Ordinarily, Casey would enjoy witnessing Philippe’s attempt to defend himself, but right now she was so angry that she didn’t want to be in the same room with him.
“To clarify,” Denver said to Casey, “you didn’t see Mr. Beauchamp step onto Erin Brightman’s property?”
“No.”
There was a quick knock on the door and Philippe poked his head inside. Tension rippled down Casey’s back. She sat up straighter.
“Come in,” Stan said, his expression grim.
Philippe scarcely glanced at Casey, focusing instead on Denver. His ubiquitous smirk faded.
“This is Constable Denver Davies,” Stan said.
Philippe gave him a curt nod.
Denver stood. “Take my chair, Mr. Beauchamp.”
Philippe’s hesitation didn’t surprise Casey. The guy wasn’t completely stupid. He had to know that his devious little plan might not work. Philippe perched on the edge of the chair. Casey waited for Stan or Denver to ask her to leave, but neither looked at her. She picked up her purse, then spotted Stan raising his hand, signaling her to stay.
“Did you know that one of the home-invasion suspects, Erin Brightman, was found murdered?” Denver asked Philippe.
“What?” His mouth fell open. “When?”
Casey crossed her arms. Was he truly surprised or just acting? After Denver filled him in, Philippe scratched his head. The puffy sacs under his bloodshot eyes told her that he hadn’t been sleeping well. Guilty conscience? Or had he been busy conspiring with the enemy?
“I understand that you’ve communicated with Ms. Brightman on at least two occasions,” Denver said. “When was the last time you saw her?”
Judging from the trepidation on Philippe’s face, he was finally realizing that he could be in serious trouble. “When I was with Casey late Thursday afternoon.”
“Are you sure?”
Philippe turned and stared at Casey, not in a help-me-out way, but in a what-did-you-tell-them way. “What are you doing here, Casey? Thought you were still on medical leave.”
“I was asked to come by.” She turned at Denver. “Want me to go?”
“Stay,” he replied, his expression unreadable.
“This is just an informal, fact-gathering session,” Stan added. “We’re all friends here.”
“Right,” Philippe said, scarcely hiding the cynicism.
“My understanding is that Ms. Brightman was somewhat perturbed to find you near her home,” Denver said. “Did she give you her address?”
Casey noted Philippe’s rapid blinking. She could almost see him calculating how to answer without putting himself in deeper shit.
“Yeah, when we had lunch that day,” he answered. “But she wasn’t expecting me on Thursday and wanted to know what I was doing there. So I made up a story about Casey’s grandmother living in the area, right, Casey?”
She started to nod, but her head hurt too much.
“Was that the only occasion you were near the house?” Denver asked.
Philippe returned his stare. “Why are you asking? We can’t be the last people to have seen her alive, seeing as how she seemed to be living with a guy. I mean, he acted like he belonged there, right, Casey?”
Seriously? He wanted her to throw him a rope? “I don’t know what he was acting like, Philippe. But I wondered how you found Erin’s house so easily when she was already too far ahead to follow. You didn’t say a word about knowing her address.”
“Why should I?” Phillipe shot back. “I don’t report to you.”
“I’ll ask again,” Denver said. “Were you at the house on more than one occasion?”
Philippe looked at the floor, but didn’t answer.
“Let me be more specific,” Denver said. “Did you return to Ms. Brightman’s home after Thursday afternoon’s encounter? And why would a member of the home-invasion gang give you her address in the first place?”
Philippe slouched in the chair, crossed his arms, and stretched his legs. The posturing didn’t match the anxiety in his eyes.
“She didn’t give you her address, did she?” Stan said, leaning forward. “I’ve worked with you long enough to know when you’re lying, Philippe, and let me tell you something. It’s never a smart idea to lie to me or the police, understand?”
Philippe’s cheeks sprouted red patches as he glanced at Stan. “Okay, look. I was just trying to help.” He paused. “After Erin and I had lunch, I went back to the rec center later that day, on my own time, and followed her home after her shift.”
Stan rolled his eyes, while Denver’s calm expression remained fixed on Philippe. Casey’s head began to pound.
“Did you talk to Ms. Brightman at that time?” Denver asked.
“No. I didn’t even get out of the car, and she didn’t see me. I was careful.”
“What about Thursday?” Denver asked. “Did you return to the house after you and Casey left the neighborhood?”
Philippe didn’t answer right away. “I didn’t kill her.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Philippe stared at his shoes. Casey’s stomach muscles tightened. That rat bastard! She’d bet a year’s pay that he went back to the house that night and planted the earring. Would he have known that Erin had already abandoned the basement suite? She noticed Stan’s deepening scowl.
“Mr. Beauchamp.” Denver’s voice grew edgy. “I’m trying to establish the victim’s movements from the time you spoke with her late Thursday afternoon until her death several hours later. We located an earring outside the victim’s door. Casey confirmed that it belonged to her and that it came from her duffel bag. She also confirmed that she’s never stepped onto the property.” He paused. “I also know that you moved her duffel bag to the backseat of her car. So I’m asking you again, did you return to the house, and did you leave the earring there?”
Philippe glared at Denver. “Did you find my fingerprints on it?”
He would have been careful, Casey thought. That’s why he was asking. Denver didn’t reply but simply stared at Philippe.
Philippe ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t be the only one who’s touched the bag.” He turned to Casey. “That yappy woman was in the backseat with those kids. Did she touch it?”
God, he was right. “She did for a couple of seconds,” Casey answered, looking at Denver. “Monica Silver lifted the bag from the back to the front seat. But I didn’t see her put her hand in the bag.”
“And why would she remove the earring?” Denver asked. “Does she know that Erin Brightman’s a suspect, or even where she lives?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Casey’s heart thumped in time to the rhythm in her head. She started to speak but Stan again raised his hand. Grudgingly, she backed off.
“The old lady knows Erin works at the pool,” Philippe said. “Maybe she saw more than she let on.”
“Bull,” Casey muttered.
Philippe jumped to his feet, scowling at her. “You’ve had it in for me ever since I came here. Well, here’s your big moment, Casey. Go ahead and let the shit rain down. It won’t get you anywhere.”
“Sit!” Stan yelled. “Tell Constable Davies if you went back to Brightman’s house or not!”
Philippe and Stan both breathed heavily. They reminded Casey of a pair of angry rams about to butt heads. Finally, Philippe plunked onto the chair and slumped down.
“Yeah. All right. I went back to the house that night to see if I could get a better look at her boyfriend, but no one was there.”
“Did you leave the earring on the premises?” Denver asked.
“No. Or at least not that I’m aware of. Maybe it got stuck on my clothes when I was moving the bag, I dunno.”
Casey fumed. Lying truly was what Philippe Beauchamp did best.
“Are we done here?” Philippe said to Denver.
“One more thing, Mr. Beauchamp,” Denver replied. “If the man at Brightman’s house killed her, then he’s exceptionally dangerous. My u
nderstanding is that he got a good look at you. Maybe he saw your license plate number, so I’d lie low if I were you.”
For the first time, Philippe looked afraid. “Should I leave town?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m telling you not to,” Denver answered. “I just want you to be mindful of your surroundings. Call us if you think you’re being followed, and don’t go near the rec center again.”
As Philippe stood, Stan said, “Wait outside, Philippe. I want to see you as soon as this meeting’s over.”
“No problem.” He glared at Stan. “I’ll come back right after I talk to Gwyn.”
Stan gave him a long, measured stare. “You do that.”
Uncertainty clouded Philippe’s face as he marched out of the room and slammed the door. Casey winced and fought the urge to clamp her hands over her temples.
Stan tapped his pencil on the desk. “Hiring him wasn’t Gwyn’s brightest move.” He turned to Denver. “Is Casey in danger too?”
“Only if the man at Brightman’s place made a point of watching her drive away.”
“He didn’t,” Casey answered. “Both he and Erin disappeared before I took off. I stayed long enough to make sure Philippe left the area, then used the nearest driveway to turn around, which was four houses from theirs.”
Denver’s cellphone rang. He glanced at it and said, “I think we’re done here.”
“We’d appreciate being kept informed,” Stan said.
Denver nodded, then left.
Stan leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Maybe you should stay out of the Kerrisdale area completely until Erin’s accomplices are found.”
Casey saw his point and didn’t want to start another argument. The fact was, though, that other seniors, including Monica, could be in danger. If Erin was murdered by one of her cohorts, then something had gone horribly wrong. Who knows what that silver-eyed psycho would do next?
“You look tired,” Stan added. “How are you sleeping?”
“Okay.”
“Have you had trouble concentrating?”
Pain shot through her skull. Lord, he was making her feel worse than Philippe had. “Who doesn’t in this heat?”
Stan clasped his hands together. “I want to suggest something to you, but I don’t want you to get upset. I’m only trying to help.”
Casey braced herself. “What is it?”
“I think you should get some counseling.”
What the hell? “Don’t need it.”
Stan cleared his throat. “Lou said you’re still having nightmares, and I’m very concerned.” He paused. “It’s possible that you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress.”
“I don’t think so.” And why was Lou discussing her nightmares with her boss?
“I’ve seen enough of it in my lifetime. You’ve got textbook symptoms, Casey.”
But he wasn’t a damn doctor.
“The sooner you accept that you can’t go charging off to save the world, the better off you’ll be. You’ll get no shifts until I see a report about the concussion.”
“Fine.” Whatever.
One step forward and two frigging steps back. As Casey trudged out the door, fatigue and frustration bombarded her.
TWENTY-ONE
Gripping the handrail, Casey slowly descended the steps to MPT’s first floor. The stress from that meeting had worsened her headache. Truth was, this day was sucking the life and whatever goodwill she’d had right out of her. Philippe’s stunt was bad enough, but she could not believe that Stan and Lou had discussed her medical condition. They had to stop treating her like an invalid. Hadn’t she done her best not to act like one? God, how she missed living a fully functional life. Nearly three weeks had passed since the attack, but it felt like three months.
Casey reached the main floor as Philippe stepped out of the men’s locker room. She charged toward him.
“Did you have your little meeting with Gwyn? Not that it’ll help you now, and just what the hell did you think you’d gain by planting my earring at Erin’s house?”
Philippe stepped back, his face cautious. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t bother lying. I know I placed both earrings in that bag, and I know you took it.” She glared at him. “Maybe Denver can arrange a polygraph test.”
Philippe crossed his arms. “Must be nice having a cop friend. He’ll believe whatever bullshit you tell him.”
“Speaking of bullshit.” She stepped closer. “What year did you graduate from McGill?”
As expected, Philippe looked taken aback. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything, since it proves what a liar you are,” Casey replied. “As far as McGill is concerned, you don’t exist.” She loved the way his face paled. “Should we guess what else you’ve lied about, or just let Stan and the police figure it out?”
For once, the moron had no snappy comeback. What could he say? He knew he was drowning in lies.
“You think you know me,” Philippe said, “but you don’t. I’m not the bad guy here. In fact, I’ve done a better job than the cops at zeroing in on suspects. Still am. I’ve got a serious lead on the location of Erin’s boyfriend.”
“You can’t stop spewing garbage, can you?” She headed for the exit.
“It’s not garbage!”
“Stan’s waiting for you,” she called out. “Better get your ass up there.”
Stepping outside into the agonizingly bright sunlight, Casey grabbed the sunglasses from her bag. Her head hurt so badly that nausea was settling in, arms and legs weakening. When she finally reached her Tercel, she collapsed onto the driver’s seat, leaving the door open so the heat could escape. Casey closed her eyes. She couldn’t wait for Philippe to get his ass fired, and what was that crap about knowing where the boyfriend was?
Her phone rang. She looked at the display screen. Great. Barb. Casey’s arm trembled as she held the phone to her ear. “Hi, Barb. What’s up?”
“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie,” Barb said. “Are you still in your meeting?”
“Just finished.”
“Good, because Summer chose an amazing dress. Can you come back and take a look?”
“Actually, I have a headache and need to go straight home.”
“Aren’t your meds with you?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should carry them at all times?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Casey wished she’d let the call go to voice mail. “I forgot to bring them.”
“Oh dear. Well, how about we put the dress on hold and you can come down tomorrow?”
“Okay. Bye.”
Even with the sunglasses on, opening her eyes was painful. Nausea roiled in Casey’s stomach. She breathed slowly and tried to relax.
“Casey?” Lou was suddenly standing next to her.
She barely managed to glance up. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m on a break.”
Opening the car door wider, he knelt next to her. “I thought you were shopping with Mom.”
“Stan wanted to see me right away.”
“What about?”
“For one thing, he admitted that you two have been discussing my health.” Casey glared at him. “How could you do that?”
For a brief moment, he looked a little guilty, but then she saw the determination in those gray eyes. “I’ve been worried about you, and for good reason. You’ve got another headache, haven’t you?”
She looked away, bracing herself for another lecture.
“I know the signs, Casey. Leave your car here and I’ll drive you home.” He reached for her.
“Wait,” she mumbled. “The nausea’ll pass in a minute.”
“You feel sick as well? Oh geez.”
Pain shot through her skull. Casey moaned.
“Listen to me,” Lou said. “You know I love you more than anything, but I think we should postpone the wedding again. I seriously doubt that you’ll be anywhere near ready.”
&
nbsp; She kept her gaze lowered. “You think I have PTSD, don’t you? That’s what you and Stan have been talking about.”
Lou hesitated. “The point is that wedding preparations have already caused you stress. The closer we get to your wedding day, the more frequent the headaches will probably get, and this one looks bad enough.”
Casey closed her eyes. “Let’s talk about it later.”
“There’s no time. Mom needs to start canceling things today.”
“She’ll never forgive us.”
“We have to do this, Casey. Recovery’s going to take time. You’ve got to accept that.”
Why was he pressuring her? “It can wait a couple of hours, till I’ve had some sleep.”
“No. I’ve made a decision. We’re postponing things today.”
“Hi, you two,” Marie said, joining them. “How’s it going?”
Casey tried to meet her gaze but it hurt too much.
“That good, huh?” Marie remarked. “Let me guess. Headache?”
“Big time,” Lou answered for her. “They’re not usually this bad. I don’t know what happened.”
“Why don’t I take you home,” Marie said to Casey. “I came in early to work on a report but it can wait.”
Casey didn’t know how to respond so she said nothing. Didn’t even care that Lou and Marie were exchanging murmured words. She just wanted to lie down.
“Marie will take you home.” Lou kissed Casey’s cheek. “I’ll call Mom.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue, and she sure in hell didn’t want to do it in front of Marie. Casey refused to look at Lou as he helped her into Marie’s vehicle. Once inside, he squeezed her hand, but she shook it off. He looked at her a moment, then walked away. Tears trickled below the sunglasses. Marie started the SUV and turned on the air conditioning. Embarrassed, Casey swiped at the tears with her fingers.
“What’s wrong, besides the headache?” Marie asked quietly.
She shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”
“It takes a lot to reduce you to tears. I can be a good listener.”
“I hate it when people make decisions about my life without my input.”
“Me too.” Marie paused. “What’s been happening?”
“I just met with the police and Stan. But this stays between us, okay?”
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