Last Known Victim

Closer inspection revealed Shauna’s purse and cell phone were gone. Her clothes and toiletries all appeared accounted for. The message light on the phone was blinking. They returned to the kitchen, to the phone’s base station. Patti hit Play. An obviously still angry Rich’s voice filled the room. That call had come in at 9:10 p.m. Then another at nine-forty and another pretty much every half hour. As the calls progressed, his tone shifted from angry to concerned. His were the only calls that had come in.

“He called from his cell phone,” Spencer murmured, checking the display. “They’re 232 numbers. He could have made the calls from anywhere.”

Patti brought a hand to her temple. Exactly what she had said about Yvette’s calls to Tonya.

“Aunt Patti?” There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. She met his gaze.

“That note you got this morning from the Artist. What did it say again?”

“Now you begin to regret your interference.”

“That’s what I thought it said. Do you think there’s any chance-”

“I don’t want to go there, Spencer. Not yet. Let’s make certain she’s actually missing. Call everyone in the family, find out if they’ve heard from her and when’s the last time they talked to her. Call June and Riley at the gallery, ask the same thing.”

“And if none of them have heard from her?”

“Move on to friends and acquaintances. Anyone you can think of. Get a couple of uniforms over to begin a door-to-door, and bring Ruston downtown for further questioning.”

“And if none of it pans out?”

“Then we’ll talk about the Artist.”

65

Friday, May 18, 2007

12:10 p.m.

No one in the family had heard from Shauna. The neighborhood sweep had turned up little except for one neighbor confirming the time of Shauna and Rich’s fight and that he had, indeed, stormed out. This information had come from the single mother who lived next door.

Rich had provided a list of friends and acquaintances; the ones they had been able to reach had not seen or heard from her.

Spencer had yet to speak with Stacy, but he didn’t hold out much hope that Shauna was with her.

He tapped on Patti’s open door.

She waved him in. “How’d it go with Ruston?”

“He stuck to his story like he was glued to it. Never varied.”

“You think he’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I do. He didn’t exhibit any of the signs of lying. Kept eye contact, didn’t even break a sweat. Seemed genuinely freaked out. Of course, none of that means he was being truthful.”

Just that, if he was lying, he was really good at it.

“I want to put someone on Ruston, anyway. I don’t want him to make a move we don’t know about.”

“Agreed.” Spencer flexed his fingers, frustrated, itching to act. “This is such bullshit! Why are we sitting here when we should be out there, looking for her!”

“An all-radio bulletin has been sent,” she said, countering his emotion with calm. “Every patrol unit has Shauna’s description.”

“Where the hell’s the rest of the family?”

“On their way.”

As if on cue, John Jr. burst into the office. Moments behind him was Percy, then Mary. Quentin rolled in last, out of breath.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was in court. What’s the emergency?”

“Shauna,” Percy said. “She’s gone missing.”

“Gone missing? What the hell?”

“Where’s Stacy?” Mary asked.

“Not certain,” Spencer replied. “On the job. I’ll fill her in.”

Patti began, “There’s a chance Shauna’s been abducted by a killer who calls himself the Artist.”

She passed around the note she’d received that morning. While they each read it, she filled them in on the investigation so far-their suspicions about Yvette, the notes, the co

Spencer stepped in. “This chick’s good, no doubt about it. But parts of her story weren’t adding up. We called her in for questioning yesterday, then acquired a search warrant. Now she’s gone.”

“And suddenly the Artist is back in play,” Patti added. “In addition, the department psychologist said it’s possible that Yvette’s acting out a fantasy. When I stopped believing in it, I incurred her ire.”

“But why would Shauna go anywhere with Borger?” asked Percy.

“Shauna met Yvette at June’s gallery the night of her opening,” Patti said. “So she wouldn’t have been a stranger. Somehow she convinced her into coming with her.”

They all began talking at once.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Ruston’s a creep, he could be lying.”

“Could be,” Patti agreed, “but we don’t think so.”

“We have another option,” Quentin offered quietly.

Everyone looked at him. “That Yvette was telling the truth about the Artist.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Mary cleared her throat. “Which could mean the Artist has Yvette and Shauna.”

Two women’s lives in danger.

Spencer’s cell phone vibrated; certain it was finally Stacy, he answered without checking the display.

“I was getting worried. Where are you?”

“Malone?”

Not Stacy. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Rene Baxter. I was wondering if Killian’s with you.”

For a moment Spencer allowed himself to doubt what he’d heard, then he went cold with dread.

Not Stacy. Please not Stacy, too.

He lifted his gaze-and found Patti looking at him. He shifted his attention back to Rene. “She’s not there?”

“Checked in this morning, then disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’? She’s not a goddammed ghost!”

The room around him went silent. He felt as if someone had just set a piano on his chest.

“Chill, man. She was here and went out. I assumed-”

“She say anything to Cooper?”

“No. Like I was saying-”

“Is her SUV there?”

“Didn’t check. Just assumed-”

“Check, dammit! Now! I’m on my way.”

66

Friday, May 18, 2007

9:00 p.m.

Late that afternoon it had become official-Stacy was missing. No one had seen or spoken with her since that morning. Her Explorer was still parked in the lot that serviced the Eighth District station.

Spencer was out of his mind with worry. The Malone clan had gathered at John Jr.’s and set up a sort of family “command central.” The women had strict orders not to go off alone. Same for the children, though Patti didn’t believe the Artist would harm them.

The Artist had established his MO: he-or she-went for women, even when the punishment was directed not at them but at her.

Now you begin to regret your interference.

Word had spread throughout the department, and support from the rest of the force had been overwhelming. An incredible amount of manpower had been dedicated to finding the two women-and protecting the others. Off-duty patrols volunteered to cruise neighborhoods or stand watch at John Jr.’s.

This was an act against their own. Against a family who had given their lifeblood to the NOPD. Against a detective who, although new to the force, had stayed during the worst natural disaster in American history and laid her life on the line for their community, their people.

Patti was moved by their support. She prayed it helped keep the people she loved safe. But in her heart she knew the Artist wouldn’t rest until she had been punished to his satisfaction.

He had found her most tender spot-her family. He had realized that hurting them would wound her more than any physical act against her person.

Not so long ago, she had thought that she had nothing left to lose. How wrong she had been.

And until the maniac decided on his next move, she, the rest of her family, and the entire NOPD were helpless.

She pulled up to her home. Not a light shone from its windows. The porch was dark. When she’d left this morning, finding Yvette had been her only priority.