“I’m not. Casey’s absence means that I’ll have to spend more time following old folks around.”
“When you’d rather play on your phone,” Marie replied, “or look for a better job?”
He crossed his arms. “You’d like me to go, wouldn’t you?”
“Most Mainland employees would like that, Philippe.”
“Well, it’s not gonna happen, and I’ve got better things to do than listen to your bullshit.” He turned to Casey. “Take care of yourself.”
Marie watched him leave. “What an idiot.” She moved closer to Casey, her expression softening. “I’ve got your back, Casey. No way will I let Philippe take over.”
She sounded like she meant it. “Thank you.” It was the nicest thing Marie had ever said to her. And with that, Casey drifted off.
. . .
“Oh, Casey. Your poor face,” Lou’s mother said for the second time in five minutes.
“I’m feeling better,” Casey said defensively.
“That’s good, sweetie. Let’s hope the bruises are gone by your big day.”
Why did she have to keep going on about the injuries? The bathroom mirror had shown Casey the horror of her altercation. She wanted to leave this place. After five days in the hospital, she’d endured all the poking and prodding she could stomach.
“Scars can be covered with makeup, and I can sew a gorgeous white-satin sling, if you need it,” Barb rambled on. “Meanwhile, I have just a couple of questions before finalizing things with the caterer.” She pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’m sorry to bother you with this, and it may look like I’m coming across as insensitive, but I need to keep moving things forward, you know? Focus on happy stuff instead of the bad.”
“I understand, but shouldn’t Lou be helping you?”
“I tried, but he wanted to wait for your input. Plus, he’s busy shopping for a new ring.”
Casey didn’t want a new ring. “Maybe mine will turn up in a pawn shop.”
Barb’s eyebrows scrunched together. “There’s no guarantee it will ever be found, Casey. And why would you want a ring that’s been pawed by the thieving maniac who damn near killed you?”
“Because it’s the one Lou chose for me.” Lame maybe, but that’s how she felt.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “May I come in?”
The moment Casey spotted the moustache, short graying hair, and slightly chunky body in the Vancouver Police uniform, she smiled. Denver Davies was a welcome distraction. “Of course.”
“Sorry for interrupting,” he said.
“No problem.” She spotted the disappointment on Barb’s face. “Barb, this is my friend and occasional classmate Constable Denver Davies.” She looked at Denver. “Barb is Lou’s mom.”
After they exchanged greetings, Casey said, “Barb, would you mind if I talked to Denver privately? I only have enough stamina for a few minutes. Do whatever you want about the caterers. I trust your judgment.”
“All right.” Barb shoved the paper into her purse. “When can you go home?”
“The doctor said maybe tomorrow or the day after.”
Barb’s face brightened. “Excellent. I’ll come by with a casserole.”
“Thank you.” Barb did make wonderful casseroles.
Staff, patients, and visitors passed by Casey’s door. She’d almost gotten used to people peering at her with curiosity, while others acted as if her room was invisible.
“You doing okay?” Denver sat in the chair Barb had vacated.
Casey knew Denver well enough to know that he wasn’t simply being polite. He expected full and honest disclosure, physical and psychological. He was also one of the few people she didn’t mind confiding in.
“Mostly I’m sore, and fluctuating between confusion and disbelief about what happened.”
Denver nodded but kept his expression impassive. It was a welcome change from the perpetually anxious faces of Lou and Summer. She took as deep a breath as her damaged ribs would allow.
“I’ve had nightmares about a huge black shape holding a knife.” Casey paused. “And the pain’s been unbelievable, but the doctor says I’m recovering nicely, whatever that means. I just want to get back to work.”
“I know patience isn’t your strong suit,” Denver said, “but you’re going to need it over the next few weeks.”
“Easier said than done,” she replied. “Are you here as friend or to take a statement?”
“Both.” Denver pulled out his notebook. “Ivan Novak knows that you and I are friends, so he agreed to let me talk to you first, see how you’re doing. He wants to talk to you himself and get a statement as soon as possible.”
“So, this is just a preliminary, feel-out-the-situation chat?”
“Something like that.” Denver flipped the pages. “Do you remember what happened at the condo?”
“A bit more memory’s come back, yeah.” Casey described the moment the intruder first appeared, but then memory gaps took hold and the order of events became muddled. “I’m sorry, Denver. This is harder than I thought.”
“I understand. Take your time. Just tell me what you clearly remember.”
“I remember hearing sirens while I was kicking the intruder,” she murmured. “Then he took off. I remember looking at Harold. He wasn’t moving.” Casey paused to catch her breath. “Don’t remember anything after that until I woke up here.”
Denver scribbled in his notebook. “You’re lucky to be alive. Mr. Knox’s neighbor heard banging on the wall and called 9-1-1. Constables showed up just after the paramedics. Mr. Knox came close to bleeding out.”
“He’d been cut?”
Denver hesitated. “Stomach was slashed.”
“What! Will he be all right?”
“I don’t know, Casey. Apparently, his heart’s not in good shape.”
Casey closed her eyes for a few moments. “Why would that psycho do such a horrible thing to a harmless old man? He already had the money from Harold’s fanny pack.”
Denver shrugged. “Psychos enjoy picking on the weak.”
“Have you talked to Harold?”
“No. His niece and nephew flew in from Calgary and don’t want him disturbed. They want their uncle transferred to a hospital there. They’re worried about his state of mind. Seems that Mr. Knox believes his deceased wife haunts his condo.”
Casey smiled. “Her name’s Mildred. Harold mentioned her a lot.” She remembered him calling out for her help.
Denver leaned back in the chair. “Mr. Knox won’t make a reliable witness in court.”
Which meant it would be up to her. “If the suspect was caught, you would have told me by now.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Witnesses saw him leap over Mr. Knox’s balcony. He kept his face covered until he cleared the property. Someone managed to follow him half a block but could only describe him as a big man with short, light-brown hair. There’s no DNA to work with.”
“He wore latex gloves.”
“So it seems.” Denver paused. “Tell me what occurred before you and Mr. Knox arrived at the condo. How did you two meet that morning?”
Casey was tiring again. Her shoulder and ribs hurt like hell. “I remember bumping into Harold at the rec center. He looked frail and overheated, so I gave him my water and bought another bottle from the machine. Harold wanted to reimburse me.” She described how the money had spilled, and how people were watching them gather everything.
“Wait.” Casey raised her head, but it still hurt. “The man specifically demanded Harold’s wad of bills. He used the word wad like he knew exactly how Harold was carrying his cash.”
Denver stopped writing. “The guy must have been at the rec center.”
“I don’t remember any tall, husky men there. Maybe he had an informer.” Fractured memories of people and conversations that day floated through her head. “I read about other home invasions across Canada. One article said that the female suspect had an Australian accent
. I thought I heard an employee with an Aussie accent at the front counter, but she wasn’t alone. I think two others were there. I tried to see which one she was, but customers blocked my view.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to figure out who has an accent,” Denver remarked. “The employee could have contacted your assailant after the money spilled. If he saw you two board the bus and managed to follow in a car, you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Right. I was too focused on pedestrians. Should have known better.”
Denver jotted something in his notebook. “What did you do after you left the rec center?”
“We caught the bus, walked to Harold’s building, and went inside.” Casey paused. “A neighbor of Harold’s was heading outside. She greeted him in the hallway.”
Denver checked his notes. “That fits with a witness account from a Mrs. Fisher. She saw a man slip into the building just as she headed out. She didn’t recognize him but he acted like he belonged there. Since the building has a hundred suites, she wouldn’t know everyone. Anyway, the suspect matches descriptions provided by other witnesses who saw a man running from the building.”
“That’s something, I suppose.” Casey’s eyes grew heavy. “Anyone see him get in a car?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Denver paused. “You do realize that you can’t go back to the rec center, right?”
“Don’t plan to. Looks like I’ll be on medical leave this week.” She spotted the hint of a smile on Denver’s face.
“I like your optimism, but the healing will take longer than that.” Denver closed his notebook. “As I said, you were lucky. In fact, you might have even benefited from Mildred’s help.”
“How?”
“The cane you fought your assailant with was hers.”
TWELVE
Stretched out on the sofa with her eyes shut, Casey faced the whirring fan on the coffee table. The cloying summer heat wasn’t making her feel better. Lou had tried to buy an air conditioner before he brought her home yesterday, but the stores had sold out. She’d have to either suffer up here in their third-floor suite or use Rhonda’s living room on the slightly cooler main floor. The decor down there was so dark and dingy, though, that she’d rather swelter up here in a brighter room.
“Here you go,” Summer said, placing a glass on the coffee table. “Fresh lemonade. What would you like for lunch?”
“You don’t have to get me anything. I need to exercise my legs.”
Not that she had the stamina to take more than a few steps. Making coffee with her arm in a sling hadn’t worked out too well. After she spilled coffee grounds all over the countertop, Lou had to take over.
“The doctor said you’re supposed to rest,” Summer said. “Besides, I don’t mind helping out. It gives me something to do.”
“Wouldn’t you rather hang out with friends?”
“Most of them are away.” Summer bent down to scratch Cheyenne’s head. Her golden retriever had flaked out on the floor between the sofa and coffee table, probably hoping to catch some of the fan’s breeze. “What time is Lou’s mom coming over?”
Casey checked her watch. “Soon.”
She wasn’t looking forward to Barb’s visit, as it meant more wedding decisions. The painkillers hadn’t made it easy to concentrate on anything. Lou had tried to persuade his mom to wait a couple of days, but the wedding-prep drill sergeant wasn’t about to be put off.
As Casey slowly sat up, her ribs and head throbbed. She was determined not to wince in front of Summer, who’d been hovering so attentively that Casey barely had any time alone.
“I could make a sandwich,” Summer said, watching her. “Tuna salad okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
She wasn’t hungry, but she wanted to appear so, to pretend that she felt marginally normal. Summer’s fussing reminded Casey of Rhonda, but then the similarities between mother and daughter were more striking every year.
“Summer, you didn’t tell your mom I was in the hospital, did you?”
“No. Didn’t want to upset her.”
“Thank you.”
“She should be told, though.”
“I will. When I’m better.”
Casey tried to move her shoulder, then winced. Over the past couple of days, friends and colleagues had offered tons of advice about dealing with a dislocated shoulder. Her best friend, Kendal, had visited her in the hospital on Saturday, which in hindsight was a strange turn of events. Six months ago, Kendal was the one recovering from a serious head injury. She still suffered from headaches now and then, but at least she was leading a normal life.
Casey wished she’d been able to see Harold Knox before she left the hospital, but his relatives were still shielding him from all visitors. They’d been both cordial and wary as they thanked her for trying to help Harold. Little was said about his recovery except that he was still in rough shape.
Her landline rang. Casey reached for the phone and groaned. She’d have to do something about getting a new cellphone. When she heard Denver’s voice, she forgot about the pain.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
She gave him a brief update before changing the subject. “Any idea who the employee with the Australian accent is?”
“I can’t go into detail, and you should be focusing on recuperating, not investigating.”
“I’ll recover faster if you catch who did this.” She wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had not only been identified but her residence located, her background checked, and surveillance set up. “I take it there’s been no home invasions lately? I haven’t seen anything on the news.”
“The only incident was your colleague’s encounter three nights ago.”
“What encounter?”
“I had the night off, but I heard that one of your coworkers was working the graveyard shift when he spotted two guys in dark clothing.”
“Did he approach them?”
“My understanding is that it was more of an issue of them spotting him and taking off. Apparently, your coworker chased them until they disappeared.”
“Which coworker was it?” She and Marie were the only women on the security team.
“Don’t know. You should talk to your supervisor.”
“I will.” Why hadn’t Stan told her about it when she called him this morning? In fact, he hadn’t said much of anything, other than to remind her of all the injury-related forms that needed to be filled out.
“The gang always seems to be one step ahead of us,” Denver said. “Rumors are going around about a possible leak.”
Not good. “From where?”
Denver didn’t answer right away. “Some think it could be an MPT driver, or even a security team member.”
This time, Casey was the one who kept silent. Better to keep the irritation to herself. “Is there any evidence of that?”
“Not that I know of, but I’m not completely in the loop here. I’m calling as a friend, not a cop.”
“Has anyone from VPD talked to Stan about this?”
“He’ll be contacted today. But I wanted to give you a heads up, hear your thoughts.”
Casey’s already warm face grew hot. She pulled the whirling fan closer. “That’s a tough theory to accept.” Or maybe not. Philippe Beauchamp flashed through her mind.
“Sorry, Casey. But you can gauge the integrity of MPT employees better than us. And I trust that you’ll let me know if something’s up. I know I can count on you to be discreet about our suspicions.”
Our suspicions? Did Denver buy into the theory? Was he calling to pump her for info about colleagues? Casey’s head throbbed. “I need to think about this and talk to Stan.”
“I understand. But if something comes to mind, you’ll let me know, okay?”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t right to mention Philippe yet. The guy was a jerk, but she wasn’t prepared to accuse him without something concrete.
“Is your boyfriend still a driver?” Denver asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe he knows something.”
He wanted info from Lou, too? That wouldn’t go over well. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe something will come up when I’m back at work next week.”
“You’re planning to return that soon?”
“Yes.” Despite the surgeon’s unwanted opinion. “Short shifts a couple of days a week should be manageable.”
“Have you seen a neurologist about the concussion?”
Casey tried not to think about this particular injury. The thought of headaches and dizziness stretching on for weeks—or even months—terrified her. “An appointment’s scheduled.”
“Be careful, okay. This isn’t the time to push yourself. And remember, the suspect knows what you look like.”
How could she forget? “Talk to you soon.” Casey hung up.
Why was everyone treating her like a fragile, brain-damaged kid?
Summer reappeared, with the sandwich. “Do you want dessert?”
“No thanks.” All this lying around wouldn’t help her lose weight before the wedding. “Why don’t you go to the store and get some ice cream for yourself. Lou’s mom will be here shortly anyway.” A few minutes alone would be welcome. “My wallet’s on the dresser.”
“Okay.” When Cheyenne saw Summer preparing to leave, she rose and made an effort to wag her tail. “Stay with Casey, girl.”
The dog looked almost grateful as she plunked back down again.
After Summer left, Casey called Stan. They’d spoken only once since her hospitalization, when he’d visited briefly. The regret and discomfort emanating from him had been so palpable that she’d been grateful when he left.
“Hi, Stan.”
“Casey? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m home. Listen, my cop friend, Denver Davies, just told me that one of our guys saw a couple of people loitering in the hot zone this week.” She made an effort to sound casual. “What happened, and why didn’t you tell me?”
Stan’s silence troubled her. Did he not want to discuss it, or was he ticked that a Vancouver police officer was the one who’d told her about the incident?
“What was the point?” he finally answered. “Nothing came of it.”
Knock Knock Page 8
