However, she had made it clear his first day under her command that here she was his boss. Period.
She turned her miss-nothing gaze on him. “Think DIU jumped the gun by calling us in?”
He straightened, cleared his throat. “No way, Captain. This was no rubber stamp.”
She shifted her gaze to Tony. “Detective Sciame?”
“I agree. Better to get it now, before the trail’s cold.”
Spencer took over. “Both vics were shot.”
“Names?”
“Cassie Finch and Beth Wagner. UNO students.”
“Wagner just moved in a week ago,” Tony offered. “Poor kid, talk about some bad fuckin’ luck.”
The woman didn’t seem to notice the language, but Spencer winced.
“Robbery doesn’t appear to have been the motive,” Spencer offered, “although her laptop is missing. Neither does rape.”
“What, then?”
Tony stretched his legs out in front of him. “Crystal ball’s not working this morning, Captain.”
“Clever,” she said, her tone leaving no doubt she found it to be anything but. “How about a theory, then? Or is that asking a bit much after only a couple doughnuts?”
Spencer jumped in. “Looks like Finch was killed first. We figure she knew her killer, let him in. Probably killed Wagner because she was there. Of course, it’s speculation so far.”
“Leads?”
“A few. We’re going to pay a visit to the university, the places both women hung out. Talk to their friends, professors. Boyfriends, if any.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Canvas of the neighborhood’s complete,” Spencer continued. “With the exception of the woman who phoned it in, nobody heard a thing.”
“Her story checks out?”
“Seems legit. She’s a former cop. Dallas PD Homicide.”
She frowned slightly. “That so?”
“I’m going to run her through the computer. Call the Dallas PD.”
“Do that.”
“Coroner notified the next of kin?”
“Done.”
She reached for her phone, signaling their meeting was over. “I don’t like double homicides in my jurisdiction. I like them even less when they’re unsolved. Understood?”
They agreed they did, stood and started toward the door. The captain stopped Spencer before he reached it. “Detective Malone?”
He looked back.
“Watch that temper of yours.”
He flashed her a smile. “Under control, Aunt Patti. Altar boy’s honor.”
As he walked away, he heard her laugh. Probably because she remembered what a total failure he had been as an altar boy.
CHAPTER 5
Monday, February 28, 2005
10:30 a.m.
Spencer stepped into Café Noir. The scent of coffee and baking cookies hit him hard. It’d been a long time since breakfast-a sausage biscuit from a drive-thru window just as the sun cracked the horizon.
He just didn’t get the whole coffeehouse thing. Three bucks for a cup of fancy coffee with a foreign-sounding name? And what was with the whole tall, grande, super-grande thing? What was wrong with small, medium and large? Or even extra large? Who did they think they were fooling?
He’d made the mistake of ordering an americano once. Thought it would be a good, old-fashioned cup of American coffee. It had proved to be anything but.
Shots of espresso and water. Tasted like burned piss.
He decided to save his money and wait until he got back to HQ for a cup. Glancing around, he saw that from what he knew of coffeehouses, this one was pretty typical. Deep, earthy colors, groupings of comfy, oversize furniture interspersed with tables for conversing or studying. The building, located on a triangular sliver of land called neutral ground in New Orleans, even sported a big old fireplace.
For all the good it would be, he thought. This was New Orleans, after all. Hot and humid, twenty-four/seven, nine months out of twelve.
Spencer crossed to the counter and asked the girl at the cash register for the owner or manager. The girl, who looked to be college-age, smiled and pointed at a tall, willowy blonde restocking the buffet. “The owner. Billie Bellini.”
He thanked her and crossed to the woman. “Billie Bellini?” he asked.
She turned and looked up at him. She was gorgeous. One of those flawlessly beautiful women who could-and probably did-have their pick of men. The kind of woman one didn’t expect to see managing a coffeehouse.
He’d be a liar or a eunuch to say he was immune, though he could honestly claim she wasn’t his type. Too damn high maintenance for a regular Joe like him.
A smile touched the corners of her full lips. “Yes?” she said.
“Detective Spencer Malone. NOPD,” he said as he flashed his badge.
One perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. “Detective? How can I help you?”
“You know a woman named Cassie Finch?”
“I do. She’s one of the regulars.”
“A regular. What exactly does that mean?”
“That she spends a lot of time in here. Everybody knows her.” Her smooth brow wrinkled. “Why?”
He ignored her question and asked another of his own. “How about Beth Wagner?”
“Cassie’s roommate? Not really. She was in once. Cassie introduced us.”
“What about Stacy Killian?”
“Also a regular. They’re friends. But I suspect you already know that.”
Spencer dropped his gaze. The fourth finger of her left hand sported a major rock and a diamond studded gold band. That didn’t surprise him.
“When did you last see Ms. Finch?”
Concern leaped into her eyes. “What is this in reference to?” she asked. “Is Cassie okay?”
“Cassie Finch is dead, Ms. Bellini. She was murdered.”
She brought a hand to her mouth, which had pulled into a perfectly formed O. “There must be some mistake.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Excuse me, I-” She fumbled behind her for a chair, then sank onto it. For long moments, she sat motionless, struggling, he suspected, to compose herself.
When she finally looked back up at him, it was without tears. “She was in yesterday afternoon.”
“For how long?”
“A couple of hours. From about three to five.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“She talk to anyone?”
The woman clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Yes. All the usual suspects.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Other regulars. The usual crew was in.”
“Was Stacy Killian in yesterday?”
Again, her expression tightened with alarm. “No. Is Stacy…is she all right?”
“As far as I know, she’s fine.” He paused. “It would help us immensely if I could get the names of the people Cassie hung out with. The regulars.”
“Of course.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“No. I can’t imagine she did, anyway.”
“Altercations with anyone?”
“No.” Her voice shook. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I understand she was into fantasy role-playing games.” He paused; when she didn’t disagree, he went on. “She always have her laptop with her?”
“Always.”
“Never saw her without it?”
“Never.”
He nodded. “I’d like to speak with your employees, Ms. Bellini.”
“Of course. Nick and Josie are coming in at two and five, respectively. That’s Paula. Shall I call her over?” He nodded and retrieved a business card from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, call me.”
It turned out Paula knew even less than her boss had, but Spencer gave her a business card as well.
He stepped out of the coffeehouse and into the cool, bright morning. Channel 6’s meteorologist had predicted the mercury would top seventy today, and judging by the warmth already, she’d been right.
Loosening his tie, he started for his car, which was parked at the curb.
“Detective Malone, wait!”
He stopped, turned. Stacy Killian slammed her car door and hurried toward him. “Hello, Ms. Killian.”