“Absolutely.”
Trust hadn’t worked too well in the past with Marie, but they’d been getting along well lately. Besides, she would want to know about Philippe’s latest stunt. Casey told her about the earring.
“That son of a bitch,” Marie muttered.
Casey took a deep breath. “Stan thinks I have PTSD. He wants me to stay on leave.”
Marie pulled out of the lot. “Did I ever tell you about my first husband?”
“No.” In the years Casey had known Marie, she’d said little about her three failed marriages except to complain about late support payments. When Casey met her, Marie was already on her third marriage.
“He was a hockey player,” Marie said. “By the time he played his first NHL game, he’d already suffered three concussions, only they didn’t make a big deal of it back then. One night, a hard check sent him headfirst into the boards.” Marie paused. “After the fourth incident, he wasn’t okay for a long time. Each concussion took longer to heal. Each one altered his mood, and not for the better.”
“But he healed?”
Marie didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, but it ended his career. Doctor said if he took another hit, he could wind up with permanent brain damage or even die. It soured our relationship. There were other problems, mind you. We were young and immature.”
“This is only my first concussion.”
Marie glanced at her. “Trust me when I say that you need to put your health first.”
Another tear slipped down Casey’s cheek. “Easier said than done.”
“Especially for a real live action figure like you.” Marie smiled. “Let me deal with Philippe. I’m still your eyes and ears, though it wouldn’t surprise me if his days are numbered.”
“You’re right,” Casey mumbled, keeping her eyes closed. “Stan’s firing him, maybe right now.”
Marie grinned. “About bloody time.”
. . .
Casey woke with a start, wondering why her head was ringing so loudly. She opened her eyes. It was the phone. She blinked at her digital clock. Five-thirty? Lord, she’d slept the entire afternoon. At least the headache was gone. She picked up the phone and heard Monica’s slightly breathless voice.
“Did you hear about that poor murdered woman from the rec center? I just saw her picture in the paper and recognized her right away.”
“Yeah.” Casey sat up. “Erin Brightman.”
“The police are all over the park behind my house. Rumor is that she was killed somewhere in the thicket of trees and bushes. It’s like a dense mini forest in there.” Monica took a deep, wheezy breath. “Neighbors say that the crime technicians found blood and buried clothing.”
Casey headed for her laptop. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Remember me telling you that Erin looked familiar?”
“Yes.”
“I figured it out as soon as I heard that she died in the park. Erin had been there before, I know it!”
Monica’s observation skills weren’t perfect. Casey sat on the sofa and booted up the laptop. “When was that?”
“A couple of days before Elsie was killed. We were out for a stroll and walked right past her.”
Interesting. “Have you told the police this?”
“Hardly. You know what my history is with them. But feel free to do so on my behalf,” Monica replied. “Do you think I should get another alarm system? Two are better than one, right?”
Casey didn’t want to be her personal security consultant. “You and your husband should consult a home-alarm expert. Will he be back from his trip soon?”
“No. Not for a while.”
Too bad. “Did you see Erin only once in the park?”
“I think so, but that retard Denis might have seen her hanging around, who knows? He’s always there. Homeless people sleep in that thicket, you know. Maybe Denis knows them. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those people killed her.”
Were some of the homeless paid to be informers for the gang? Had Erin gone there to collect information? Or was one of the gang living among the homeless to observe the surrounding neighborhoods?
“I’m sure that the police would have questioned Denis,” Casey said.
“They wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. Denis has had run-ins with the cops and there’s bad blood on both sides.” Monica sighed into the phone. “I know I sound paranoid, but since Elsie’s death, it’s hard not to be. Half the seniors on our street won’t go out anymore. After what happened to you, they won’t even open their doors for people.” She clicked her tongue. “Do you know if the police have investigated the landscapers and cleaning people yet?”
“My supervisor gave the cops the company names you provided, but no one’s followed up with me.” Not that she expected Stan or Ivan Novak to.
“You should come by and talk to Denis. Check out the crime scene. I’m sure you could learn more from any witnesses than the so-called professionals.”
“I doubt that the police will let anyone near the area right now.” They definitely wouldn’t want her interviewing people.
“You should at least find out what your coworker’s been up to, unless you already know?”
Casey sat up straight. “Which coworker?”
“That surfer type who was in the car with us. He showed up on this street last night and again a half hour ago.”
Oh hell. What was Philippe up to now? “What was he doing?”
“Watching the cops.”
Had Stan changed his mind about firing Philippe or was he acting on his own? “I’ll talk to my supervisor.”
“Talk to Denis. A pretty woman like you would get more out of him than I would.”
“I’ll think about it. I’ve got to check a couple things out first. I’ll call you later.”
“Please do.”
A chat with Denis Stoyko could lead to something useful, and a walk in the park in daylight wouldn’t be strenuous. Once again, Stan couldn’t stop her from visiting a friend on her own time.
Maybe she should call Marie and find out if Philippe had been fired. On the other hand, maybe she should let Stan know what the jerk had been up to. No. Better wait until tomorrow, when she knew more and her anger had faded. Besides, whether he’d been fired or not, Philippe was the one who needed monitoring.
Casey pulled her laptop closer. Since she had access to security team contact info, it would only take a minute to learn his home address.
. . .
Casey leaned back against the living-room sofa, both comforted and worried. She’d made two phone calls in the past hour and had learned more about Philippe. One was confirmation from Marie that the guy had indeed been fired.
“It was pathetic, Casey. From what the staff overheard, Philippe was yelling and practically begging for a second chance. Stan stood his ground, though.”
Casey figured he would. Once Stan made a decision like that, he never backed down. Apparently, Philippe then stormed out of the security department, vowing to prove that he could not only find the other two home-invasion suspects, but would hand them to the police.
Marie’s revelations had prompted Casey to call Denver. After she told him about Philippe’s plan to track down the remaining suspects, he’d assured her that he would pass the info onto Detective Novak. It was highly likely that Denver also told Novak her suspicion about Philippe. He would have provided a full report of what she had to say about the earring as well.
“After a thorough background check and a chat with his previous employer,” Denver had offered, “we learned that the guy liked to tell his coworkers at the grocery store that he was destined for great things.”
“Grocery store?”
“He was a shelf stocker, then cashier, and later an assistant manager, until he quit. Word is that the kid wasn’t a team player.”
“No kidding. And now he’s determined to play the big hero.”
“Someone needs to talk some sense into him,” Denver remarked.
“After your encounter with him today, you’re the best one for the job,” Casey said.
Denver was noncommittal, not that it really mattered. Casey doubted he’d get far with Philippe anyway. Neither would she, yet she had to try. Despite Philippe’s many faults, she didn’t want him to suffer the sadistic violence she’d endured. He had to be warned that he was in over his head with that silver-eyed psycho. She picked up her phone.
Philippe answered on the fourth ring. “Don’t tell me you’re actually calling to gloat?”
“No. I’m calling about your claim that you can find Erin’s boyfriend.”
“It’s not a claim, it’s a fact.”
“Have you told the police?”
“What for? Thanks to you and Stan, my reputation’s shit. I need to redeem myself if I want to get a decent job.”
“Bringing him in on your own isn’t the way to do it, Philippe.”
“You don’t know squat.”
“I know that you’ve been in Monica Silver’s neighborhood again.”
“Are you spying on me now?”
“No. Monica saw you.”
“That old lady needs to get a life.”
“So do you,” she shot back. “Listen to me, chasing those guys down will either land you in jail or the morgue. They like hurting people, Philippe. I’ve experienced the rage firsthand, remember? They’re lunatics.”
“Nice of you to worry, Casey, but don’t bother. This will be wrapped up Monday night.”
Two days from now. “Why? What’s happening Monday night?”
“As if I’d tell you,” he said. “If you were truly a good investigator, you would have paid more attention to Erin. I didn’t just follow her to work and her home. No one’s seen what I have.”
Casey didn’t like the sound of this. “What have you seen?”
“Like I’m going to tell you,” he answered with a snort. “I gotta say, though, that being a free agent has its perks. I can come and go when and where I please. Follow whoever I want. Stake out whichever boat I choose.”
“Boat? What are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“Everyone thinks you’re so great. Figure it out yourself.”
“Philippe, don’t do this. What if I ask Stan to write a reference letter? I know he would. He’s well aware that Gwyn put you in a difficult position.”
“I don’t need or want your help,” he snapped. “I’ll lead the cops to Erin’s cohorts and make sure the media knows who saved the day. Any security company will hire me then.”
This had to be the world’s worst plan. She just hoped that Denver could stop him.
TWENTY-TWO
By late Monday afternoon, Casey had decided that Philippe had to be kept from doing something crazy. The cops certainly couldn’t stop him. Denver had said as much after confirming that he’d warned Philippe, in person, about interfering with a police investigation.
The landline rang. She didn’t recognize the tentative voice that said, “Is this Casey?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad to finally talk to you. I’m Warren Sheckter. Lou’s dad.”
What? Holy crap. “Uh, hi.” She scrambled for something to say. “Are you calling from Winnipeg?” Last she heard, he was still living there.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid Lou’s out right now, but he should be back in a few minutes.”
“That’s fine,” Warren answered. “Since my son won’t return my calls and I can’t get hold of his mother, maybe you can tell me if your wedding is on or off.”
“Off, I’m afraid.”
“Barb told me what happened, and I’m very sorry to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “How are you doing?”
“Better, thanks.” Warren was saying all the right words, but his tone was uncomfortably formal. “It’s too bad we won’t have a chance to meet at last, unless you’re still planning to come to Vancouver?”
“Sorry, no. My wife will want to take the kids to see her folks in Ontario.”
“I understand.” Casey knew that Warren had had a child with another woman, but she hadn’t heard about a second kid. Why hadn’t Lou told her?
After a few more polite exchanges, Warren hung up. Casey puzzled over the call. Lou used to visit his dad every summer, but he hadn’t done so since the man remarried and had a child. Weeks ago, Barb mentioned that Warren should probably be invited to the wedding. Lou hadn’t responded.
Casey headed for the kitchen to start supper. She had a feeling that Lou wouldn’t react well if she mentioned Warren’s call. Still, this required some discussion. Thankfully, the communication between her and Lou had improved over the weekend.
She’d gathered the courage to tell him how she felt about being watched so closely and questioned whenever she wanted to leave the house. She’d also told him how disappointed she felt about the wedding postponement, even though she understood his reasoning. In the end, Lou apologized for making her feel this way and agreed not to be so bossy.
She’d just finished tossing the salad when he entered their apartment.
“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “What’s for supper?”
“Spaghetti.” She placed the salad on the table. “Your father just called to ask if the wedding was happening. He’s spending his vacation with his in-laws now.”
Lou’s cheerful expression vanished. “Good.” He slipped off his flip-flops and carried a case of beer into the kitchen.
“Did you actually talk to your dad about coming to our wedding?”
“No.” He placed the bottles in the fridge, leaving one out. “Dad manipulated his way to an invitation.”
“How?”
“He told me that Mom wanted him there, so I agreed.” Lou opened the bottle. “But he told her that I wanted him there, which I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a lousy father who doesn’t deserve that privilege.” Lou took a long swig.
“If he knew you didn’t want him there, why was he insisting? It’s not like you two are close.”
“To avoid the embarrassment of being excluded,” he answered. “It’s okay to leave his wife and kids and start a new family. But to lose face in front of relatives and old friends at an event that his own parents were attending would have been unthinkable.” Lou took another gulp of beer.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“You’ve had enough to deal with. Anyway, problem solved.”
The comment unsettled Casey. “Are you saying that part of the reason you called the wedding off was to keep Warren from showing up?”
“No, it just worked out that way.” Lou let out a long sigh. “Look, if you give my father an inch he’ll take a yard. He would have used the wedding to ingratiate himself with his kids. And I don’t need him telling me for the hundredth time that driving for MPT is a lousy way to support a family. Does he think I don’t know that?”
Whoa. It sounded like there’d been some pretty intense discussions he hadn’t shared with her. But in the eight months they’d been living together, Casey had come to understand how little Lou shared his feelings until he had to. How much anger was he carrying around? Surely he realized there would eventually be a wedding and that his father’s name would come up again. Estranged parents weren’t so easily dismissed. The problem wasn’t solved at all.
“I’m going to combine a drive and a walk tonight.” Casey placed a pot of water on the burner and glanced at the stove’s clock. “I need a change of scenery from neighborhood strolls.” This was not the time to tell him about Philippe.
Lou looked at her. “Can I call to make sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Then have fun.”
Unlikely.
. . .
The familiar white Hummer cruised out of the condo complex’s underground parking. Casey followed, relieved to have arrived early enough to catch Philippe before he ventured out on his mission. Heading west, she followed him throug
h Burnaby and into Vancouver. It was 7:15 PM. The sun wouldn’t set for a while, which made tailing him easier. Of course, she ran the risk of being spotted, but since Philippe’s surveillance skills were sketchy, she figured she was safe. Besides, if he spotted her, maybe it would prevent him from doing something incredibly risky.
Twenty-five minutes later, Philippe was on West Fourth Avenue and making a right turn. He drove across the short bridge connecting the mainland to Granville Island. Why was he heading toward a major tourist trap? Granville Island was loaded with gift shops, eateries, a market, hotel, theaters, and artisans’ workshops. There were also houseboats and even a concrete factory, a reminder of the island’s old industrial days. But there was also a marina.
On a warm July night like this, parking spots were almost nonexistent. Philippe’s Hummer crawled down and around strangely angled roads, some of which made room for parallel parking while others had parking stalls crammed next to buildings. Philippe swerved into a spot reserved for people with disabilities. Figured. Casey backed up and managed to squeeze into a tiny spot several cars back from his.
She put on a straw hat and began to follow Philippe. The guy sauntered along, glancing in shop windows and paying extra attention to the women wandering around in bikini tops and shorts. Plenty of tourists were milling about this evening and many of the gift shops were still open.
Philippe turned left and disappeared behind a building. Casey began to jog. No way would she lose him in the labyrinth of walkways and buildings. Catching sight of Philippe, she followed him into a lane that was too narrow for vehicles. The lane opened onto a dry dock. To her left were trees and a bit of green space, as well as three boats undergoing repair. The marina was straight ahead.
Philippe ambled toward it while Casey stayed behind, partially hidden by one of the boats. Near the edge of the dock, Philippe stopped and seemed to be surveying the marina. Was he looking for a specific vessel or an individual? To Phillip’s right, about fifty yards away, a small building advertised boat rentals. Farther down from the boat-rental place, chatter came from a crowded restaurant patio. She wished she was there, enjoying a beer, but Philippe was the priority.
Knock Knock Page 17
