Stacy nodded. “You could plant clues to lead the police to his real identity. Once they uncovered it, they would look no further.”
“The way you did,” she said, expression smug. “I thought of everything.”
“And once your mom and dad were dead, you’d be free.”
“And rich. Very, very rich.”
“And all those people in between? Their deaths were just a means to an end?”
She shrugged. “Basically. Their deaths served a higher purpose.”
“But I came along and mucked it up.”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit. A kink, that’s all. I like thinking on my feet. Keeps me sharp.”
Stacy longed to wipe the smug expression from the teenager’s face. “And Cassie?” she asked.
“Wrong place, wrong time. I was in Café Noir, she looked over my shoulder and saw the game. Asked me about it. She became a loose end. Sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry, not at all. Stacy balled her hands into fists.
“So, you told her you’d hook her up with a Supreme White Rabbit.”
“Yes.”
“Troy?”
“Yes, again.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
“You’re too average to outthink me. That’s a fact.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I know the whole truth?”
“Should it?” She sucked more of the frozen beverage through the straw. “Go to the police, they won’t believe you. You don’t have any proof. No evidence, no case.”
“Define evidence.”
“Please. We both know what evidence is. And how much you’d need to try a case like this one.”
“Okay.” Stacy smiled. “Don’t define evidence. How about a word you used earlier. Kink? As in the one I put in your plan.”
The girl stared at her. For the first time, an emotion other than self-satisfaction passed over her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“See that painting?”
Alice glanced at it. “Yeah.”
“Like it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Too bad. Because you’re going to spend the rest of your days thinking about it. Cursing it.”
The teenager made a sound of impatience. “And why would that be?”
“Because the police are on the other side of the wall, behind that painting. Because this morning, when you left for breakfast, the NOPD techs installed an audio-surveillance device. They’ve caught your entire confession on tape.”
Her face went slack with surprise and disbelief. Then with a howl of rage, she sprang from the couch and lunged at Stacy. She clawed and kicked. Stacy subdued her with relative ease, got her pinned, arms behind her back.
“You have the right to remain silent-”
The police burst though the door. Stacy continued reciting the Miranda rights, anyway, from memory. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
“You have the right to an attorney. Now and during all future questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you, free of charge. Do you understand these rights as I have recited them to you?”
“Go to hell.”
“No,” Stacy murmured, “that would be your final destination.”
Only then did she look up. The entire group, including Spencer, Tony and the techs stood in the doorway.
“Killian,” Spencer murmured, “you’re not a cop anymore.”
She stood. “True. But I’m thinking I need to remedy that.”
The two uniforms crossed to Alice, helping her up though she cursed them.
“I see you still have a job?”
He opened his jacket, revealing his shoulder holster. “I live to serve another day.”
“And PID?”
“Rapped my knuckles pretty good over the way I handled the case. Asked lots of questions about you. Now we know from whom they got their suspicions.”
“Yo, Slick. What now?”
“Take care of the suspect. I’ll take Ms. Killian’s statement.”
Tony chuckled. Spencer held out his hand. “That okay with you, hero?”
She took his hand, lifted her face to his. “Did I tell you you’re not nearly as annoying as I first thought?”
“You didn’t have to, Killian. I got that.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thanks to all who helped in the completion of Killer Takes All, giving generously and enthusiastically of their time and expertise. I’d especially like to acknowledge:
Michele Kraus, owner of Gamer’s Conclave, for making sense of the world of role-playing games. Your patience with this novice was astounding; thank you!
Judy Midgley, CRS Coldwell Banker Realty, Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, for taking an entire day to show me properties from Carmel-by-the-Sea to Monterey. It was as fun as it was informative! Thanks, Judy!
Warren “Pete” Poitras, Detective Sergeant, City of Carmel-by-the-Sea Police Department, for the time, tour and insights; all were highly appreciated.
Thanks also to Frank Minyard, M.D., Orleans Parish Coroner; Colonel Mary Baldwin Kennedy, Director of Communications, Orleans Parish Criminal Sheriff’s Office; NOPD Captain Roy Shakelford; Jason Blitz, Munchen Motors and John Lord, Jr., Arms Merchant, LLC.
In addition, thanks to those who make every day a good day: my agent Evan Marshall, my editor Dianne Moggy and the entire MIRA crew, my assistants Rajean Schulze and Kari Williams. And last but always first, my family and my God.
