Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 7

Tuesday, March 1, 2005

9:00 a.m.

The University of New Orleans sat squarely on 195 acres of prime Lake Pontchartrain-fronted property. Established in 1956 on a former U.S. navy air station, UNO catered mostly to those living in the metro region of Louisiana ’s largest city.

The campus couldn’t compare to the state’s flagship school, Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, or to the ivy-covered prestige of uptown New Orleans ’ Tulane University, but it had managed to secure itself a solid reputation of quality for a medium-size university. The schools of Maritime Engineering, Hotel and Restaurant Management and of all things, Film, were particularly highly rated.

Stacy parked in the student lot closest to the University Center. The UC was the hub of social activity on campus, particularly since most of the students lived off campus and commuted. If a student wasn’t in class or at the library studying, they were shooting the breeze in the UC.

It was there, Stacy was certain, she would run across Cassie’s friends.

She entered the building, found a table and dumped her backpack before sca

She bought a cup of coffee and a muffin and carried them back to her table. She sat, unpacked Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the novel she was reading for her class on Later Romantics, but didn’t open it.

Instead, she sweetened her coffee and took a sip, thoughts scrolling forward to her goal for the day. Make contact with Cassie’s friends. Question them about White Rabbit and the night of Cassie’s death. Get something solid to move forward on.

She had spoken with Cassie’s mother the night before. She’d called to express her condolences and to make arrangements for Caesar. The woman had been in shock and her responses to Stacy’s questions had been robotic. She’d told Stacy that as soon as the coroner’s office released Cassie’s body, she pla

Stacy had agreed. Cassie had had a lot of friends; they would want the opportunity to say goodbye.

And the police would want an opportunity to see who attended the service.

Killers, particularly thrill killers, were known to attend their victims’ funerals. They also had a proclivity for visiting their victims’ graves or revisiting the scene of their crime. Through those activities they relived the sick thrill they had derived from the act.

Had Cassie and Beth’s murders been thrill kills? Stacy didn’t think so. Neither shooting had the ritualistic aspects of most thrill kills, but that didn’t exclude the possibility. She’d found that for every rule, there was an exception-especially when it came to human behavior.

Stacy caught sight of two members of Cassie’s game group. Ella and Magda, she remembered. They were laughing as they made their way from the concession line to a table, their expressions carefree.

They hadn’t heard yet.

She stood and crossed to their table. They looked up and smiled, recognizing her. “Hey, Stacy. What’s up?”

“May I sit down? I need to ask you something.”

At her expression, their smiles slipped. They motioned to one of the empty chairs and she sank onto it. She decided to ask about the game first. Once she told them about Cassie, the chance of getting a coherent answer was slim.

“Have either of you heard of a game scenario called White Rabbit?”

The two women exchanged glances. Ella spoke up first. “You’re not a gamer, Stacy. Why so interested?”

“So you have heard of it.” When they didn’t respond, she added, “It’s really important. It has to do with Cassie.”

“Cassie?” The woman frowned and looked at her watch. “I expected her to be here already. She e-mailed us both Sunday night. Said to be here by nine this morning, she had a surprise.”

A surprise.

White Rabbit.

Stacy leaned toward them. “What time did she e-mail?”

Both women thought a moment; Ella answered first. “Around 8:00 p.m. for me. Magda?”

“The same, I guess.”

“Have you heard of the game?”

They glanced at each other again, then nodded. “Neither of us has played, though,” Magda offered.

Ella jumped in. “White Rabbit is…sort of radical. It’s totally underground. Passed from gamer to gamer. To learn the game, you have to know someone who plays. As a group, they’re really cla

“And secretive,” Magda added.

“What about the Internet? Surely you can find information about it there?”

“Information,” Ella murmured, “sure. But a player’s bible, not that I’ve seen. You, Mag?” She looked at the other woman, who shook her head.

No wonder Cassie had been so excited. What a coup.

“Is it played online? Or real time?”

“Both, I guess. Like most.” Ella frowned slightly. “Real time is Cassie’s favorite. We all like getting together as a group to game.”

“It’s more social that way,” Magda offered. “Playing on the computer is for the folks who can’t find a group to play with or who don’t have the time to devote to real play.”

Ella jumped in. “Or are in it simply for the thrill of it.”

“Which is?”

“Outmaneuvering and outwitting their opponents.”

“Did Cassie mention meeting someone who played?”

“Not to me.” Ella looked at Magda. “You?”

The other girl shook her head once more.

“What else can you tell me about it?”

“Not much.” Ella looked at her watch again. “It’s weird that Cassie hasn’t shown up.” She looked at her friend. “Check your cell pho-”

Just then another of their group, Amy, called their names. They turned to see her making her way toward them. Judging by the girl’s face, she had heard about Cassie. Stacy braced herself for the scene to come.

“Y’all, oh my God!” she said when she reached the table. “I just heard the most horrible thing! Cassie’s…I can’t…she’s-” She brought a shaking hand to her mouth, eyes filling with tears.

“What?” Magda asked. “What’s wrong with Cassie?”

Amy began to cry. “She’s…dead.”

Ella launched to her feet, sending her chair skidding backward. People at the surrounding tables looked their way. “That can’t be true, I just talked to her!”

“Me, too!” Magda cried. “How-”

“The police came by the dorm this morning. They want to talk to you guys, too.”

“The police?” Magda said, looking panicked. “I don’t understand.”

Amy sank onto a chair, dissolving once again into tears.

“Cassie was murdered,” Stacy said quietly. “Sunday night.”

Magda simply stared. Ella rounded on her, face pinched with anger and grief. “You’re lying! Who would hurt Cassie?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

For a moment the three were silent. They stared blankly at her. Then understanding crept into Ella’s expression. “That’s why you were asking all those questions about White Rabbit. You think-”

“The game?” Amy asked, through tears.

“I saw Cassie Friday,” Stacy explained. “She said she met someone who played. He was going to introduce her to a Supreme White Rabbit. Did she say anything to you about it, Amy?”

“Uh-uh. I talked to her Sunday night. She said she was going to have a surprise for us this morning. She sounded really happy.”

“We got an e-mail saying the same thing,” Magda offered.

“Anything else?”

“She had to go. Said someone was at the door.”

Stacy’s heart beat faster. Someone. Her killer? “She give you a name?”