53
WHILE STONE AND HOLLY STOOD AND STARED AT SHELLEY’S handbag, Dino walked over to it and began rummaging inside. Finally, exasperated, he took hold of the bag, turned it upside down, and emptied the contents onto the desktop.
Stone and Holly walked over and gazed at the jumbled heap of the bag’s contents. Holly poked around with a finger and came up with a lighted cell phone, the source of the music. “This was missing from the scene of Fair Sutherlin’s murder, remember?”
“I remember,” Stone said, “but look at this.” He picked up a second cell phone, then, rummaging through the pile, came up with four others. “One of these is Shelley’s,” he said, “and I’d be willing to bet a large sum that the others belong to Mimi Kendrick, Milly Hart, Charlotte Kirby, and Muffy Brandon.”
“Souvenirs,” Dino said. “Serial killers often take souvenirs from their victims.”
“So I made a mistake,” Shelley said from the bedroom doorway.
The others turned to look and found her pointing a 9mm semiautomatic handgun at them, FBI combat-style.
“One little mistake,” Shelley repeated. She seemed to tighten her grip on the weapon.
“Shelley, are you going to kill us all to cover yourself?” Stone asked. “That won’t work. People saw you enter the hotel. You’re well known by now to the staff. You can’t kill everybody.”
Shelley thought about it. “Dino,” she said, “I want you to do exactly as I say.”
“That depends on what you say, Shelley,” Dino replied.
“I want you to pick up my bag and hold it open, and, Stone, I want you to rake everything on the desktop into the bag. And don’t either of you try to use a weapon or I will have to kill you all.”
Dino shrugged, picked up the bag, and held it open. Stone raked the pile of junk, including all the cell phones, into the bag.
“Now what?” Dino asked.
“Bring it over here and set it on the floor three feet in front of me,” Shelley said.
Dino did as she directed.
Shelley, keeping her pistol pointed at them, picked up her handbag and backed over to the door. She set it down, opened the door, then picked up the bag and backed out of the suite, letting the door slam behind her.
Dino produced his own weapon and started for the door.
“Let her go, Dino,” Stone said. “We can’t have a gunfight in the hotel.” He got out his cell phone, looked up a number in his frequently called list, and pressed it. He waited for a moment. “This is Stone Barrington. I met with Deputy Director Smith this morning. I want to speak to him immediately. This is an extreme emergency. I’ll hold while you find him.” Stone covered the phone with his hand. “Let’s let the FBI deal with this,” he said.
“We should call the DCPD, too,” Dino r Seminded him.
“Let Kerry do that. His word will carry more weight.”
Dino walked to the terrace door and opened it. Hot D.C. air flooded into the room, as did noise from the traffic below.
“Stone? It’s Kerry Smith. What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me carefully, Kerry: it’s not over. Charlotte Kirby was not the March Hare. The March Hare is Shelley Bach.”
There was a brief silence. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“It is not a joke. We’ve just found the cell phones of the five murdered women in Shelley’s handbag. She pointed a gun at us, then took her bag and left our suite at the Hay-Adams.”
“She’s headed down Sixteenth Street,” Dino called from the terrace. “Her car is a silver SUV, a BMW, I think.”
Stone repeated that information to Kerry Smith. “She’s armed and dangerous, Kerry, and we have no idea where she’s headed.”
“Can you back this up with evidence, Stone?” Kerry asked.
“The evidence is in her handbag,” Stone replied, “and Dino Bacchetti, Holly Barker, and I can testify to that.”