See Jane Die (37 page)

Thursday, November 13, 2003
7:10 p.m
.

W
ith a cry, Jane ran to Mac. He gathered her into his arms, held her against his broad chest. She clung to him, trembling.

Thank God, she thought. Thank God. Another couple of minutes and it would have been too late.

He set her away from him, searched her expression. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I—” As with a will of their own, her gaze went to Dave. One of Mac's bullets had caught him square between his eyes. He lay faceup on her foyer floor, mouth open, eyes staring vacantly. A pool of blood slowly crept across her honeyed wooden floor.

Jane swayed, light-headed. “I don't feel so well.”

Mac pulled the armchair away from the foyer wall. “Sit,” he ordered, leading her to the chair. “Head between your knees. Breathe deeply.”

She did. She heard him unholster his phone, flip it open and dial. Headquarters, she thought. Report what had happened. Get a crew over.

Instead, he greeted her sister. “Stacy, got your message.
I'm nearly there now. Don't worry, I've got everything covered. First sign of trouble, I'll call in reinforcements.”

Mac lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “I've been thinking. About you and me. I…I love you, Stacy.”

Jane lifted her head. She stared at him, confused.

He ended his call and looked at her. And smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. They were expressionless, the eyes of a man with no soul.

She stared at him in horror, realizing the truth.

Not Dave. Mac. He accurately read her expression and his smile widened. “That's right, big sister's boyfriend is the bad guy.”

Her gaze jumped to Dave, the growing circle of blood. Mac followed her gaze. “On the other hand, Davey-boy here is going to be the fall guy.”

Mac reholstered the phone, then dipped his fingers into a jacket pocket, retrieving a pair of latex gloves—the kind surgeons and crime-scene techs wore.

Or criminals who didn't want to leave prints.

He fitted them on. “I suppose you'd like me to fill you in? Give you a little closure? I suppose I owe you that.”

Unable to find her voice, she nodded.

“I met Dave while working Vice. You see, your old friend has, had,” he corrected, “a gambling problem. A big one, actually.” Mac flexed his fingers in the gloves, adjusting the fit. “Got himself into a bit of a bind with a mob-backed bookie. Pretty boy here was in trouble. The cops on one side, that would be me, by the way, and thugs hired by the bookie on the other.”

“So he turned to you,” she said, surprised by the strength of her voice when she found it.

“Yes. Begging. If I would help him, he'd make us both rich. He had a foolproof plan.”

Jane felt ill. “My millions.”

“Smart girl.” He went on. “I paid off the most pressing of his debt and we made our plan. Dave was convinced that if Ian was out of the picture, especially tragically, you would
turn to him. You and he would marry and Dave would have access to your millions. Unfortunately, of course, the marriage would end tragically.”

Mac crossed to Dave, bent and carefully eased the cord from his lifeless fingers.

“We planned everything so carefully,” he murmured. “Down to the last detail. But Davey-boy here has trouble closing escrow. If you know what I mean?”

She shook her head that she didn't.

“He really did love you, in his own sick way. It became clear to me that he wouldn't be able to go through with it. I started to pick up vibes that he was going to end up a rich husband—and I was going to be out in the cold.”

He glanced at his watch as if estimating how much time remained. “But I don't need Dave. Stacy's my ticket to easy street.”

Jane realized what he was saying. He and Stacy had become lovers. Stacy had confided to her that Mac might be the one. And if Jane died, Stacy would inherit.

“So you took matters into your own hands?” she said, voice shaking. “Changed the plan.”

“Yes. Everyone will assume the boater who'd been terrorizing you—the same one who killed Doobie—had finally finished you off. You've been telling anyone who would listen that this guy's a killer. Doobie's death proved it. Stacy's fallen in line with your thinking. As have I.” He grinned at that. “We've even managed to convince our captain.”

“But Ian—”

“Ian will be found guilty of the murders of Elle Vanmeer, Marsha Tanner and perhaps Lisette Gregory as well. The evidence against your husband is quite damning. He will most probably be sentenced to death.”

He had it all figured out. Ian's life lost…hers. Stacy's. There was no way out
. A sound escaped her, like an animal in pain.

“Of course, we now know that the boater was your good friend Dave Nash.” He grinned. “Shocking, isn't it?”

The sly amusement in his tone caught her attention. “What are you saying?”

Mac laughed. “You still don't get it, do you? There was no boat captain appearing from the past. No story told by a snitch named Doobie.”

She shook her head, confused. “But Doobie, he existed. I saw him dead in the alley.”

“He existed, all right. The story was a fabrication. And a damn clever one at that.”

Jane stared at him, blood running cold. “I don't understand. What—”

“We used your fears against you, Jane. Dave knew them all. He knew you'd believe the notes were genuine, that they were from the boat captain who nearly killed you. And he knew you would manage to convince Stacy as well.”

Jane brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Dave had known all her deep, dark fears. Her every nightmare. He had counseled her about them.

You have everything to lose, Jane. You fear he's going to come back. Take it all away
.

So he had made it happen. At the time he was already making it happen
.

Dear God, she had given him all the keys—all he had done was open the doors. “What about Ted?” she asked.

“Walked in on me planting the coat and cap.”

She'd been right about that
. “But the alarm code…how did you—”

“Get in? I'm the police, Jane. I got it from the alarm company.”

“You killed Ted.”

“I did them all, actually. Dave didn't have the stomach for it. It's really no loss that he's dead.”

“All those lives taken.” Her voice shook. “How can you—”

“Live with myself?” He laughed. “Don't worry, I'll manage. And in style, too. Thank you very much.”

He felt no regret. No remorse for his actions. For the lives
he had taken. A psychopath, she realized. At once frighteningly sane and totally amoral.

“Each served a purpose,” Mac continued, tone conversational. “None died in vain. Doobie's death convinced the DPD that your stalker was real. And that he was dangerous.”

“And the women?”

“To set Ian up, obviously. To get him out of the way. I needed you isolated and terrified. With no one to turn to.”

The way she had been that day in the water
.

“The first victim was key. We needed to find a woman who had been both Ian's patient and lover. A woman who wouldn't hesitate to fall into bed with me. Elle was perfect.”

“You arranged to meet her at La Plaza.”

“She did,” he corrected. “The woman had a voracious sexual appetite.”

“How did you find her?”

“Davey boy. Marsha trusted him, because of you. He
happened
to bump into her at her favorite coffeehouse. He made it a regular thing. Chatted her up. Pretended great interest in all her plastic surgery stories.”

Jane fought to maintain a semblance of calm. “Elle was one of Marsha's stories.”

“You got it. She didn't care for the woman. Didn't know why her boss had ever had anything to do with her.”

“But why?” she whispered. “Why have you done all this to me?”

He leaned toward her and she saw amusement in his eyes. She realized he was enjoying himself. “The money, Jane. Of course, the money. All those pretty millions of yours.”

He grasped either end of the cord, wrapped them around his hands and gave them a tug. “Unfortunately I arrived too late to save you. Of course, I didn't know that and had to shoot Nash to get him to release you.”

His call to Stacy. Dave's prints on the cord. It all fit
.

“Stacy will be devastated, but I'll be there to help her through her grief. I'll be the man she's always dreamed of.”
He moved toward her, his smile chilling. “Dave knew all of Stacy's fears as well.”

“You bastard!” she cried. “Leave her alone!”

He laughed softly. “Sorry, no can do. In fact, I'm thinking she and I will marry. The sooner the better. We'll live happily ever after…at least until one of us passes away. Prematurely. Tragically.”

Jane darted her glance from right to left, realizing he had trapped her. At least if she forced him to use his gun, she would make it harder for him to get away with it.

Stacy wouldn't just accept; she would be suspicious. She would uncover the truth. She wouldn't fall for his tricks.

Dear God, please, don't let her fall for them
.

Jane made a run for it. He caught her easily. Laughing, he dragged her against his broad chest. Got the cord around her neck. In the kitchen, it sounded as if Ranger was going to tear his kennel apart.

Jane fought. She didn't have a chance at escaping, she knew that. Her hope was to mark him in a way that would raise suspicion. Stacy's suspicion. His fellow officers'.

“Enough,” he muttered, and tightened his grip.

Pinpricks of light danced before her eyes. Jane clawed at his hands; the gloves protected him. She kicked, her efforts ineffective. Her feet slipped out from under her. From the corners of her eyes, she saw a flash of black and white. Ranger, she realized, her vision dimming.
He had torn his kennel apart
.

The next instant she was sprawled on the floor. Free. Coughing, gasping for breath. She heard Mac's grunt of pain, the animal's snarl. A shot rang out. A high whine of pain followed.

Ranger! God, no!

“Fuck this!” Mac shouted, dragging her back to her feet. “Come on, then. Time to see Jane die.”

Thursday, November 13, 2003
7:35 p.m
.

F
rom the street-level foyer, Stacy heard the gunshot, an animal's cry of pain. She holstered her cell phone and heart pounding, raced up the stairs, gun out, hugging the stairwell wall. She prayed she wasn't too late.

Her cheeks were wet. While with her captain and the Internal Affairs officers she had realized the truth: Dave didn't have the ability to pull off this plan on his own. He'd had an accomplice.

Someone who understood the intricacies of crime scenes and the laws of evidence. Someone who'd had a connection to all the players: a snitch, a prostitute, the prosecution and the homicide division of the Dallas Police Department.

And a connection to her
.

Mac was the one. He had worked Vice. He had most probably met Dave because of his gambling problems. By his own account, he had used Doobie's services. And she would bet if she dug into Sassy's file, she would see that Mac McPherson had been the arresting officer on one—or several—of her busts. He was the only one who had known about her checking out the La Plaza security tape and showing it to her sister.

He had set her up. Tipped Internal Affairs. To tie her up while he completed the last part of his plan. Killing Jane.

All the pieces had fallen into place while the IA guys and her captain had been questioning her. It had been so clear. When he had transferred to Homicide, Mac had requested to partner with Stacy. She had assumed their partnership had been the captain's doing.

She had asked her captain if it was true. He'd confirmed it.

The last piece of the puzzle
.

They hadn't believed her, of course. Had thought her claim that Mac was a murderer a pathetic attempt to divert. To exonerate her. So she had asked to use the bathroom and had simply walked out.

Knowing they would come after her. Praying they would.

Jane's door stood open. She heard the sounds of a scuffle: a man grunt of exertion, Ranger's whimpers of pain. Heart in her throat, Stacy stepped through, gun drawn.

No time to wait for back-up
.

“Back off, you bastard!” she shouted. “Back the fuck off, now!”

Mac loosened his grip but didn't release Jane. He grimaced. “You made it. I'm surprised. I thought this afternoon's visit from Internal Affairs would keep you tied up longer.”

“Outsmarted them.” She narrowed her eyes. “The anonymous tip to IA did come from you.”

“Yes, indeed. And the evidence-room log confirmed its accuracy. Clever, yes?”

She thought of the cell phone, the call she had sent a moment before she started up Jane's stairs.
Not as clever as he thought. If the call went through
.

“And when you transferred in, you asked to be partnered with me.”

“Right again. Said I admired your work. Thought we'd make a good team. Captain jumped on the opportunity. Because of your history as Ball-buster Killian.” He grinned. “None of those losers knew how to get to you. Lesser men, all.”

He was so proud of himself, it made her sick. “You're not as smart as you think, McPherson.”

“And you're not as surprised as I expected. What tipped you?”

“Crime-scene photo of the dead prostitute. Or should I call her the bag lady from the alley?”

When he looked blank, she went on. “I traded her my crucifix for the phone. I must have neglected to tell you. So sorry.”

“And it was pictured in the crime-scene photo. Son of a bitch.”

She firmed her grip on the Glock, careful to keep her gaze trained on Mac, her focus on getting the job done. If she dared a look at Jane, she feared she would lose it.

“You're the only one who had a connection to all the players.” He swore again and she smiled grimly. “You know,” she said, “at the time I traded, I felt funny about doing it. Like God wouldn't be with me if I wasn't wearing it. Looks like the opposite was true. He was looking out for me all along.”

Mac sneered at that. Her suggestion of a higher power, that nothing but a glitch had skewered his plans. But she would expect no less from an amoral, murdering asshole. She told him so.

He flushed. “You needed a prop, Stacy. A trick. Some detective you are. All along, I gave you clues. Didn't I tell you, don't get emotionally involved? That when emotionally involved, you make mistakes? What did you do? Fall right into the sack with the bad guy. Didn't I tell you again and again that Jane was wrong about the boater? That she wanted to believe it, so she did? Jesus, Stacy, get a clue!”

He was right
. She had fallen in line with his plans because she had so desperately wanted to. She had waited so long for a man like him. The man she had believed him to be.

“Let her go,” she said evenly. “Step away slowly. Drop your weapon.”

“Don't be stupid, Stacy. Think about this. We can be together. Live like Dallas royalty.”

“We could, Mac. But there's a down side. I'd be living like royalty with a snake. Doesn't sound too appealing.”

“The money should have been half yours, anyway. Jane always got everything, didn't she? All the money. All the attention. Then she even got the guy. The one you found. The one you wanted.”

He delivered the words with a triumphant smirk. The joke was on him. They had no effect on her. Her feelings of bitterness, jealousy and resentment over Jane's good fortune were gone.

“Some people will do anything for money. Isn't that what you said? Commit murder. Send an innocent man to death. Romance a lonely lady. Thing is, Mac, I didn't realize you were talking about yourself.”

“No apologies. But don't feel too bad, babe. It wasn't all business. You're an attractive woman and a damn fine lay. We could have a good time. A lot of laughs.”

“You're right,” she agreed. “And I insist on having the last one.” With her free hand, she went for her phone, brought it to her ear. “You get all that, Captain?”

Mac's expression went slack with surprise, then tightened with fury. He released Jane, went for his gun. Stacy dropped the phone and fired. She caught him in the chest before he had even drawn his weapon. She fired again continuously, emptying her magazine into him.

The gun slipped from his fingers, his expression curiously blank—as if the life inside him had expired long ago. If it had ever existed.

He went down. Stacy stared at him a moment, then stepped over his still form to get to her sister's side. She knelt beside her. “You okay?” she asked.

Jane tried to speak. She managed to get one word out, a painful-sounding croak. “Ranger—”

“We'll take care of him. Save your voice.” She saw that her sister's throat was badly bruised, the clear outline of the cord circled her neck like a purple choker.

Mac could have crushed Jane's esophagus. One more
minute and she would have died. Five more and he might have gotten away with it. Would he have been able to talk her into his version of the truth?

Stacy honestly didn't know. She would have wanted to believe him
.

Hands shaking, she retrieved her phone. “You still there, Captain?”

“You bet your ass, I'm still here. What the hell just went down?”

“McPherson's dead,” she said flatly. “Canine unit in need of medical care.”

“Done.” She heard him shout the order for an ambulance. “You've got some explaining to do, Detective Killian.”

As she agreed, a half a dozen DPD officers burst through the door. “The cavalry's here,” she said.

“It's about time,” he responded. “Ask them what took them so long.”

“Will do. But it'll have to wait. I'll call you back.”

She hung up on her captain and handed the phone to Jane. “Call Ian's lawyer. Your husband's coming home.”