Knock Knock

by Debra Purdy Kong

  Denis glared at Monica. “I’m not schizo,” he said to Casey. “I’m bipolar. My dad says she’s the one who’s crazy.”

  Casey smiled. “Mainly, she’s just frightened.”

  “You’re around here a lot.” Denis studied her. “Don’t you have a job?”

  “I’m on holiday.”

  “I don’t take holidays. I have to work.”

  Not the comment she’d expected. “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Police assistant.” He stood a little straighter.

  “Interesting.” And not possible. “Are you working on anything special right now?”

  “Hunting for those home invaders who killed old Mrs. Englehart. Gonna get ’em too.”

  Casey made a point of looking impressed. “How are you going to do that? Do you have some sort of plan?”

  Denis’s eyes narrowed. “That’s for me and the police to know. Not civilians.”

  “My name’s Casey, and I’m also helping the police. My friend Constable Davies was one of the officers who found Elsie Englehart and called for an ambulance.”

  Denis’s mouth fell open. “No way.”

  “It’s true. I guess you heard about the woman who was killed in this park four nights ago.”

  He stared at her for several awkward seconds before nodding. “Everyone knows.”

  “Did you see any strangers or anything unusual happen in the neighborhood that day? It would have been late Friday night.”

  Denis shuffled his feet. “Assholes live in the bushes. They could’ve done it.”

  Assholes? “Have you had arguments with them?”

  He frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because my friend Denver will want to know.”

  He shrugged. “They don’t talk to me. Just tell me to fuck off if I get too close to their space. But they don’t own this park. They’re the ones who should go.”

  “True. Have you seen them watching the houses?”

  “Sometimes. But I keep an eye on them when I can. Make sure they aren’t doing something they shouldn’t.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Casey smiled. “Have you ever noticed any of them carrying a knife or other weapon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.” She paused. “Monica told me that you’ve spoken to the landscapers who work on your street.”

  He glanced at Monica who was still several yards away, talking to someone on the phone. “She’s a blabbermouth. That’s why her husband took off.”

  Whoa. What was this? “I thought he was away on business.”

  “That’s what she says, but Mom said Mr. Silver left her.”

  That would explain why Monica never talked about him. A failing marriage could also be part of the reason for her increasingly disheveled appearance and anxiety. “When did he leave?”

  “Easter time.”

  Nearly four months ago. “Denis, what do the gardeners talk to you about?”

  “Nothin’. They’re assholes too.”

  “In what way?”

  “They say stupid, mean shit about people. I told them to shut up, but they just laughed.”

  There was more to this guy than Monica gave him credit for. Instinct told her that Denis wasn’t one of the gang’s informers, at least not knowingly. Casey glanced at the playground behind her. Ricky was still there, talking to a man. The man had his back to them, but there was something about the guy—his height and dark hoodie. Oh hell. This couldn’t be the same guy who’d followed her on Granville Island, could it? Casey’s chest tightened. She took a deep breath but couldn’t get enough air. If he turned around, he’d spot her.

  “Denis, you know Ricky, right? The old guy with the metal detector at the playground?”

  Denis looked in that direction. “Sure.”

  “Do you recognize the man he’s talking to?”

  Denis squinted and jutted his chin forward. “I’ve seen him a couple times. He’s not too friendly.”

  “Was the man talking to Ricky both times you saw him?”

  Denis furrowed his brow. “Yeah.”

  If Monica was right about Ricky needing money, he’d be the perfect informer. The harmless old guy who chatted and learned everyone’s business. “Have you seen the man in the hoodie wandering through the neighborhood?”

  “No, but I should probably watch him too.”

  “Don’t, okay? I have a bad feeling about him. I think he’s dangerous.”

  Denis scratched his belly beneath the dirty hockey T-shirt. “Doesn’t look it.”

  “People misjudge you, don’t they? Someone might look harmful, but isn’t. Well, the reverse is true as well.”

  Monica had finished her phone call and started to head back this way. Time to get the hell out of here.

  “Thanks for talking to me, Denis.” Casey removed a business card from her bag. “If you see that stranger hanging around or doing anything suspicious, call the police or give me a call, okay?” She handed him the card. “And please don’t approach him. He mustn’t know that we’re watching him.”

  Denis studied the card as Monica said, “Finished your chat?”

  “Yes.” Casey took her by the arm. “Let’s head back to your place.”

  “Excellent. I could use some lemonade.”

  Casey turned to Denis. “I’d steer clear of the park right now.” Denis gaped at her. “Please, Denis. Go home for a little while.”

  He stared at her a few more moments, then ambled toward the street. As Monica started toward her house, Casey glanced over her shoulder. Hoodie Guy still had his back to her. Adjusting her ball cap and resisting the urge to run and hide, she followed Monica into the house.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Monica asked.

  “No thanks.” Casey paused. “I’m just curious, how long have you known Ricky?”

  “Let’s see, he first showed up around March, I guess.” She splashed vodka into a glass. “The guy’s a hero around here. Gave first aid to a kid who fell off the slide. People like him because he’s a sweet, friendly man who chats with everybody.”

  Casey removed the binoculars from her bag and headed for the window.

  “What are you doing?” Monica asked.

  “Taking a closer look at those trees.” If she mentioned Hoodie Guy, Monica would freak out. Casey zeroed in on the husky menace, who was now leaving Ricky and walking toward the north side of the park. “May I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course. It’s down the hall, near the front door.”

  The second she shut the door, Casey called Denver’s cell but got voice mail. No surprise there. Since he worked late last night he was probably still sleeping. She called the police department and described the lurker in Monica’s neighborhood.

  “You should leave the area, ma’am.”

  Easier said than done. The thought of stepping outside terrified her.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “You’ve been watching those trees quite a while,” Monica said, holding her lemonade glass with both hands. “Half the time your binoculars aren’t even pointed that way. What’s going on, Casey?”

  It wasn’t fair to take advantage of Monica’s hospitality without an explanation, but sharing suspicions about Ricky would further unravel the poor woman. “I saw what I think is a homeless person by the trees, watching houses.”

  “Oh no! Is he watching my place?”

  “No, and he’s moved on now.” Casey had been scanning the grounds since she’d returned from the bathroom. Ricky was still alone and Hoodie Guy hadn’t returned.

  “What does the homeless guy look like?” Monica asked.

  “Dirty clothes. Dark hair.” If she kept the description sufficiently vague, Monica wouldn’t hone in on Hoodie Guy, should their paths cross.

  “What if he’s moved to the front of the house?” Monica asked. “Should we check?”

  Casey lowered the binoculars. “No, I’ve called the police.”

  Monica gulped the last of her lemonade. “A
re you sure you don’t want one?”

  “I’m sure, thanks.” Casey planned to get the hell out of here as soon as the cops showed up. There was no way she’d step outside now without knowing where Hoodie Guy was. She wished Denver would return her call.

  “I’m going to take a peek out the front window,” Monica said. “See if anyone’s lurking.”

  Casey followed her and scanned the street. No Hoodie Guy.

  “Elsie’s son still hasn’t come to pack up her things.” Monica gazed at the house. “No one’s collected the mail, mowed the lawn, or even watered the flowers. I should, but it’s still really hard to step onto her property.”

  Casey watched the landscapers work in a neighbor’s yard. An elderly couple walked their dog, while a young woman pushed a stroller. By all appearances, this was just a normal Tuesday morning. Casey used the binoculars to see as much as she could of the street.

  “I need more lemonade,” Monica said, peering into her empty glass.

  Oh lord. How bad had the drinking become? While Monica disappeared into the kitchen, Casey studied the tastefully decorated room. The mushroom-colored sofa and easy chairs looked cozy with the cream throw pillows. Dark cherry-wood tabletops and a plush Persian rug added a rich ambiance. Although the mantle above the fireplace was filled with crystal animals and porcelain figures, every table-top was clear, probably to keep her granddaughters from breaking things. Still, there were three empty squares on the wall, exposing a lighter paint than on the surrounding area. Was Monica selling paintings to pay the bills, or was this a first tentative step toward downsizing and moving away?

  Casey wandered into the adjoining dining area and studied the knickknacks and several family photos. An eight-by-ten picture of a young woman in a lacy wedding gown took center stage on top of the china cabinet. It took a few seconds to recognize Monica’s daughter, Sonya. Her long, chestnut hair and bangs hid the bulbous forehead and softened her face. A second photo showed Sonya with a newborn in her arms and a year-old child on her lap. In this photo, Sonya’s hair was jet black and cropped short, like Casey had seen the other day. Her smile was more subdued than the beaming face in her wedding photo.

  As Monica joined her, Casey said, “These are beautiful pictures.”

  “Happier times,” Monica answered. “Sonya’s a single mom now.”

  “I guess she relies on you a lot.”

  Monica didn’t answer right away. “I don’t mind, really. It gives me something to do. Sonya’s running herself into the ground with her job and those girls. She needs a lot of help.”

  Casey’s phone rang. It was Denver. She glanced at Monica. “I’ll take this on the patio.”

  Monica nodded and sipped her drink.

  Casey had barely finished updating Denver before he said, “Why are you calling me? You should be calling Detective Novak.”

  “Isn’t he the one who sent you to question me about the earring?” she replied. “The one who might have trust issues with me?”

  “Point taken.”

  “Besides, Kerrisdale’s in the district you patrol. You have a vested interest in what’s happening.”

  “Casey, you know I have to follow protocol. I can’t bypass Novak to work the case with a civilian.”

  “Tell him I lost his business card. Is he nearby?”

  “Yeah, I’m catching up on paperwork. Spotted Novak grabbing a coffee a few minutes ago.”

  “Good. He needs to check out Ricky.”

  “And you need to leave the neighborhood right now.”

  Casey’s worry escalated. “You think Hoodie Guy’s onto me?”

  “Maybe.” Denver paused. “There are things you don’t know.”

  The back of Casey’s neck tingled. “Such as?”

  Denver cleared his throat. “It’ll be on the news shortly, but the man Philippe Beauchamp was talking to on the boat last night is dead. Apparent heroin overdose.”

  “The same as Erin Brightman?” Casey’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh.”

  “His name was Marek Wolanski, and he’s probably the man who was with Brightman the afternoon you and Philippe showed up. His prints were in Brightman’s basement suite.” Denver paused. “It’s possible that your nemesis is tying up loose ends before he leaves town.”

  “Which could put Ricky in danger.”

  “Yep.”

  Casey raised the binoculars. “The old man’s still in the playground.”

  “Can you give me a clearer description of the guy in the hoodie?”

  “I wish, but he had his back to me. Couldn’t see his hair color either time. Do you know if there are any undercover people working this neighborhood right now?”

  “No idea. Four deaths are now tied to the home invasions, Casey. More investigators are involved, and I have no idea who, exactly, is doing what.”

  Casey wasn’t sure that was true, but there was no point in pressing him on it.

  “Does Monica know Ricky’s last name, by any chance?” Denver asked.

  “I could ask, but she’d want to know why.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  “My duffel bag’s still in the car. If undercover people aren’t around, I could throw on a disguise and watch that poor old man until help arrives. Hoodie Guy could have asked to meet him somewhere private.”

  “Do I have to tell you how risky that would be?”

  Why was he treating her like a rookie? “You know I have on-the-job experience at this.”

  “Casey?” Monica appeared in the doorway. “The cop’s here and he wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” She headed back inside. “Did you hear that?” she asked Denver.

  “Yeah. Put him on the line.”

  A tall, lanky constable stood at the threshold, looking like he’d just graduated from high school. Casey explained who she was talking to and handed him the phone.

  “Could you keep an eye on Ricky for me?” she asked Monica. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “What for?” Monica took the binoculars from her. “Is something wrong?”

  “The homeless man was watching him and it doesn’t feel right.” In truth, she didn’t want Monica to hear her talking to the cop. “Maybe it would be safer if you watched from the kitchen window. And do you know if Ricky drives or walks to the park?”

  “He drives a white van that’s seen better days.” Still gripping her lemonade glass, Monica took the binoculars and headed down the hall.

  Casey remembered a white van appearing behind her the night she and Summer drove out of the neighborhood. She couldn’t recall if it was an older or newer model, or what condition it was in.

  The constable glanced at Casey and nodded in response to whatever Denver was saying. She heard him say that he hadn’t seen anyone in a gray hoodie and blue jeans.

  “Casey?” Monica reappeared. “It looks like Ricky’s leaving.”

  “Which way is he heading?”

  “South.”

  If his van was parked on the street at the south end of the park, he’d pretty much have to cross the entire park, and Ricky didn’t move fast.

  Casey edged closer to the constable. “Something’s come up and I need to talk to Denver urgently.” He offered her the phone. “Ricky’s leaving,” she said to Denver. “Are you sure I can’t follow him in disguise? I just want to make sure he gets to his van safely, and with the constable around, I’ll have help if Hoodie Guy reappears.”

  Monica suddenly jogged up the stairs. Oh shit, had she been listening?

  “I can’t condone this,” Denver replied. “Hell, I don’t have the authority to authorize anything. But let me check a couple of things, then call you back. And tell the constable to wait there.” He hung up before Casey could respond.

  As she was telling the constable where she’d last seen Hoodie Guy, Monica returned with a bulky looking dress draped over one arm and an enormous pink-and-white-striped beach bag in the other.

  “The padding in this dress will make yo
u look much heavier,” Monica said. “I can apply makeup that will add years to your face.”

  “Thanks, but makeup won’t be necessary.” She wouldn’t be getting that close to Ricky.

  “May I ask why you’re going to all this trouble for Ricky?” Monica asked. “He’s sweet and everything, but he doesn’t live in the neighborhood and clearly doesn’t own anything of value. It doesn’t make sense that some homeless man would go after him.”

  Casey glanced at the cop, who returned a blank stare. “It’s possible that he might have witnessed something that could incriminate the killer.”

  “Oh my god. You’re right! Ricky hangs around here a lot, so it’s possible that he saw something or someone suspicious.” Monica shot a scathing look at the constable. “It’s about time the police finally cared.” She turned back to Casey. “You can put the dress on over your shorts and top.”

  Casey’s phone rang again.

  “Novak’s in a meeting, and like I mentioned, I can’t condone you going back into that park with a suspect on the loose,” Denver said. “Bear in mind that you and I don’t know Ricky’s role in all of this. He might have a strong reason for helping the suspect.”

  “I’ll be extra careful. Besides, the constable will be in the area. Shouldn’t he be looking for Hoodie Guy right now?”

  “Of course. Let me talk to him again. Under the circumstances, you two should exchange cell numbers.”

  “Want me to keep you posted, seeing as how Novak’s in a meeting?”

  “God, Casey. If this goes south, you’re going to land me in some serious shit.”

  “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She handed the phone to the constable and turned to Monica. “Can you help me with the costume?”

  “Love to.”

  The constable moved to the veranda, while Casey stepped into the mountain of fabric and began pulling it up.

  As Monica started to ease the zipper up the back, Casey said, “Leave it partway down. I might need to get out of it in a hurry.”

  The constable returned the phone to Casey and gave her his cell number. As she did the same, Monica handed her a wig of gray curls and a wide-brimmed straw hat from the beach bag.