See Jane Die (36 page)

Thursday, November 13, 2003
5:30 p.m
.

S
tacy sat at her desk, staring at the far wall. Dave had always lived well. Owned the best: car, condo, clothing. He liked to travel. Had been to Vegas a number of times. Mentioned visiting the Santa Anita racetrack when in California.

But she had never thought of him as a gambler.

How had it begun? she wondered. That first vacation to Las Vegas? A trip to the dog track? Betting on football games? When had casual entertainment become a crushing addiction?

Because, if what Benny had said was true, Dave wasn't a casual gambler. He had a real problem and had gotten himself into a world of hurt.

In Texas a gambling charge was a class C misdemeanor, punishable by a fine of up to five hundred dollars. It sounded as if Dave's situation was considerably more complicated. He had entangled himself with a bookie who had mob connections, one who was the target of a DPD sting operation. He owed that bookie money. Serious money he didn't have.

How could he have been so stupid?

She wondered if Benny could have been mistaken about Dave, then shook her head at the absurdity of the thought.
Hardly. They had Dave on tape; they meant to drag him into the investigation leveraging their charges against him to earn his cooperation.

Thoughts of Benny brought ones of the dead hooker. She recalled how something about her had seemed familiar.

It had nagged her at the time, it did now. Maybe she should figure out why. Benny could help. She glanced at her watch. She had the time; her captain didn't seem in a hurry to get to her.

She thumbed through the stack of unanswered messages on her desk. She located the one from Benny, saw that he had left his cell number and dialed it.

He answered immediately. “Rodriguez.”

“Benny, Stacy. That dead hooker, you got a file on her?”

“Sure, a thick one. What do you need?”

“I thought I might take a look at it.”

“Anytime. Mind telling me why?”

She explained. He was silent for a moment after. “Interesting. Look, before you come slumming with us Vice guys, check with Liberman or Mac. They've got most of what I do.”

Stacy thanked him and hung up. She crossed to her partner's desk and began rifling through the stacks on his desk until she found Gwen Noble's file. She flipped it open and began scanning the information. First arrest at age sixteen. Solicitation. A couple dozen since then, same charge.

Pretty typical. Nothing jumped out at Stacy. She set those pages aside and turned to the crime-scene photos.

And saw it right away, what she had been too distracted to see before.

Sassy was wearing a crucifix like the one Stacy had traded to the bag lady that day in the alley. Gold with inlaid turquoise and mother of pearl.

Stacy shifted her gaze to the victim's face, picturing the bag lady. The hooker had been twenty-four. Stacy had assumed the indigent to be considerably older than that. But the woman's face had been filthy, the dirt ground in to every line and crease. Which would have made her appear older.

Stacy remembered the woman's hands. She had noted how clean they were. She had been surprised by the fact but had shrugged it off.

Because she had wanted to believe what she was seeing.

But what she had seen was an illusion.

Son of a bitch
. Stacy shuffled through the photos, coming to a close-up shot of the woman's broken neck. The necklace was captured in the shot and Stacy caught her breath.

Not a crucifix like the one she had traded.
The one
she had traded.

The woman who had handed them a key piece of evidence linking Ian Westbrook to the death of Lisette Gregory had been a fake. Not a street person. A prostitute hired to play a part.

And now that woman was dead.

Had she been killed to keep her quiet?

She jumped to her feet. Mac. She needed to get hold of him ASAP. He would—

She froze as his words from earlier popped into her head.
Some people will do anything for money
.

Dave was in trouble. He needed cash. Jane had plenty. Millions, as a matter of fact.

Some people would do anything for money—or for love. When the two motivations joined, they made a potent combination. A deadly one.

What lengths would he go to to have her and her millions? Just how desperate was he?

It seemed impossible, Stacy acknowledged. But the pieces fit. Dave had access to Jane. Her thoughts and fears. Her routine. Her home and studio. Stacy recalled that night at the hospital, Dave's expression as he sat beside Jane's bed. Had his anguish been an expression of his love? Or guilt at what he had caused?

She flipped open her cell phone and dialed Mac. “Dave Nash is the one,” she said to his message service. “He's Jane's stalker. The boat captain Doobie was so frightened of and Ted's killer. He planted the coat, hat and gloves, I'm certain of it.” She worked to keep her voice steady. “And he's
with Jane now, though he has no idea I'm onto him. Meet me there. ASAP.”

As she ended the message, her cell beeped, indicating she had missed a call. She checked the number on the display. The loft. Ten minutes ago.

Her heart in her throat, she punched in Jane's number. Dave answered immediately, tone hushed.

She decided to play dumb about the missed call. If he had called, he would mention it. Right up front. “It's Stacy.”

“Hi, Stacy. You got my call?”

Relief rushed over her. “That was you?”

“Sure.” He sounded puzzled. “I thought you might like an update. She woke up, seemed fine. I made her some tea.”

“Could I speak with her?”

“Sorry. She went right back to sleep.”

Stacy let out a long breath. “And Ranger's there?”

“Sure, Stacy. Where else would he be?”

She forced a laugh. “This whole thing has made me jumpy. Look Dave…don't kennel him, okay? Just in case you need protection.”

“Is there something you're not telling me?”

The question was, what hadn't he told her?

Maybe nothing. Could be he was the same old Dave she had always known. She had made a pretty big leap from gambling addiction to murder
.

“Like I said, just jumpy. I'll check back in soon.”

She hung up. As she holstered her phone, she replayed his words, looking for an indication of guilt. And found none. He had seemed the Dave she had always known.

Which meant exactly nothing, considering the turn of events.

Or everything, if she was wrong.

A damn big if.

She could call in the cavalry, order a half-dozen officers to the scene. But if she was wrong, the captain would have her badge.

Dave had no idea they were onto him, which meant
Jane was in no immediate danger. The last thing she wanted to do was alarm him. Force him to do something drastic. Or desperate.

In fact, he probably believed he had gotten away with it. The final piece of the puzzle, the one that would ensure Ian's conviction, had been found today.

If anything, he was feeling buoyed. Confident.

Deep breath, Killian. Keep it together. Travel time would be thirty minutes, minimum. Chances were good that Mac would beat her there. He wouldn't act until she arrived—if Jane wasn't in immediate danger.

She grabbed her jacket and darted for the door. Kitty stood when she saw her. “Captain's free now,” she said. “He asked me to—”

“Not now,” Stacy answered. “I'll catch up with him later—”

“Now, Killian.” Her captain stepped out of his office, expression grim.

She glanced at her watch, heart tripping in her chest. “But there's something…it's an emergency. My sister—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off, “your sister.” Two men appeared in the doorway behind him. “Killian, this is Williams and Cooper. Internal Affairs. They'd like to have a word with you.”

Thursday, November 13, 2003
6:30 p.m
.

J
ane watched Dave pace. He muttered to himself and every so often stopped and dragged his hands through his hair. His agitation bordered on desperate.

She had overheard his conversation with Stacy, even though he had stepped into the hall and closed the bedroom door. He had managed to sound sane. He had hung up and, without a word to her, begun pacing.

Why? Because he knew he had revealed himself to her? Because he sensed time was running out?

She could have screamed; Stacy would have heard her. But she would have forced his hand. And she believed she could reason with him.

She prayed she didn't live to regret her decision.

“Dave?” she said softly. He stopped and looked at her. She patted the side of the bed. “You look upset.”

“I'm fine. Worried about you.”

She forced a smile. “Don't be. Come sit by me. I think we need to talk.”

He did as she asked, expression wary

“Why did you tell Stacy I was sleeping?”

“Because you need your rest.”

“We've been friends most of our lives, you can talk to me.” She tried to infuse her tone with a mix of reproach and understanding. “Tell me the truth, Dave.”

“I think you already know the truth. Because I screwed up. Knowing about the evidence.” He flexed his fingers. “You weren't asleep when Stacy called me.”

She decided on honesty. “No, I wasn't.”

“All this and something so stupid—” He looked her in the eyes. “I feel really bad about this, Jane.”

Sudden anger took her breath. She worked to keep a hold of it, but some crept into her tone, anyway. “Feel bad that you planned it all? Or that you gave yourself away?”

“I love you, Jane. You have to believe me. I would never hurt you.”

“No? What do you call what you've done to me? You think Ian's being arrested didn't hurt? What about the death of people I cared about? The loss of my child?”

She fought for control with limited success. “You think that day at the lake didn't hurt? All these years I thought you were my friend. I trusted you. Now I learn you're the one.”

He made a move to stand; she stopped him. “Did you overhear us planning to skip school? To go to the lake? Did you follow us? When you saw me there, did you decide you wanted to punish me? My screams were payment for rejecting you?”

He looked hurt, then angry. “This is what I get? For being your friend? Your champion and defender?”

“Shouldn't you say, my creator? After all, my life started after the accident. Your words, Dave.”

Angry color flooded his cheeks. “You were supposed to be mine. Your money was supposed to be mine. Who was always there for you? Me.” He jumped to his feet, dragging her up with him. “Me!” he repeated, voice rising. “Not Ian!”

He shook her so hard her teeth rattled. Her anger gave way to fear. She moved her gaze frantically over the room. From the kitchen came Ranger's frantic barking. If she
could get to him, release him from his kennel…or get to the front door and the street.

There were people out at this time of night…Snake, his patrons. If she made the window and screamed, would one of them respond?

“You turned your back on me. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I didn't know,” she managed. “If I'd known—”

“Bullshit!” he shouted. “Lying bitch! You rejected me.”

“I didn't. I'm sorry.” Her voice trembled. “Please, forgive me. I love you, Dave.”

Tears filled his eyes. He released her; she stumbled backward, hitting the night table. The lamp went over, shooting crazy shadows on the wall.

“Forgive me for laying a hand on you.” He reached out, begging. “I would never hurt you. How could I? It's just…It's too much—”

He brought his hands to his face. She saw they shook. “I can't…go on this way. These men…I owe them…a lot of money. I borrowed against it, but now…the police they—”

She inched backward, groping for something to use as a weapon. She found the toppled lamp and grasped it. One chance, she acknowledged, that's all she would have.

“They know about it. I'm trapped. It's all coming apart. But we could go away together. You and me. Dave and Jane for all eternity.”

“That's Dick and Jane!” she shouted, swinging with as much force as she could muster. Dave looked up a split second before the lamp connected with the side of his head.

It did with a sickening crack. Blood spurted. His expression registered a kind of shocked disbelief. He stared at her, mouth working, blood running down the side of his face.

But he didn't go down
.

With a cry, Jane dropped the lamp, turned and dashed toward the front door.

She heard him behind her. Gaining. She hesitated, thinking of Ranger. If she could get to his kennel, free—

The front buzzer sounded. Sobbing, Jane lunged for the speaker box, hit the call button. “Help!” she cried into the speaker. “Help me!”

“Jane! It's Mac. Buzz me in.”

Sobbing with relief, she did, then made a grab for the door. She found the dead bolt and twisted it open. As she reached for the knob, something went around her neck, dragging her backward. A cord, she realized, her hands going to it. It was wet, sticky.

With blood. The cord from the lamp. Dave's blood
.

Dave was alternately cursing and begging her for forgiveness. He tightened the cord, cutting off her breath. She clawed at it, flailed at him with her fists. Kicked out. All to no avail.

From outside came what sounded like thunder. The pressure built in her head, until she thought it might explode; her vision began to dim.

The door burst open; Mac charged through, gun drawn. “Let her go, Nash! Now!”

A sound passed Dave's lips. Surprise. Or disbelief. His grip on her loosened. Jane fought her way free and fell to her knees, gasping for air.

Dave began to speak; Mac fired.

The blast resounded through the entryway. Dave's body jerked at the bullet's impact. Mac fired again. And again. As if in slow motion, Dave turned toward her. He lifted his arm, reached out to her, her name on his lips.

Then he went down.