Last Known Victim (36 page)

Saturday, May 19, 2007
2:50 p.m.

P
atti pulled onto a long, gravel drive and followed its graceful curve. The setting was beautiful: gently rolling hills, vibrant green pastures, mature oak, maple and dogwood trees, lush, manicured landscaping.

Folsum. Louisiana horse country. Home to celebrity polo, thoroughbred horse farms and country homes for the wealthy.

“This isn't it,” Yvette burst out. “It's so not it.”

Patti ignored her, just as she had ignored her the entire hour they had been on the road. Finally the young woman had given up and dozed.

The house came into view then, a sprawling Southern country house, white with black shutters and a front porch that ran the length of the house, lined with white rocking chairs.

Visiting Mimosa, as the Bensons' country place was named, was like taking a step back in time. To a gentle, uncomplicated era.

Patti had always found this one of the most beautiful places on earth. A place where she came to refresh her soul.

Until today.

“I don't understand why we're here.”

Patti wasn't sure she did, either. What she was thinking defied all logic. Defied all she knew to be true—not just with her head, but her heart as well—about her oldest and dearest friend.

“This is June's country place,” she said softly, drawing to a stop in front of the house. “I'm checking out a hunch.”

More than a hunch. A horrible, taunting fear.

Yvette held out her arms, rattled the cuffs. “Are you going to take these things off me?”

“Not until I know I can trust you.”

“No! Plea—”

Patti opened her door and slid out. “Wait here.” Before Yvette could respond, she slammed the door and started for the house.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet. Her heart beat heavily against the wall of her chest.

This couldn't be. June was her best friend.

To even consider this, she must be losing her mind. Sammy's death and the stress of the storm had finally gotten to her.

Patti removed her Glock from her shoulder holster.

All roads led directly back to June. Riley. The gallery. Max. June was the last woman to disappear.

She let herself in. Moved from the foyer into the large living room. The house was perfect, as always. It smelled of flowers and lemon polish; sunlight dappled the interior in a warm, welcoming light.

June stepped through the patio door and stopped dead. She held a big basket of fresh-cut flowers. Her cheeks were pink from the warm day.

“Patti! What in the world are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“For me? I don't understand.”

“You didn't answer your cell phone.”

“I wanted to get away…I've been so stressed. Overwhelmed. Riley's been driving me absolutely bonkers….” She frowned. “Patti, why do you have your gun?”

“We thought you'd been abducted.” She took several steps toward her.

“Abducted?” June laughed. “That's just silly.”

“You left Max home alone.”

“Never. Riley's taking care of him, of course.”

But Riley was dead. Murdered.

June shook her head, closed the patio door and headed into the room. “How about I get us an iced tea? You don't have to go back to the city right away, do you?”

Could she really not know?

“Patti? You're acting strangely.”

“I need to search the property, June.”

“Search the…That's crazy. I don't understand.”

“I'm sorry, but there's been an…incident.”

“An incident?” June repeated, looking confused. She gripped the basket's handle. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Riley's dead. The gallery's—”

June shifted her gaze; her eyes widened in surprise.

“You!” she cried. “Patti, watch ou—”

Patti swung around. Yvette stood in the doorway, her expression registering surprise, then horror.

Patti realized her mistake, but too late. June charged her, burying her shears in her back. Blinding pain speared through her.

She heard a scream. Yvette, she realized. She fell to her knees, then forward. Her head connected with the corner of the coffee table.

And everything went black.

Saturday, May 19, 2007
4:55 p.m.

S
pencer fought becoming discouraged. Tony had assembled a large team, many of them off-duty and volunteering their time. They had fanned out, using the spot where Messinger's body had been found as the epicenter.

It was hot, dirty work. The environment inside the buildings was damn near unbearable: stifling hot and airless, putrid. The thought of Stacy or Shauna trapped inside threatened to overwhelm him.

They'd been at it over an hour. Once the sun set they'd be out of luck until morning.

What if his hunch was wrong? Stacy and Shauna could be anywhere: Chalmette or lower Plaquemines. The Gulf Coast. Hell, they could be Uptown, in a high spot that had never seen one drop of flooding. He could have simply been grasping at straws.

The metro area was too big to search, even if the entire force volunteered.

“Detectives! We have something!”

The call came from a team two buildings over.

“John Jr.!” Spencer shouted, already running.

Heart thundering, he reached the three-story building. It looked like the ground floor had been a corner grocery, with a couple of apartments above. Once upon a time, the owners had probably lived above the store. A neighborhood kind of place.

The officer who'd made the find motioned him over, pointed to the wall, near the door, to the Orange
X.

Spencer went light-headed with fear.

Blood spatter. Definitely caused by a gunshot. He lowered his gaze. A bloody trail to the street. Then it stopped. Made by a victim being dragged to a vehicle.

Spencer was aware of John Jr. coming up behind him, out of breath. Heard his explosive expletive.

A victim. Who?

“Downstairs is clear,” the patrolman said. “There's no way to the second level.”

Yes, there was.
Metal stairs going to the second floor, one on each side of the building.

He darted for the ones on the right, John Jr. the ones on the left.

“Stacy!” he shouted, hitting the stairs. “Shauna!” The metal screamed in protest at his weight but held firm.

He shouted again. He heard his brother doing the same. Their shouts had drawn other teams within earshot.

Spencer reached the door and stopped cold. Padlocked. The lock was shiny, new.

What could be so valuable here, in this post-Katrina hell?

“They're here!” he yelled, drawing his weapon.

“Stacy, Shauna, if you can hear me, get back!”

Below him, John Jr. reached the staircase and started up. Spencer fired three shots, blowing the lock apart. He kicked in the door. Light spilled into the darkness, falling over Stacy and Shauna who were bound and gagged—
but alive.

With a sound of relief, he raced into the room, his brother at his heels. He reached Stacy, removed the gag. She gasped for air, then began coughing.

“Somebody!” he shouted, working at the duct tape securing her wrists. He was aware of his brother beside him doing the same for Shauna. “We need water!”

Within moments, he was handed a bottle of cold water. He held it to her lips.

When she'd had enough of the water, he moved his hands over her face, arms, searching, desperate for reassurance. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“N…no—”

“Thank God…thank God…I thought I'd lost you. I—” His voice broke.

“I've got to—” She struggled to speak, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Got to tell you—”

“I love you, too, Stacy. I was such an idiot. I—”

She laid a finger against his lips, stopping him. “I do love you,” she croaked. “But that's not…It's June,” she managed. “June Benson's the Handyman.”

Saturday, May 19, 2007
5:10 p.m.

P
atti came to. She lay on her side on the floor. She hurt. She tried to move and moaned as pain shot through her.

“Thank God. I was afraid you were dying.”

Yvette.
Patti cracked open her eyes. It took a moment for her vision to clear. When it did, she moved her gaze over the room.

A bathroom. Luxurious. Garden tub. Marble.

She settled it on Yvette. She still wore the cuffs. June had bound her ankles with duct tape. “Where…is she?”

“I don't know.” Yvette drew in a breath; it caught on a sob. “When she stabbed you, I tried to run for help. I didn't get far…I fell and with the cuffs—”

Couldn't get up fast enough.

“She has your gun. She said she'd shoot me.”

June. Her best friend. Trusted confidant. How could this be happening?

Patti recalled the sequence of events: turning her back to June; the scissors going into her back; the intense pain, then falling forward; not stopping herself in time and hitting her head on the coffee table; being knocked out.

“How bad am I?” she asked.

Yvette's eyes filled with tears. “Bad, I think. The scissors, they're still in…”

“My back?” Yvette nodded.

“How deep?”

“Pretty deep, I think.”

Patti breathed deeply against the dizziness. Obviously June hadn't hit anything vital, but too much could go wrong if she had Yvette try to remove them.

Yvette inched toward her. “What can I do?”

Patti pressed her lips together a moment. “I'm sorry I suspected you.”

“The way I acted, like such a brat…I don't blame you.”

“We've got to get out of here.”

“I tried. There's no way out.”

“Window?”

“Glass bricks. One door. Locked from the outside.”

“Did you try to kick it in?”

“I was afraid she'd hear me and get angry.”

And making June angry would be a bad idea. She had Patti's Glock. And no doubt, the gun she had used to kill Riley and Messinger—and most probably Marcus Gabrielle. Patti wouldn't doubt she had a couple of bone saws hidden on the property as well.

Yvette started to cry. “I don't want to die.”

“You're not going to die, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“But you don't, Patti,” June said, opening the door.

Patti saw that she did, indeed, have the Glock.
It had a full magazine. Bullet chambered.

“I'm sorry,” June said. “I really am. You're my friend.”

“Your friend?” Patti repeated. “You call this friendship?”

“You got involved in my business. My private business.”

“You killed Riley!” Yvette cried. “How could you—”

“He got in my way. Starting snooping around. Letting you go was the final straw.”

“He let me go? He's the one who—”

“Unlocked the door, yes.”

“He warned me,” she whispered. “Told me you were going…to…kill—”

Tears choked Yvette, and Patti took over. “Was Riley part of this?”

“Riley? Mr. Incompetent? I don't think so. He began to suspect, somehow. Although frankly, I can't imagine how. And then he involved himself with Yvette. My muse. Mine.”

“He was your brother. You killed your own brother.”

June looked at her then, her expression terrible. Grotesque. “He wasn't my brother. He was my son.”

The words caught her so by surprise, they took her breath. “Your son? How—”

“My parents sent me away to ‘boarding school.' That's how they did it back then. An abortion was, of course, out of the question. A good Catholic would never resort to such a thing.

“Besides, Mama wanted another child. So she pretended to be pregnant. They faked the whole thing. No one suspected. No one ever suspects people who live in Garden District mansions to be anything but upright, law-abiding citizens.”

A lesson, it appeared, she had made good use of.

“I was fifteen when he was born. I was never allowed to speak of what happened, never allowed to refer to him as anything but my brother.”

“Did Riley—”

“Know?” She shook her head. “I gave him everything, devoted my life to him. And he did this to me.”

Patti stared at her friend, shocked by the skewed perspective. She'd killed him, but he did
her
wrong?

“And his father,” Patti asked. “What of him?”

“You mean
our
father.”

Patti stared at her, feeling sick, stunned.

“That's right. Riley and I had the same father. He raped me. More than once, of course.”

Her dislike of men. The distrust of them that had emerged every so often.

“Mama figured it out, but looked the other way. After all, she got what she wanted. Relief from her conjugal duties and a
son.
”

If only she had known, maybe she would have been able to help, to get her help.
“I'm so…sorry, June. You could have told…Someone would have listened, would have believed you.”

She laughed, the sound harsh. “In your world, maybe. Not in mine.”

Patti struggled to sit upright, nearly passing out from the pain. “You need help,” she managed. “I can make certain you get it.”

“No, I needed help at fourteen. Now I'm fine.
I'm
in control.
Me.
I've got all the power now.”

“Killing people gives you power?”

“The ones who betray me deserve it.
You
betrayed me, Patti. You sided with her.”

“What about Shauna and Stacy?”

Her expression went momentarily blank. Then she shook her head. “It was so easy. I called Shauna, told her a collector wanted to meet us at the gallery. That I was just around the corner and would pick her up. Same with Stacy.”

She smiled as if immensely pleased with herself. “You'll like this one. I told her you were having a breakdown. That you'd asked for her, but only her. I knew she wouldn't breathe a word to anyone—to protect you. Brilliant, don't you think?”

“Risky, in my opinion. What if she'd told her captain? Or called Spencer?”

“But she didn't. Here's the secret. I understand people, their behavior. I can anticipate how they'll react.”

“You're so smart, are you?”

Her self-satisfaction said it all. “You know what your problem is, Patti?”

“Right now? I'd say it's you.”

“You think too small. I can be anyone or anything I want to be. Old or young. Rich or a bum living in a box. Woman or a man sending love notes to a stripper.”

“And how's that? You put on a wig? Some men's clothes?”

“Again, thinking too small. You have to let go and just
become
it.”

What Dr. Lucia had said about severe childhood trauma rang in her head. How it could fracture a psyche, cause an individual to create alternate personalities.

But this wasn't DID in the sense of alternate personalities wresting control from the “host,” Patti realized. June made the conscious choice to become someone else.

“The human mind is capable of creating anything that can be imagined.”

“Why, June? Why the girls? Why take their hands?”

“The girls were weak. They didn't deserve my love. Each time they proved that. But at first…they're so full of life and hope, so filled with tomorrows.”

June's father had robbed her of her childhood. Her tomorrows.

Her expression softened. “My muses. They inspire me. Take me to new heights. Make me believe in love and happily-ever-after.”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Yvette ease open one of the cabinets. Searching, she supposed, for something to use against the woman.

Good girl.

Patti worked to keep June talking, fully focused on her. “Then they betray you.”

Her expression hardened again. “Yes, they betray me. I see they're weak. And foul.”

“The way you were weak?” she said softly. “When your father abused you?”

Her face went momentarily slack with surprise, then a dull flush crept up her cheeks. “No,” she snapped. “I loved them. They betrayed me.”

“What about Sammy?”

“A horrible mistake. A tragedy. He came to check on the house, to make certain looters hadn't broken in. Caught me driving off with my sweet Jessica. He followed.

“You can't imagine how upset I was. I drove on, hoping he'd give up, realize I was fine. But no, not Sammy. He signaled me to pull over. Get this.” She leaned slightly forward, as if still amazed. “To tell me
my trunk wasn't completely latched.
”

“You pulled into Audubon Place. No one was around.”

“Yes. It was getting late. Everyone had evacuated. I got out of my car. I hid my Club…that anti-theft thing, behind my back. And I hit him with it.”

Patti listened in horror, imagining Sammy, his last thought before he went down.

“I had to do it, had to shoot him. I didn't want to, I really didn't. I loved Sammy.”

Patti wanted to scream “Liar!” That she couldn't have loved Sammy. If she had, she wouldn't have killed him.

But confronting a crazy person only made them crazier, and she and Yvette were in enough trouble already.

“What about Tonya?” Yvette asked, voice sounding stronger than before. Patti saw the cabinet was closed and she was holding her hands oddly.

June looked at her. “Tonya wasn't your friend. She tried to blackmail me. She didn't care about you, just wanted money. Stupid whore.”

“So you killed her. Hacked off her hand.”

“Yes. She approached me at the Hustle. I went there after Shauna's opening. I was angry at you for flirting with Ruston. For going off with Riley.”

Patti shifted, wincing at the pain in her back. “You used your left hand to take hers. To confuse us.”

She looked surprised. “Not at all. Tonya didn't deserve my kindness, my loving attention and care. That's only for my sweet girls. I took her hand because I could. And I thought maybe I could use it. As usual, I was right.”

Patti fought to keep her fear and revulsion from showing. “You were the dark-haired woman the neighbor saw Tonya leave with?”

“Yes. One of many roles.”

She smiled and turned back to Yvette. “And I killed Marcus because he hurt you. It was for you, my sweet Yvette. All for you.”

“I didn't know,” Yvette whispered, voice trembling. Her eyes welled with tears. “I thought you were like the others. All the ones who hurt me.”

Patti watched, heart thundering. She didn't have a clue what Yvette had planned, she just prayed it worked because they were running out of time.

“We're alike,” Yvette whispered. “You and I. I didn't know. We belong together. We've been hurt by those who were supposed to love and protect us.”

“Yes,” June said, nodding. “We are. I knew that but you—”

“Didn't,” she finished for her. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“You had sex with Riley.”

“A mistake. The whole time, I was looking for you, and—” Her voice caught on a small sob. “I didn't see, you were right there.”

June's grip on the gun wavered. A tear rolled down Yvette's cheek. “Hold me,” Yvette pleaded. “Please…just hold me.”

June helped her to her feet, put her arms around her. With a whimper, Yvette brought her cupped hands up, as if to stroke June face.

Instead, with a primal cry, she ground something into June's eyes.

June howled and fell backward against the vanity, clawing at her eyes.

The gun hit the floor. Yvette dove for it, falling hard, elbows cracking loudly against the tile floor.

She got it, anyway, curled her hands around the grip and pointed it at June, her hands shaking so badly the muzzle bobbed up and down.

“Give me the gun!” Patti ordered. “Let me do this.”

Yvette shook her head. “I can't. I won't.”

“Give me the gun,” she said again, more firmly.