Beneath the Bleak New Moon

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “Stay away from these losers,” he said. “Can’t you see how dangerous they are?”

  “Look, all I want to do is find Danielle.” She glared back at him, grateful for the night air cooling her face. “Time’s running out, Liam. She’s been gone forty-eight hours, and I think one of these guys has her. I’d especially check out Bashir Kumar, if I were you.”

  “If you want to help, then stay out of the bloody way. I mean it!”

  MacKenna marched toward the patrol cars.

  TWENTY-THREE

  DESPERATION MADE PEOPLE DO STUPID things. It was the only excuse Casey had for sitting at the back of Morris Mueller’s classroom Monday morning. Casey had no idea what following him would accomplish. With Kumar in the hospital and Mancuso in jail, she wanted to know why Mueller was still a free man after Saturday night’s race. Based on Lou’s description, the BMW’s driver had definitely been Morris, the only A-team member left standing. Had he also been the one driving the dark, sporty vehicle she’d glimpsed speeding past Mainland property twice? If the jerk was stalking her, it was time for a little payback.

  She had begun her research on Mueller by calling a friend majoring in computer science and, unofficially, hacking. Ten hours later, her friend had emailed her Mueller’s bio, complete with high school grad photo and transcript, driver’s license number, class itinerary, home address, and phone numbers, as well as his parents’ occupations and their employers. Some of it she already had from Richie’s binder, but the added info could prove useful.

  Mueller had barely shifted in his seat for the past half hour. The guy typed a lot on his laptop, presumably taking notes. After all, he was an honor student on a scholarship. He also happened to live only five minutes from the Granville and Forty-First intersection. Had Danielle found incriminating evidence against him? A kid with lots of money had plenty of options if he wanted to hide someone. Both of his parents had busy careers—the father a surgeon, the mother a real estate agent—so the guy could pretty well come and go as he pleased.

  When the class ended, Casey hurried out of the lecture hall and crossed the wide corridor. If Mueller had locked Danielle up somewhere, would he go to her now, or wait until after dark? How long would she have to follow him before she learned the truth?

  Mueller shuffled through the exit, head down and books tucked under his arm. Rectangular, black-framed glasses made him look studious.

  “Mueller?” a classmate called out. “You still need my notes?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Borrowed notes? Maybe he was too busy street racing and keeping Danielle hidden to study. Mueller spotted Casey. Oh, damn. She held her breath. Judging from the confused look on his face, he recognized her but couldn’t figure out from where. She started to leave.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?” he said, walking up to her.

  So much for the ball cap and rose-colored glasses. “I thought you looked familiar too,” she said. “Are you taking that criminology class on justice systems?”

  “No.” Mueller’s eyes widened. “You’re the lady from the other night, at the donut place.”

  She did her best to look surprised. “Really?” The guy had a good memory. It had been dark that night, and they’d only spoken for a few seconds.

  “Didn’t some guy try to jack your car?”

  He damn well knew about the altercation with Richie, but she played along. “Wait a sec. You’re the one who asked if we needed help. Wow, small world. So, you’re in economics?”

  “Yeah, and you? I haven’t seen you around.”

  “A friend begged me to sit in and take notes for him, but most of it was way over my head.” Casey noticed a thick gold chain peeking out from his partially unbuttoned shirt. “I should get going. Nice to see you again.”

  “Just a sec.” Mueller took two steps forward. “Isn’t the lady you were with that reporter who went missing?”

  Casey felt his scrutiny, the realization that this encounter might not be coincidental. “Yes, and she’s still missing. I guess you haven’t heard anything?”

  “I don’t see why I would have.”

  Time to push a little. “Really? Since you hang out with racers, and Danielle Carpenter’s been writing about racers, I thought you might have heard a rumor or two.”

  He tilted his head slightly, as if puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “The police think her kidnapper is connected to Roadkill.”

  “Dead animals on the road?”

  “Dead people on the road. Word is that street racers don’t like people—especially reporters—snooping into their business. But their business is practically public knowledge now, Morris.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing to do with me.”

  “Yes, it is,” she replied. “You were the racer in the black Beamer on United Boulevard Saturday night.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A couple of sources.” She didn’t like his disinterested expression. “You must know that Bashir Kumar’s in the hospital with several broken bones. You’ve raced him several times, so please don’t deny it.”

  He removed his glasses. “I don’t know who’s saying this stuff, but you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think so. In fact, I’ve been told quite a bit about Roadkill’s races and your membership in the club, which I really don’t care about. I’m more interested in Kumar.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a violent misogynist who could have taken Danielle Carpenter not only to keep her quiet, but also to hurt her. Let’s face it, Morris, a lot of money’s at stake. Kumar’s not about to let a woman stop him from winning cash or bragging rights.”

  Mueller shifted his textbooks, dropping a notepad. As he bent to pick it up, a pendant swung out from under his shirt: a lion’s head the size of a quarter in what looked like twenty-four carat gold. Casey studied the intricately carved piece. According to the info her friend sent, Mueller was born on August fourteenth. His astrological sign was Leo. Leo’s animal symbol was the lion. Casey’s heartbeat quickened. Was he the Leo who organized Roadkill races?

  Mueller straightened up. “I don’t know anything about Kumar or the reporter, so I can’t help you.” He walked away.

  Casey headed in the opposite direction, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was following. That guy was too cool and calm. Once she was certain he wasn’t returning, she found a quiet place to call Denver.

  “Any news on Danielle?” she asked.

  “No.” His voice was solemn. “You?”

  “I wish, but I’ve just learned something interesting. Morris Mueller could be Leo, the guy who’s been organizing Roadkill races. Did you know he wears a gold medallion of a lion’s head?”

  “So?”

  “He was born on August fourteenth. Astrologically speaking, he’s a Leo, and Leo’s animal sign is the lion.”

  “You think Mueller might be the mastermind behind the races because of a piece of jewelry? I don’t think I can get a search warrant on those grounds, especially if the judge is a Scorpio with a bad moon rising.”

  “Funny, Denver.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His tone became stern. “How do you know about the medallion?”

  “I’m at SFU, and we bumped into each other a couple of minutes ago.”

  “Among thousands of students, you just happened to bump into each other?”

  “Weird how that happens, huh?” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

  “How would he know you?” Denver asked.

  “I didn’t think it was important to mention this earlier, but when we were at Winnie’s Donuts Mueller approached us right after the confrontation with Richie Kim. He wanted to see if we were okay because he thought Richie had tried to steal my car, or so he said. Anyhow, I gather Mueller has alibis for the hit and runs, or he would have been arrested by now.”

  “There are people who’ve vouched for his whereabouts.”

  “What kind of people? Racers?”


  “No.”

  “Who then? Oh . . . family?”

  “I’m not saying.”

  How far would Mueller’s family go to protect him? “Have you seen Richie’s binder yet?”

  “Yes, and it’s damn impressive. I imagine he’s not too happy with you.”

  “I’ll try to cope,” she remarked. “Has Dominic Mancuso told you anything?”

  “His lawyer got him out, which is all right. My gut says he doesn’t know anything about Danielle’s disappearance or the hit and runs.”

  “Agreed. Have you had any more conversations with Eagle?”

  “No. He’s got a lawyer now and is keeping a low profile. I’m convinced the kid knows something and is scared of at least one of the other racers. Anyway, didn’t I tell you to stay away from Roadkill?”

  Damn, she’d gone too far. “Sorry. Just trying to help.”

  “You’ve done more than your share, thanks. Now stop it.”

  She couldn’t; not until Danielle was found. She had to try other sources, but who? Eagle’s sisters? Would they rat out their brother if it meant sending him to prison? Danielle had told her that Eagle was dating Mueller’s sister. Maybe she knew something. The problem was that all of the sisters were minors and approaching them about their brothers’ activities could create legal trouble. Was there a way to get to the parents?

  Casey mulled it over until an idea formed. The longer she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of putting her house on the market. Wasn’t it time to let go of another part of her past? Since Mueller’s mother was in real estate, who better to handle things? The mother might not knowingly talk about her son’s driving habits, but Casey knew from friends and co-workers that it didn’t take much for proud parents to reveal more about their kids than intended.

  She headed for the nearest work station cubicle, opened her laptop, and googled Mrs. Mueller’s employer. Minutes later, she was speaking with a receptionist.

  “I’m thinking about selling my house, and Ellen Mueller was recommended to me.” Casey scanned the corridor and work stations to make sure no one was listening. “Is it possible to set up a meeting with her?”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Mueller call you as soon as she’s free. Could you give me a little more information about the property?”

  After providing details, Casey decided to catch up on homework here until it was time for work. She wasn’t looking forward to another shift with Greg and the twins. Too bad her ex couldn’t be as easily banished as a house.

  BEFORE THE PASSENGERS boarded the M7 bus, Casey told Greg about her decision to sell. “I just talked to a real estate agent, and she’s meeting me at ten-thirty tomorrow morning to look through the place. Make sure Tina knows, as we’re going in with or without her cooperation.”

  Greg’s lips pursed together. “I’ll see if she can get off her ass long enough to clean.”

  Casey didn’t like Tina, but she hated Greg’s disrespectful attitude even more.

  “Sorry if that sounds bad,” he added. “Things have been rough these last few months, and now with a new baby coming and Tina not working . . .”

  Yeah, right. As if she cared.

  “I want us to be friends, okay?” he went on. “I mean, can’t we all get along?”

  Was he joking? “Does that mean being friends with Lou as well?”

  Greg didn’t answer right away. “He wouldn’t want to.”

  “Neither would you.”

  His barrel chest expanded. “A real man would marry ya, not shack up.”

  Greg was big on marriage. He’d married Tina right after his and Casey’s divorce came through.

  “There’s nothing wrong with taking things one step at a time, Greg. It makes regret less likely.”

  Casey took a seat near the back of the bus, then pulled out reading material for class.

  When the twins boarded the M7 at Seventieth Avenue, they took the seat in front of Casey. Both of them turned around.

  “Good news,” Lara said. “Our friend got hold of Eagle, who told him some stuff about the racers and that missing reporter. It’s stuff he won’t tell the cops. Our friend says he’ll give you the info, for a price.”

  “He should go to the police.”

  “He hates cops more than we do,” Paige replied. “We could arrange a meeting. It won’t take more than ten minutes.”

  Why were the twins so eager to help? “When and where does he want to meet?”

  “In front of our house at nine tonight,” Lara answered.

  Casey raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want me near your place.”

  “It’s okay this time,” Lara said with a shrug.

  “I’ll be there.” If she hadn’t been watching for it, she would have missed the hint of satisfaction behind the girls’ identical blue eyes.

  Tributes for Anna-lee Fujioko at the Granville and Forty-Ninth intersection caught Casey’s attention, as they always did. Once again, passengers grew quiet. Among the flowers attached to the lamp standard, a new sign said, STOP THE KILLING.

  Eight blocks later, at Beatrice Dunning’s roadside memorial, there was another sign. This one said, WHO KILLED BEATRICE? Beneath the caption, a notice offered twenty-five thousand dollars for the hit-and-run driver’s name. Beatrice had died nearly a month ago. Catching the killer would be like trying to stop a river of mercury: dangerous and toxic. Casey prayed that Danielle hadn’t drowned in it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  CASEY TURNED OFF SEVENTIETH AVENUE onto East Boulevard and pulled over to study the Wieczs’ quiet street. Railway tracks and bushes on the left side of the road offered a number of good hiding spots. Trees and overgrown hedges bordering the yards of the houses on the right made it impossible for residents to see much of the street. East Boulevard was a good place for things to happen without anyone noticing.

  Casey eased her Tercel forward. No one appeared to be out, but someone could be hiding in a vehicle or huddling between parked cars. She pulled up in front of the Wieczs’ bungalow and turned off the engine. Behind the tattered sheets covering the window, the twins were probably watching and waiting. Casey figured their game plan had nothing to do with a visit inside the house.

  Rap music blared from the house next door. Casey checked her rearview mirror and saw Lou park two houses back. Part of her regretted telling him about meeting the twins tonight. Despite her assurance that she’d arranged for backup, he’d refused to stay home and wait to hear how things turned out. At least he still cared enough to ensure she wouldn’t be in danger, but would he be safe?

  Casey stepped out of the car and breathed in the smell of rotting leaves. The rain had fizzled into a light shower. Pulling up her jacket hood, she strolled to the front of her Tercel. When she reached the sidewalk, three large guys emerged from the bushes across the street and ran straight for her. Before she could move, they had her surrounded.

  Casey crossed her arms. “Which one of you has the information from Eagle?”

  The boys glared at her.

  “Leave Lara and Paige alone, bitch,” the tallest guy said.

  Her heartbeat quickened. “The girls invited me here.”

  “Bullshit,” the square-faced boy to her left replied.

  “Ask them.” She turned toward the house and found herself breathing in beer fumes from a pimply third kid.

  “What are you gawking at, ugly?” he said.

  She was going to enjoy bringing these morons down. Casey raised her voice a little. “I take it you’re not the people I’m supposed to meet?”

  “You ain’t meetin’ no one,” Tall Boy replied. “You’re gonna wish you never came here.”

  “Wait a damn minute.” Casey’s voice rose some more. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Ya think?” He stepped closer.

  She balanced her stance and loosely clasped her hands in front of her belly in a non-threatening gesture that would enable her to defend herself.

  Tall Boy whipped out a Swiss a
rmy knife.

  Adrenaline rushed through her. “You guys are buying a whole lot of trouble.” Out of the corner of her eye, Casey glimpsed a crouched figure creeping toward them. “Only fair to warn you.” The boys laughed. “This is your last chance to leave before the shit hits the fan.”

  They were still laughing when Denver and his colleague jumped up with guns drawn. “Police! Drop your weapon and get face down on the ground, now!”

  The boy behind Casey took off. Denver’s colleague went after him. The knife fell from Tall Boy’s hand, and he dropped to his knees. As his friend also complied, Casey smiled. So much for tough thugs. Two more officers joined Denver about the same time Lou rushed up.

  He pulled her into a tight embrace. “You okay?”

  “Fine, yeah.”

  “This wasn’t my idea, man!” Tall Boy said.

  “Whose idea was it?” Denver asked.

  “Lara and Paige’s.”

  “They told us to scare her,” the square-faced kid blurted. “We weren’t gonna hurt her!”

  “Why did they want you to scare this lady?” Denver asked.

  “So she’d leave them alone,” the kid replied. “They said she’s been a nasty bitch.”

  Casey looked at the house and saw the sheet across the window move.

  “You called it right,” Denver said to Casey. “Let’s hear what the girls have to say.”

  As his colleagues took charge of the boys, he turned to Lou. “I take it you’re Casey’s friend?”

  “Yeah.” He shook Denver’s hand.

  “Would you mind waiting out here?” Denver asked him. “The fewer people on their doorstep, the less intimidated they’ll be.”

  “No problem.”

  Casey hugged Lou. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Besides, you know how to handle yourself.”

  Was he trying to say she didn’t need him? Why hadn’t she summoned the courage to sort this out yet? “Can you meet me back at the apartment?” she asked. “I won’t be long.”