Knock Knock

by Debra Purdy Kong

  He ventured through the marina’s entrance that lacked both a gate and a security guard, then headed down the walkway toward the boats. As he disappeared from view, Casey hurried toward the marina, looking for security personnel. Did they even have any security here? Plenty of people were lounging on their decks. If Philippe was to jump onto someone’s boat he would be noticed.

  Although the sun was now low in the sky, Casey kept her sunglasses and hat on. Phillipe strolled along the floating dock, his head swiveling from side to side. The guy was definitely searching for something.

  Behind Casey, a child started to wail. She turned to see a kid trying to pick up the ice cream cone he’d dropped on the ground. His mother gripped his arm and ordered him not to touch it. The kid was becoming hysterical.

  By the time she turned her attention back to the marina, Philippe had vanished. Damn! Moving closer to the entrance, Casey removed her sunglasses and scanned every individual, but didn’t see Philippe. Where the hell was he? She removed a pair of binoculars from her bag.

  As Casey surveyed each vessel, a man began shouting from one of the boats. To her left, Casey heard “get out!” and “cops!” Uh-oh. People were looking at a sailboat at least eight slips from here. Part of Casey wanted to run down there and get Philippe away from this place, but the twinge of discomfort in her shoulder was sufficient reminder to stay out of the fray. An immense crash came from the boat. Someone yelled. The water splashed. People were beginning to gather around her.

  Casey slipped the binoculars back into her bag. She spotted a tall, husky man in a dark hoodie standing near the boat-rental shop, watching the commotion. His partial profile was hidden in shadow, yet something about the man gave Casey goosebumps. Time to leave. Philippe would have to fend for himself. The closest way out was back down the narrow lane.

  It was getting dark now and shops in the lane were closing, Casey kept a casual pace. Glancing over her shoulder, she gasped and nearly froze. The man was heading this way! Images of a ski mask and enraged, silver eyes made her move faster. Oh god. This couldn’t be him, could it? If he was her attacker, had he recognized her? Was that even possible?

  A couple of people approached from the other end of the lane. Good. She wouldn’t be alone. The trick was to merge with larger groups and find her way back to her car. But where was it? She felt completely disoriented.

  Casey grabbed her phone from the bag and dialed Denver. The call went to voice mail. She left a quick message about her situation and asked him to call her. Man, he was going to be ticked.

  At the end of the lane, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder again. He was in the lane and walking fast. Casey moved swiftly and merged with a large group of tourists, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed. She still couldn’t remember where she’d left her car. Damn. Where was it? Think!

  Casey crossed the road. Weaving amongst smaller groups of people, she came across a cluster of shops preparing to close. She turned again, reached another road, and headed past the closed public market. Man, she could wind up alone out here.

  Casey charged down the side of the building toward a group of tourists who’d stopped to look at the view of False Creek and the many high-rises on the other side of the water. She walked past the group and continued on until she found herself in another maze of shops. She hurried into an open gift shop and maneuvered past tables displaying ceramic animals, stationery, knick-knacks, jewelry, and glassware.

  Once she reached the clothing racks near the back of the store, Casey turned and studied the shop’s windows. No sign of Hoodie Guy. She smiled at the twenty-something clerk, who returned a pensive nod from behind the counter. Two customers were examining a collection of music boxes on glass shelves against the wall. Judging from their conversation, they couldn’t decide which box to buy.

  Calming down, Casey removed her hat and stuffed it into her large bag. Again, she glanced at the windows. Still clear. Her phone rang. She hoped it was Denver.

  As she stepped behind the clothing racks, she heard Lou say, “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. I’m shopping for dresses right now.” She slid a couple of hangers along the rack and again looked at the window. “I might come home in a gorgeous new outfit.” If she was lucky, a different look would throw off her pursuer.

  “Can’t wait.”

  Neither could she. “See you soon.”

  Casey found several summer dresses in her size. She draped a couple of them over her arm just as Hoodie Guy marched past the windows. He was hurrying, looking for her. Casey scrunched down, praying that he wouldn’t stop and peer through the glass. What if he came back?

  She grabbed two more dresses and smiled at the clerk, who was ringing up the customer’s music box. “I’d like to try these on.”

  “Of course. Just through there.” She nodded toward the blue curtain near the counter.

  “Thank you.” Casey darted into the tiny room.

  Concentrating was nearly impossible. Hoodie Guy could come inside any minute, and then what? Casey looked from one dress to the other. Two styles she ruled out right away, but a vibrant red, ankle-length summer dress with spaghetti straps and a matching wrap looked promising. She put it on as fast as her healing body would allow, grateful that the wrap hid her injured shoulder.

  Oh lord, it was gorgeous. Casey peeked out of the dressing room. No sign of trouble.

  “That color’s awesome on you,” the clerk said.

  “Thanks.” She checked the tag. The dress was on sale for one hundred and fifty bucks. Wow. She’d never paid that much for a sundress in her life, but this was a makeover emergency. “I’ll take it.”

  “We have hats and handbags that would match the dress,” the clerk added.

  “Perfect. If I wait here, could you choose what you think would look best?”

  “My pleasure.”

  Hoodie Guy could still be around. She felt safer in this tiny dressing room with the curtain shut. It gave her time to strategize and work on not totally freaking out. Casey checked her phone. No message from Denver.

  The clerk reappeared with a selection of handbags and hats. “Any of these would work.”

  Casey chose a white hat and matching bag.

  The clerk glanced at Casey’s battered running shoes. “Have you seen our sandals?”

  “No, but I think I should.”

  The clerk grinned, no doubt delighted that she hadn’t closed before Casey showed up. Soon, she was trying out a delicate pair of black sandals with three-inch heels. They would be terrible for running in, but not impossible. She’d done so before. Her credit card would take a beating for this impromptu shopping spree, but Lou would love the outfit. She couldn’t remember when she last dressed up for him.

  “Do you mind if I wear these things out? I want to surprise my fiancé.”

  “Of course. I’ll ring these up, then cut the tags and give you a large bag for your clothes.”

  Casey glanced out the window. The area seemed clear of menacing strangers, which wasn’t necessarily comforting.

  “Is everything all right?” the clerk asked, looking a little pensive. “You seem worried.”

  “I can’t remember where I parked my car.”

  The clerk nodded. “That’s a common problem. Do you remember any particular signs?”

  She thought about this a moment. “I think one was an artisan’s workshop. There was an animal on the sign.”

  “A bear?”

  Casey smiled. “Yes.”

  “I know exactly where you’re parked.”

  After the clerk gave instructions, Casey stuffed her old clothes in the store’s bag, then took a tentative step outside. Hoodie Guy was nowhere to be seen. Pulling the new hat low enough to conceal part of her face, she walked with a purposeful don’t-mess-with-me stride. If Hoodie Guy spotted her, she prayed he wouldn’t make the connection between the jean-clad woman and one in a red dress.

  She moved as quickly as she could in the heels and soon found her w
ay back on the correct road. The white Hummer was still there, now sporting a ticket on the windshield. If that was all this evening had cost Philippe, he could count himself lucky.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Standing this close to a crime scene gives me the willies,” Monica murmured, rubbing her arms. “I had the same awful sensation in front of Elsie’s house the morning you and I met.”

  “I know what you mean,” Casey said. “It’s never easy.”

  Monica looked at her. “How many crime scenes have you been to?”

  “More than you want to know.” More than she wanted to count. Casey studied the cluster of trees and bushes several yards ahead. “Does the forest back up onto another street?”

  “No. There’s a wide strip of green space on the other side,” she replied. “My understanding is that the area’s residents were horrified when the city started clear-cutting trees, which was the habitat of many birds and small animals. To get rid of protestors and avoid an even bigger PR nightmare, the city relented and left them that cluster. Little did anyone know that it would be overrun by homeless folks.”

  Casey gazed at the mini forest surrounded by clipped green grass. The perfect spot for people to meet in secret, or kill someone. Erin Brightman’s body was found four days ago. Two more days passed before her blood and T-shirt were found in that forest. Authorities had confirmed that the blood and shirt were Erin’s.

  “I saw some of those homeless freaks remove the police tape,” Monica said. “Honestly, I don’t know how much more I can take. What with all of the horrible events in my own neighborhood, I can barely sleep anymore.”

  Her appearance suggested as much. Monica’s beehive hairdo had flattened into a partially frayed puff. Other than a little lip gloss, she wore no makeup, not that it mattered with those big sunglasses. Her flamingo-pink tank top and shorts were far more wrinkled than they had been when Casey first visited. Monica didn’t strike Casey as the type of woman who ventured outside in wrinkled clothes. The woman was definitely under stress.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Casey said, ushering her toward the playground.

  Neither of them spoke for several seconds until Monica blurted, “Look at these people going on with their lives like nothing’s happened. Don’t they care that a young woman was murdered here?”

  “I’m sure they do, but wouldn’t parents want things to appear as normal as possible for their kids?”

  “I suppose so.”

  The playground was busy this morning. Joggers ran while others walked their dogs. Gruesome events were little more than a ripple in their busy lives and routines. Ripples dissolved and merged with the landscape, but this didn’t mean that something hadn’t permanently changed.

  “Do you think the killer will be caught?” Monica asked.

  “I have confidence in the police.”

  “Good for you,” Monica replied with a huff. “I just hope you’re not overestimating their abilities.”

  Casey hoped so too. While she was on her way home last night, Denver finally returned her call. He’d been so happy to hear about the sailboat that he barely lectured her about following Philippe in the first place. Once she got home, he’d called again. The boat’s owner had been identified. Unfortunately, the owner had rented it to a friend who’d sublet it to someone else. Denver refused to give her the name of that individual.

  Still, the pieces were falling into place. Denver also mentioned that Ivan Novak had a lengthy conversation with Philippe, who had indeed been pushed into the water. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, the idiot was apparently fine. Philippe finally admitted that he’d only pretended to leave Erin’s neighborhood the day he and Casey were there. After Casey cleared the area, he’d doubled back and watched Erin and her boyfriend’s hasty departure. From there, Philippe had followed them to the marina. She wasn’t surprised to hear that he hadn’t yet admitted to placing the earring at the basement suite.

  “I know I sound cynical,” Monica said, “but it’s just so hard to stay positive these days. Everything’s so . . . Anyway, I really appreciate you coming to see me.”

  “No problem.”

  Monica had phoned twice over the weekend asking Casey to visit. Yesterday afternoon’s call had sounded so needy that Casey couldn’t turn her down. Truthfully, she would have preferred to stay home and rest. Last night’s cloak-and-dagger adventure on Granville Island had given her another nightmare. Even as she drove away from the island, the adrenalin rush wouldn’t leave. Throughout the entire drive home, she’d constantly checked the rearview mirror.

  “Did Elsie have a favorite path or spot around here?” Casey asked.

  “She enjoyed watching kids in the playground.” Monica scanned the grounds. “Wouldn’t you know? The one time I hope to see Denis and he’s not around. I wanted you talk to him.”

  “Maybe he’ll turn up.” Although interviewing him could be a waste of time. On the few occasions she’d seen Denis, he seemed suspicious of people. If he was informing for the gang, she was the one who needed to be cautious.

  “When will you have your ring replaced?” Monica asked.

  “What?” The change in topic caught Casey off guard. She glanced at her discolored finger.

  “I was thinking we should talk about happy things for a bit,” Monica explained.

  “Actually, Lou and I have been too busy to shop.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “It was supposed to be at the end of August, but I’m not a hundred percent yet, so we’ve postponed it.”

  “Have you set a new date?”

  “No.”

  Monica peered at her. “I hate to say this, sweetie, but no ring and no new date is a bad sign.”

  For some maybe. Lou was still encouraging her to choose a honeymoon destination. On the other hand, postponing the wedding had been his idea both times. He hadn’t mentioned a new ring lately either. Should she be worried?

  “There’s Ricky.” Monica pointed to an old man with hunched shoulders and wisps of white hair beneath his ball cap.

  “Who?”

  “The old guy with the metal detector. He comes here a couple of times a week, looking for loose change and lord knows what else. Lugging that detector around can’t be easy with a gimpy leg.”

  Casey recalled seeing the man in the park the morning after Elsie was attacked. “Does he ever find anything?”

  “Maybe enough coins to buy a coffee,” Monica replied. “But this isn’t his only stop. Ricky roams around.” Leaning closer, she whispered, “I think he needs whatever extra money he can find. I’m sure he lives alone. His clothes are always mismatched.”

  “Does he live in the neighborhood?”

  “Elsie told me that he lives in a low-rent seniors’ co-op not far from here.” Monica watched him. “She would bring Ricky homemade cookies. The poor man was devastated when he heard what happened to her.”

  “I wonder if he’s seen anyone lurking around.”

  “Good question. Let’s go ask.”

  Casey cringed. “You go. I need to keep a low profile.”

  “No worries.” Monica charged ahead. “I’ll handle this.”

  Casey was already worried. She sat on a bench within earshot of Ricky, who was watching the ground when Monica tapped him on the shoulder.

  He looked up and smiled. “Hey there, pretty lady. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy with my granddaughters. How goes the search? Find anything good yet?”

  “Nah, but who knows? Maybe soon, eh?”

  “Ricky, you’re the most optimistic man I know,” Monica said. “Hey, did you hear about the poor girl who was killed over there?” She gestured toward the trees.

  “Who hasn’t around here?” He too glanced in that direction. “Sometimes I think the whole world’s heading down the crapper. Then I see them kids playing, and it don’t seem so bad.”

  “But it is bad,” Monica insisted. “Do you think one of the homeless people
killed her?”

  “Could be.” He paused. “I told the cops about the ones I’d seen over the last few days.”

  “Good.” Monica glanced at Casey. “The cops think the killer’s part of the home-invasion gang.”

  “Really?”

  Casey winced. Why was Monica telling him that? Casey simply told her that the cops were looking into all possibilities. Monica was leaping to conclusions. As Ricky resumed his work, Monica again glanced at Casey, who prayed that she wasn’t asked to join them.

  “Ricky, have you noticed any strangers lurking around the park?”

  “There’s always new people in summer. Visitors, transients.”

  Casey decided to move out of sight before Monica really did call her over. Besides, it was clear that their conversation was leading nowhere. She headed for the nearest footpath. Keeping a swift pace, she followed the curving path past a cluster of bushes. Once she was out of Monica’s view, she slowed down. Only a minute later, however, Monica caught up to her.

  “Ricky wasn’t overly helpful,” Monica said. “I think the dead woman’s connection to the gang shook him up, though. Ricky’s one of those sensitive types. Maybe I should bake him some cookies. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want him to become too attached. I have enough people depending on me.” As Monica looked past Casey, her jaw tightened. “Look who showed up.”

  Denis Stoyko loped across the green space. Casey still hadn’t figured out if Monica’s animosity was because of Denis’s behavior or sloppy appearance or because he supposedly suffered from some type of mental illness.

  “Denis!” Monica called out and marched toward him.

  Casey hurried after her. “Monica, wait.”

  Monica kept going. “Do you know anything about the woman who was murdered in the bushes?”

  Denis’s puffy lips twitched and his eyes narrowed.

  “Monica, would you mind if I talked to Denis privately for a minute?” Casey asked.

  “Go ahead. I have a call to make anyway.” Leaning closer, she mumbled, “Ask that schizo what he talks to the gardeners about.” Removing her phone from her pocket, she strolled several yards away.