Simon Says... Ride (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 3)

by Dale Mayer

  “Maybe. If we don’t go over to the pizza parlor pretty quickly, they’ll be gone too,” she said. “I think I’ll go there first, if only I knew which one.”

  “Probably the one everybody talks about. It’s been popular for a long time.”

  Something about his tone got her attention, and her eyebrows raised. “Don’t even tell me that you attended UBC.”

  “Sure did,” he said, with a big grin. “The go-to pizza place is just across the street and on the corner over there.”

  She looked where he pointed and nodded. With that, she bolted across the road, holding up her badge as she darted through traffic. As she approached the pizza parlor, she saw a group of five or six young people, stepping outside, laughing and joking. She immediately intercepted them, stopping their progress.

  One of the men said, “Hey, what’s with the pushy attitude?”

  “I presume you’re the group I’m looking for.” Kate held up her badge.

  They frowned, looked at each other, then shifted uneasily. “We don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “I understand from other witnesses that you were one of the first on the scene to see that poor young woman on the pavement over there.”

  “We don’t know anything about it,” one of the two women protested.

  Kate turned to her. “I’ll be the judge of that, and I’m really hoping you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Everybody else got there, so no reason for us to stay,” the woman argued, sticking out her chin.

  “Interesting,” Kate said. “You didn’t stop to answer any questions though, did you?”

  “No,” the first man said. “We knew it would take forever, and we didn’t want to get stuck over there.”

  “No, of course not, you’d rather eat.” Kate shook her head.

  “It was our lunch hour,” the same woman protested. “It’s not like we could do anything to help her, so why shouldn’t we enjoy our life?”

  “Absolutely,” she murmured. “What did you see?”

  At that, the men stopped, glanced at each other, and looked at the first woman who had spoken. Still, one male and one female had not said anything.

  Kate turned and asked the silent female directly, “What is your name? What are you studying at the university? When did you arrive at the scene, and what did you do when you got there?”

  The woman’s jaw dropped, and she looked frantically from one to the other of her group.

  “Hey, she’s really shy. Don’t. … You’ll kick her over the edge and make her all stressed,” the other woman said crossly.

  “I have questions. I need answers. You can either answer them now,” Kate said patiently, “or you can all come down to the station and talk to our team of detectives down there.”

  “Are they any different than talking to you now?” asked one of the men.

  She shook her head. “No, not at all. So, what will it be?”

  “We could just walk away,” said the first, more belligerent male. “It’s not like you can stop all of us.”

  “No, absolutely I can’t, but the cameras here have caught you already, so we will have somebody at your house, your dorm, your family’s home, your classroom, or anywhere else we need to go, depending on what we find out. We’ll find you one way or another. So, is that really how you want to play this?”

  The young woman who had been silent said, “No, no, no. We weren’t doing anything. Why are you being like this?”

  “I asked you some very basic questions. Why are you being like this?” Kate asked in a hard tone, looking straight at her. “A young woman is dead, and we need to find out what happened and who saw what.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said quietly. “We had just arrived. We were all talking, laughing, and joking. We were coming down University Boulevard. It’s quite a walk. We were planning on making a fast trip for pizza, then turn around and go back again.”

  “How fast will it be when it’s quite a walk?” Kate asked, her head tilted, eyeing the nervous woman.

  She flushed. “Okay, so we weren’t planning on going back,” she murmured.

  “So, already the lot of you have been uncooperative. And now you’ve lied.”

  “She didn’t lie,” one of the men said quickly. “We weren’t really sure what we would do, and she got quite upset when we came upon the scene. We called 9-1-1.”

  “Who did?” Kate interrupted. “I need the name and the number, so I can verify it.”

  He hesitated. “Well, it was my phone.”

  “Your phone but not you calling?”

  “No. Yes.” He shook his head. “I phoned.”

  “Interesting phrase.” She stared at him with a narrowed gaze.

  “You make me feel like I did something wrong,” he protested. “It’s making me nervous.”

  “Did you do something wrong?” she asked him flatly.

  “No.”

  “Then just answer the questions and give me the information I need, so we all can move on.”

  After that, with the thought that maybe they could walk away from this quicker if they gave her what she was looking for, they settled down. She was only after their contact information, the reasons why they were where they were, and exactly what they saw. It ended up being not a whole lot.

  As she stepped back, she asked, “Was this really that hard? Just being reasonable and cooperating makes a whole lot of difference in our world.”

  “Sure, but you were harassing us,” one of the men said.

  She snorted. “Really? We are trying to gather information on a death, before everybody scattered and disappeared, especially the ones who didn’t want to talk to us because they seem guilty right from the get-go. The first groups that arrive at a scene and call it in are really important. And, by the way, you’re not allowed to leave the scene of a crime, particularly after you have called 9-1-1, and here you guys not only left the scene but you’re off having pizza.”

  “You make it sound worse than it is,” one of the women said.

  “Maybe so. I wonder how the dead woman’s family would think of it though. What if it was your body lying there, and your friends treated you that way?”

  “We don’t even know her though,” one of the men said.

  She nodded. “No, you didn’t. At least you’re telling me that you didn’t. Easily one hundred thousand students are on this campus, but she was a student there. So it’ll be interesting to cross-reference your classes with hers.”

  “Why would you do that?” The first woman reared back slightly.

  “I have to,” Kate said flatly. “The woman is dead. We’ll conduct a full investigation to find out how and why that is.”

  “She was hit by a car,” the first guy roared. “How hard is that to understand, even for you?”

  She looked at him, raised an eyebrow. “Watch it.”

  He snorted. “What? So you’re allowed to insult us, but we’re not allowed to insult you?”

  “Pretty much.” She nodded. “Yeah, I’d say so.” She looked at each of them. “Are you all living on campus or do any of you live at home?”

  “We already told you. You asked for our addresses, and we gave them to you.”

  “Yes, you did.” She smirked. “But, according to what you’ve given me, which appear to be family addresses, none of you live on campus. Is that correct?”

  One of the women hesitated.

  Kate looked at her. “But you do?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “And what address did you give me?”

  She hesitated again. “I gave you my family address.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  “Because that is my permanent address.”

  In a way that made sense, but it also made it much harder to contact her immediately. “So, where are you staying on campus?” And. with that, she had to go back through all six of them again and write down their studen
t housing addresses.

  “We don’t want you coming up to our rooms,” one of the guys grumbled.

  “I don’t want to, and, if your information checks out, then it’s not a problem, is it?”

  “I still don’t understand what you’ll check out,” said the first woman, puzzled.

  “Just to make sure your stories line up.”

  “But we didn’t kill her.”

  “Yeah, you say that, and yet somebody did. And it’s my job to find out who did. However inconvenient that may be.” With that, she gave them a cheerful smile. “Have a nice day.” As she took off, she heard them muttering behind her. She walked across the street again to talk to Rodney.

  He asked, “Did you piss them off?”

  “What a bunch of smart-asses. They didn’t figure they had to answer any questions and don’t understand what they could possibly have done wrong.”

  “They could have stayed at the damn scene of the crime and told us about what they’d seen,” he muttered.

  “They could have, but, you know, they were busy, with pizza on their minds, and they didn’t want to waste any of their time on something so minor.” He shook his head at that. She sighed. “And honestly, I don’t know if it was anything more than that. People handle stress very differently, and they were further proof.”

  “Did you get any vibes off them?”

  “You mean, ugly vibes? Yeah, a couple. One of the females had been pretty aggressive, and one of the males—Brandon—was definitely somebody I’d like to knock down a peg or two.”

  Rodney snorted at that. “Remember. You’re not supposed to be fighting or getting in trouble.”

  “So you say.” She smiled. “That doesn’t mean they didn’t need it.”

  “No, it probably doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that it doesn’t progress our case though.”

  “And that part pisses me off,” she muttered.

  “Of course nobody saw anything. And, if it happened fast, and a silencer or whatever was used, you can understand it.”

  “I can.” She studied the building across the street. “I’ll head back over there and check to see if anybody has security cameras. I can’t see anything specifically, but I’m hoping maybe somebody does.”

  “You go do that. I’ll stick around and see who’s still hanging around, watching the proceedings.”

  “Which is another reason I wanted to get names of everybody who was here,” she said.

  “And we probably didn’t get everybody.”

  “No, I’m sure we didn’t. And, if anybody here was watching the results of his handiwork, he’s probably long gone, but you never know,” she muttered. She had seen it happen time and time again. And still, only so much one could do about it.

  *

  Meanwhile Simon St. Laurant had started his day early, as usual, and knocked on the door. He was down in one of the alleys he knew well. Although he’d been here several times, knocking on this door made him feel odd. When it opened, just barely a crack, he smiled and handed over a roll of bills. A smile lit up the face on the other side.

  “Simon, thank you,” she said quietly.

  He shrugged. “Maybe it will keep somebody safe for a little bit longer.”

  “It will,” she said. “It seems, right now, donations are hard come by.”

  He nodded. “It’s not an easy time for anybody these days.”

  “And yet Vancouver is so wealthy.” She shook her head.

  “Wealthy in many ways, yet profoundly destitute in others. Take it and use it.” With that, he turned to walk away.

  “You never seem to want anything in return,” she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. “No, of course not. Why would I?”

  She laughed. “A lot of people would.”

  “I’m not a lot of people.” He turned and walked away from the very private entrance to the women’s shelter. A shelter where women, who had escaped from an abusive situation, were in hiding.

  The trouble was, like she had said, donations were hard to come by, and it was run by the charity and the goodwill of others. He did what he could, when he could. Too often he had forgotten to drop by and had felt terrible. But, when he remembered, he would walk down here and give them something. The few thousand he had given her today would go a long way to help, but it certainly wouldn’t solve all the problems. Some things would just never get solved.

  As he walked forward, he smiled, sniffing the fresh air. A coffee was what he would like. A nice fresh Americano perhaps. He stopped by a small food cart and waited his turn, then ordered. As he paid, he left them a generous tip and kept on walking. A small park was up ahead, a favorite spot, so he walked over and sat down. He lived in the False Creek area, one of the nicer areas of town, as far as he was concerned. He liked being close to the harbor and to the markets, and the whole atmosphere there made him feel at peace. But it was also close to some of the hardest, poorest, darkest areas of town—talking just about Vancouver proper, at least.

  With his pockets still full of cash, he headed to the home of a woman he knew, who kept taking in street kids. She had everything from fifteen-year-olds, trying to get out of the cycle of prostitution they had found themself in, to a couple newborn babies and everything in between. He tried not to ask too many questions, as long as she was helping them and wasn’t doing anything illegal. When he stepped onto her front porch, the door opened, and one of the fifteen-year-olds leaned against the doorjamb.

  Her arms were wrapped over her chest, as she eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

  “Is Sybil here?” She just shrugged. “In that case, tell her that I’d like to see her,” he said, his tone mild. From the doorway he saw the chaos of all the children’s toys and heard the noises from gaming systems and televisions. When a harried and frustrated Sybil came toward the front door, Simon was almost sorry he had stopped in. She carried a young child in her arms. Stepping outside, she took one look at him, and her face lit up.

  He grinned. “Well, it’s nice to be welcomed.”

  “Absolutely. It’s just chaos here, as usual.”

  “Good chaos or bad?”

  “Good. In addition to the regulars, I have two kids going home to their families—runaways. And I’ve been fostering this little guy, after he was picked up not far from here.”

  “Lost?”

  “More like deserted,” she said quietly.

  “As in abandoned? Has the government stepped in yet?”

  “Since he’s happy here at the moment, we’re keeping him for now, but, yes, they know he’s here.”

  He nodded. “You know I can’t support anything that isn’t legal.”

  “I do, and you know the finer points of legality can be somewhat capricious at times.”

  He burst out laughing. “Always, and, of course, ultimately it’s all about the children.” With that, he handed her a roll of bills, which she accepted gratefully.

  “Thank you. Sometimes it’s tough.”

  “I can imagine,” he said. “You’ve got a full house here.”

  “It’s quite something.” She nodded. “I can’t handle any more right now.”

  “Until somebody calls, and then you find a way.”

  “And I hate it,” she murmured, “but I can’t say no.”

  “Got it. That’s what life is.”

  “I know. … Sometimes it’s rough. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wonder how I’ll even get up in the morning. I get so tired.”

  “Can anybody help you?”

  “Not really,” she said.

  “What about the older kids?”

  “Well, you get some, who really want to help because they’re grateful to be here, and then others think the world owes them a favor—so to be asked to do anything is too much for them.”

  He winced at that. “I guess it’s the age, isn’t it?”

  She laughed. “It absolutely is”—she gave Simon a big grin—“and I don’t blame them one bi
t.”

  “No, but this isn’t where you expected to be right now, correct?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Hopefully it will ease up soon.”

  As he turned and walked away, she called out, “Thank you again.”

  He nodded and kept on going. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of those kids looked like they would take the money and run, he would have left it in the mailbox. But he’d also learned that it was that extra step of stopping by and visiting for a few minutes that added humanity to the money and put that much more of a smile on Sybil’s face. These impromptu visits also gave Simon a chance to take a closer look at what was going on in there. With that behind him, he headed to a couple more spots that needed help.

  One was a small community church, surviving on donations, which were pretty darn thin. As he dropped the money into the donation box, the priest lifted a hand in thanks. They didn’t talk today since the priest was surrounded by various others now, but Simon and the priest had met many a time before. Simon turned and kept on walking.

  At the food center, he found Johan in the back, muttering over bills. Simon dropped a big thick roll on the stack. “Maybe that’ll help.”

  When Simon walked away, Johan called out, “God bless you.”

  Simon laughed. “He already has.” As he headed out, he smiled because he meant it.

  He was alive, and, after a really shitty start to his life, he was doing just fine. And, even though the last few months had given him some awakenings that he’d hoped to never have—and nightmares he’d never thought could be so bad—he was finally starting to recover from both. He headed toward one of his rehabilitation building projects, calling out to his project manager, who stood there, muttering over a clipboard. “A good day or a bad day?”

  The project manager looked at him and glared. “Are there any good days?”

  But it was hard to keep Simon’s good humor down. “Today is definitely a good day.”

  Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re sipping from that cup, but I sure as hell wish you’d give me some.”

  “Got it. I should have remembered to bring you a coffee. Next time.”

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “With my luck, on the day you bring coffee, it would be the one day I’m not here.”