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.”

CHAPTER 56

Saturday, March 19, 2005

8:45 p.m.

Spencer did one better than calling Stacy. He went to see her.

He rang the bell.

Stacy answered the door after a couple of rings. He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected she had been crying.

“Haven’t you heard? Game’s over. Leo’s dead.”

He held up a takeout sack. “I brought Subway. Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“How about some company?”

“Why not?” She turned and headed into the double. He followed her, shutting the door behind them.

They ended up in the kitchen. He saw a bottle of beer on the table, her Glock beside it.

She crossed to the fridge, got another beer and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow, watching as she returned to her table and took another drink.

“None of this is your fault,” he said softly.

“No? You’re sure?” Her voice vibrated with a combination of grief and fury. “Leo’s dead. Kay’s most probably dead. They hired me to keep them safe. And if so, Alice-” her voice broke “-is an orphan now. I did a great job, didn’t I?”

“You did the best job you could.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She balled her hands into fists. “He was right under my nose. This whole time, he-”

Spencer crossed to her, drew her to her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “He was under all our noses the whole time. You’re the only one who had a clue what was really going on.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “A lot of bloody good it did anybody.”

She was trying so hard to be tough. To focus on her anger. To pretend she didn’t hurt. Didn’t feel helpless.

He trailed his thumbs across her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. Stop looking at me that way.”

“Sorry, Killian. No can do.”

He bent and kissed her. Her lips trembled beneath his. He tasted the saltiness of her tears.

She flattened her hands against his chest. “Stop it,” she said again. “Stop making me feel weak.”

“Because you have to be strong.”

She tilted up her chin. “Yes.”

“So you can stand up to the bad guys. Kick their asses, maybe even save the world.”

She stepped away from him. “I think you should go.”

“So it can be just you and Mr. Glock?”

“Yes.”

“Your choice, Stacy. If you change your mind, you have my number.”

He drained his beer, collected the take-out and left her. He crossed to the NOPD cruiser parked in front of the duplex. He bent and greeted the officers inside. “Keep a close eye on the place. I’m going to catch a few hours’ shut-eye, then I’ll be back.”