Casey sighed. “When I started this assignment, some kids were bullying a girl. I showed the girls my ID and it got knocked out of my hand. Hilda picked it up.”
“Sloppy.”
“I was blocking a punch, Philippe. Why don’t you go to the back and see if anyone’s watching the seniors.”
“Why don’t you go? You’re obviously a distraction up here.”
“Good idea. That way, I can keep my eye on you and them.” Gripping her canvas bag, she shoved Philippe’s leg, forcing him to stand.
“You really need to lighten up,” he murmured. “Everyone says so.”
“And you need to start doing your job properly,” she replied. “Everyone says so.”
“Is that cutie-pie your boyfriend, sweetie?” Hilda’s broad smile puffed out her apple cheeks to twice their size.
“God no,” Casey answered. “He’s nobody.” She leaned close to Philippe, who looked annoyed. “Regardless of how long I’ll be away,” she whispered, “you won’t be in charge of anyone or anything.”
His face tightened. “You got a crystal ball in that big old bag of yours?”
“What I have is common sense and Stan’s respect.” She smiled at his glaring expression. “And ease up on the cologne. You could cause an asthma attack.”
Tension ripped through Casey’s neck and shoulders as she marched to the back of the bus. Stan would be disappointed that the bonding session had failed. He’d be far unhappier to learn how little attention Philippe paid to the passengers.
Casey watched the back of Philippe’s lowered head. Once again, the idiot was probably more interested in his phone than the seniors. When the Jellyfish ladies left the bus, Philippe barely looked up long enough to see if anyone was following them.
A few minutes later, the old man put on his cap and edged forward on his seat. He was exiting at an earlier stop than yesterday. Three young guys made their way toward the back exit. Casey followed them off the bus, noting that Philippe was still too absorbed with his phone to see her leave.
On the sidewalk, she put on her baseball cap and sunglasses, and watched the old man shuffle unsteadily. The trio stood in the middle of the sidewalk, lighting cigarettes. Two of them watched the senior head toward the park at the end of the block. It wasn’t much of a park, just a large green space with a footpath, small pond, and a bench, which the senior ambled toward. Arbutus trees shaded the bench. Nearby bushes provided plenty of hiding spots for potential muggers.
Casey strolled up to him. “Mind if I sit down?”
The senior peered up at her and removed his sunglasses. “Not at all, young lady.”
The three men continued down the sidewalk, apparently oblivious to her and the senior.
“This is a great little spot,” Casey said.
“A slice of heaven.” He adjusted his hat and watched the ducks floating in the pond. “I come here all the time, weather permitting.”
“Do you live nearby?” She thought she already knew the answer.
“Yes. In a condo one street over and a couple of blocks north of here. I’m on the first floor, which means no stairs or elevator to worry about. Even have my own washer and dryer in the suite.”
He was revealing too much to a stranger. “Sounds nice.”
The old man peered at Casey through faded blue eyes. “I’m Harold Knox.” He extended his hand.
“Casey Holland,” she answered, shaking his hand.
“You’re one of those security gals. I heard those women talking.”
“I am, yes. Though I would prefer to stay incognito, as they say.”
“I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed, young lady, but I thank you for looking out for us.” He handed her a gold-wrapped candy. “Here’s a little something for your trouble.”
“Thank you.” Casey answered, unwrapping the candy. “I saw you on the bus yesterday, but haven’t noticed you before this week. Have you been away?”
“I’ve been visiting relatives in Calgary. Despite all the crime happening in this area lately, I’m glad to be back. I just hope you catch those thugs who’ve been breaking into homes. They should be locked up for the rest of their lives.”
“I’m sure the police will catch them, and Mainland Public Transport’s doing its best to help.” She popped the candy in her mouth, relishing the smooth butterscotch flavor. “Speaking of which, have you noticed anyone following you lately, or making you feel uneasy?”
“The whole world makes me uneasy,” Harold replied. “People move too fast. Courtesy is kaput. Anything of importance is buried inside technology that few people my age can fathom.” He paused. “Mildred certainly doesn’t like all the new gadgets and doodads.”
“Mildred?”
“My wife. She passed on ten years ago, but she still keeps me company.”
Casey thought about this a moment. “I guess the people we love stay with us forever.”
He chuckled. “Mildred surely does. Talks to me all the time, you know.”
Poor old guy.
“When she wants to be playful, she moves my coffee mug around.”
Casey couldn’t tell if the amusement on Harold’s face meant he was teasing her or he was a little crazy. “Excuse me?”
“She also switches on lights and pops the toaster before my toast is ready. She’s become quite the practical joker in the afterlife. Who knew?”
“I see.” Well, not really, but better to play along. “How long were you married?”
“Sixty years ago last week.”
“Wow. I bet weddings were a lot less complicated and expensive than they are now.”
“Less expensive maybe, but just as complicated.” He paused. “Families were large and parents stricter than they are now. If fathers disapproved of a daughter’s chosen mate, then the marriage probably wouldn’t happen. That’s why Mildred and I eloped.”
“Really?”
He chuckled. “In those days, a father didn’t let his eighteen-year-old daughter run off without calling the authorities. Mind you, by the time the constables caught up with us, we’d been married two weeks. Still, if I’d known then what I know now, I would have tried harder to win her father’s approval.”
The idea of eloping appealed to Casey. Still, would she regret it forty years from now?
“Would you like to come over for a cup of tea?” Harold asked. “Mildred taught me to make the best darn cup in the world.”
“Thanks, but I should return to work.” She scanned the park and the sidewalk. There was no sign of the three men. “I’d be happy to escort you home, though.”
“I thank you for your kind offer, young lady, but I’ll be perfectly fine. Perhaps you’ll come for tea another time?”
“I’d like that.” Casey stood. “Be careful, okay, and don’t keep too much cash in your fanny pack.”
“Good advice.” He smiled. “It’s worth a million just knowin’ ya, Casey.”
Grinning, she handed him her business card. “The pleasure’s mine, and if you ever feel unsafe, give me a call. If I’m not nearby, I’ll try to locate someone who is.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Casey watched him stroll away. So what if Harold believed in ghosts? If it made him feel less lonely, then why not continue a life-long love affair? The man probably didn’t have too many years left. She was the one with a lifetime of conformity, rules, and structure ahead.
SIX
“I thought we’d be given photos of the police’s undercover people so you’d know who they were,” Stan said from the head of the conference table. “But apparently that won’t be happening.”
“They don’t trust us, huh?” Philippe remarked.
Stan stared at him for such a long time that Philippe began to squirm. Casey slid her hand over her mouth to hide the smile. Philippe had grabbed the chair nearest Stan. He always did at these meetings, but now he looked like he was regretting it. The man was so transparent. Two weeks after he joined Mainland, Casey decided tha
t beneath Philippe Beauchamp’s bold self-assurance was an insecure man terrified of looking stupid. At least he wasn’t stinking up the room with nauseating cologne today.
“How are we supposed to avoid mistaking undercover cops for suspects?” Marie asked.
“Use your spidey sense,” Philippe answered. “Or don’t you have any?”
“I prefer common sense,” she shot back.
Two of the three part-timers, barely out of their teens, smirked at each other. The third man, Anoop Verma, was in his late twenties and attending university while raising a young family. He wasn’t smirking. Casey had never seen Anoop make fun of anyone or say anything negative about coworkers, but she had a feeling that Philippe was testing his limit.
“They’ll know who we are because they asked for photos of each of you,” Stan said. “If you’re tailing undercover people, they’ll find a way to let you know. So don’t be surprised if you’re approached on the street and asked for ID at some point. Just because they have the photos, it doesn’t mean they’ll remember every face.”
“Maybe we should ask them for ID,” Philippe said.
Stan gave him one of his measured stares. “I can’t stress enough the importance of professional behavior. The police only let us in the loop because of our track record and a solid relationship that Casey and I have worked hard to build.”
“Are you saying that the undercover cops will be riding the M20?” Marie asked.
“Not unless they have a good reason to,” Stan answered. “They’ll be on the street, watching for young people who might be showing too much interest in elderly folks.”
“I still haven’t noticed an increased police presence,” Marie said.
“Maybe you’re not that observant,” Philippe mumbled.
If Marie maintained that scathing look long enough, Casey figured she could melt the flesh off Philippe’s face. “And what have you noticed, Sherlock?”
Philippe ignored her, as he usually did whenever she or Marie asked a question he couldn’t—or didn’t—want to answer. Stan had yet to ask how things had gone with Philippe on that god-awful bonding bus ride two days ago. Fearing that she’d lapse into another round of complaints, she hadn’t brought it up either.
“Given all the media attention on the Kerrisdale home invasions,” Stan said, “the gang could head east into the burbs and the Fraser Valley. Some of you could be sent out there.”
Casey doubted that they would mind. Half of the team lived outside Vancouver.
“Do you know if any of the stolen jewelry’s appeared in pawn shops?” Marie asked.
“I haven’t heard,” Stan replied.
“What bothers me is the short timespan between invasions, and how the gang’s managed to hit the most vulnerable people, including those who are on their own, even temporarily,” Casey said. “They’re either really efficient researchers or they have plenty of information sources.”
“What kind of sources?” Anoop asked.
“Places where seniors would gather to chat,” Casey answered. “Hair salons, coffee shops, medical clinics, that kind of thing.”
Philippe sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not,” Marie replied, turning to Stan. “What if people are being paid to listen in on conversations? What if the gang’s operation is more sophisticated than we thought?”
“You’re right, and the cops are on the same page,” Stan said. “After yesterday’s briefing, the investigating officers believe the gang’s using informers like delivery people, housekeepers, and landscapers to assess potential targets, someone with a relationship to the seniors. So note down the names of any type of service you see in the area.”
“Is it possible that one of the informers is a neighbor, or an acquaintance, or even a relative?” Anoop asked.
“Maybe. But those people will be harder to identify.”
“We sure won’t learn much by riding buses all day,” Philippe said. “We need to get out and circulate.”
“Steady on there, action man,” Marie remarked. “We need a plan.”
The young part-timers snickered, triggering a nasty glare from Philippe.
“As of today,” Stan said, “we’ll be doing more surveillance off the buses. You all have permission to follow seniors right into shops. Police will want to know if vendors are asking personal questions about their homes or living arrangements. Pay extra attention to seniors’ centers, community centers, libraries, and clinics.”
“Cool.” Philippe sat back and rubbed his hands together. “Freedom to roam.”
Stan shot him an annoyed glance. “Let me make this clear. Senior safety is the priority. If someone requires an escort home, then do it. The best way for MPT to help keep the public safe, not to mention stay competitive, is through superior customer service.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “We’re also expanding patrols to cover graveyard shifts starting tonight from midnight to 7:00 AM. Each of you will do two shifts back to back.”
Casey sympathized with the unhappy expressions.
“You’ll be working solo and in your own vehicle,” Stan added. “I know some of you prefer bicycles in this weather, but don’t. The security vehicle will be available for those who don’t own a car, and you needn’t drive the whole time. Pull over and observe the street once in a while. If you need to step out of the car for a closer look at something, then be extra cautious. Use your discretion and report to dispatch every half hour.”
“Won’t a marked security vehicle alert suspects?” Philippe asked.
“Let’s hope so,” Stan answered. “Maybe they’ll think twice about smashing someone’s door in.”
“Then shouldn’t all of us being using it?” Marie asked.
“There’s an argument to be made for staying undercover and spotting potential trouble.” Stan paused. “But I’ll leave it up to each of you to decide what you want to drive.”
Casey preferred her own car, but she’d tell Stan later. Right now, he was passing around copies of a map of the Kerrisdale area. “The Xs represent the locations of the last two attacks. Since the victims live only three blocks apart, that area should get extra attention, but I want you to patrol as many neighborhoods as you can within a five-kilometer radius."
“I think our second-in-command should lead by example and take the first shift,” Philippe said, winking at Casey.
“Already am,” she replied. “Stan and I worked out a schedule.”
“I hope you put Marie next, seeing as how she’s the most senior team member after you,” Philippe said to Casey.
Marie’s eyes blazed. “I don’t need the newbie arranging my schedule, and why aren’t you stepping up to volunteer for a couple of shifts?”
The only noise in the room was the hum of the air conditioner. Even the cool air seemed to be heating up. Given the importance of this assignment, Casey hoped to hell that Stan wouldn’t let team dynamics stay off-kilter much longer.
“As I said,” Philippe drawled, his reddening face creasing into a scowl, “it’s a seniority thing. Or at least it should be.”
Marie sat up straighter, shoulders back, her mouth twisted. “And as I said, junior team members don’t dictate schedules.”
Philippe grinned. “What’s the matter? Got a hot date?”
“None of your damn business!”
“Enough!” Stan smacked his hand on the table. “Philippe, you’ll take the next two shifts after Casey, which is Sunday and Monday. And I want to see you in my office when we’re done here.”
Philippe opened his mouth and started to speak.
“Shut it,” Stan ordered.
The idiot tried to outstare Stan, but he was no match for a man more than twice his age with thirty years of experience dealing with braggarts and punks. Casey had to admit that he had guts challenging Stan in front of everyone, but maybe this was part of Philippe’s nature. He seemed bent on setting himself apart from the team, bringing his o
wn pedestal everywhere and then inevitably toppling off it in spectacular fashion.
After the schedules were set, Stan said, “Let me repeat, those on day shifts this week need to step up foot patrols. Go where the elderly folks go, but be discreet. If any of them is being asked a personal question, make sure you take thorough, accurate notes. I want a physical description of the individual asking questions. If they’re wearing a nametag, get the name.”
“Do you want us to write down what we heard?” Philippe asked.
“Only if you’re a hundred percent certain and accurate. Keep in mind that your notes could be used in court, and let me remind you that we observe and report only, people. No inserting yourself into conversations or engaging with potential gang informers. Understand?”
“Maybe we should compile a list of places in Kerrisdale that we’ve seen seniors frequent,” Casey said.
“Good idea.” Stan looked at each of them. “I want a list from everyone by the end of the day. If you think of more locations over the weekend, email them to me.” He gathered his papers. “That’s it for now. Casey, seeing as how you’re working tonight, take the rest of the day off.”
“And no heroics,” Philippe said to her. “I hear you have a reputation for that.”
This jerk didn’t know when to quit. “I have a reputation for lots of things, Philippe, but mainly for getting the job done.” And flattening the world’s assholes.
SEVEN
Casey jogged upstairs, carrying a second basket of clean laundry. Thanks to multiple trips from the basement to their third-floor suite in this big old house, she was feeling it in her legs. Not a bad thing. It had been a long time since she’d practised yoga, and other forms of exercise held little appeal. Today’s plan was to exhaust herself with housework and chores, then nap so she’d be ready for a midnight to 7:00 AM shift. So far, she’d vacuumed the apartment and cleaned the bathroom, but there was plenty more to do.
Casey didn’t really mind being the caretaker of this Victorian house. Nor did she mind being a landlord to two university students each renting a room on the second floor. Mercifully, the students were rarely home and only required attention when something broke down. The rest of the house was another matter.
Knock Knock Page 4
