“Did any of you notice other markings like a mole, tattoo, or piercings?”
Everyone shook their heads.
Casey turned to the attendant. “The station has a few closed-circuit TVs, right?”
“Yeah, but you can’t see footage without authorization.”
Casey removed a notebook and pencil from her jacket pocket, and then smiled at the elderly woman. “May I have your names and phone numbers, please?”
“I’m Elsie Watson. This is my husband, Fred.”
After she and the attendant provided the information, Casey handed the attendant her business card. “If you see him again, call me. Are any transit constables around?”
“He’s around somewhere.” The man reached for his two-way radio. Seconds later, he said, “There’s a lady here from MPT security who’s looking for a guy in a dark coat and wide-brimmed hat. See anyone like that?”
Casey heard him say that he had. “I’ll be right down.”
She hurried off the platform and onto the escalator. At the bottom, a transit officer stepped through an open entryway at the back of the station. The man barely glanced at her ID.
“Your guy took off out there.” He nodded toward the way he had just come. “He seemed kind of nervous, so I asked if he was all right. He said he was fine and rushed outside, but I had a bad vibe about him, so I followed him as far as Church Street.”
Church Street was on the other side of the SkyTrain entrance. A road only one block long that ran from Columbia up to private property. “Was he heading toward Columbia?”
“Yeah.”
Casey stepped up to the entrance: a wide, rectangular gap in the thick cement wall. No doors or gate. She peeked outside and saw a set of steps leading up to the lane.
“What’s up with the guy?” the officer asked.
“He shot a bus window.”
“No shit.”
“How old would you say the man was?”
“Don’t know, he wore his hat low; but he was clean-shaven and about five foot ten.”
Casey stepped outside and looked around. A light rain spritzed her face.
“There are plenty of hiding places,” the officer added.
A New Westminster police officer appeared from the Columbia Street entrance. The officer glanced at Casey before turning her attention to the transit constable.
“We received a report about an armed man entering the station,” the officer said.
“My driver reported it,” Casey replied.
The transit cop described his encounter with the suspect. The tall, bulky officer turned to Casey. “You need an escort back to the bus, ma’am?”
“No, it’s right out front.” The implication that her presence wasn’t needed irritated Casey. “I gathered information from witnesses on the platform.”
“Did you get their names and numbers?”
“Yes.”
“Go back to your bus and wait for me there.”
Casey marched outside. By the time she returned to the M6, more New Westminster police had entered the bus. Wesley and an officer were on the sidewalk.
“Did you see him?” Wesley asked her.
“No, but he called to tell me that this was my last warning.”
“How did the freak know you were here?”
“Good question.” Casey wiped her perspiring forehead. Had someone at Mainland told him her schedule, or was the caller a coworker? “It’s possible that the bullet came from a gun that was used on a colleague’s house. The Vancouver police have a file on the incident.”
The officer peered at her. “You’re the security guard?”
“Casey Holland, yes.”
“So, Miss Holland, what makes you think the incidents are related?”
She didn’t want to waste time discussing this. “It’s a long story.”
“The station’s only a short walk away.” His voice adopted a hard edge. “Want to tell me there?”
Sighing, Casey sat down. “It began when a colleague was murdered in Coquitlam on September twenty- eighth.”
“The one whose house was shot at?”
“No, another one.”
“Really?” He opened his notebook.
She kept her story brief. When she told him that two Glocks were stolen from Wesley’s place, the officer raised his hand. “Stop.”
He looked at Wesley. “Didn’t you say your name was Wesley?”
Wesley gave him a curt nod. The hostile glance was reserved for Casey.
“So,” the officer said to Wesley, “one of your weapons killed a colleague?”
He let out a puff of air. “Uh-huh.”
The female cop joined them as Casey finished highlighting events since Jasmine’s death. When she finished, both officers were staring at her.
“Let me get this straight,” the male officer said. “Your coworker was shot at and warned to stop investigating the Birch woman’s death, and you’ve also been warned twice, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you stopped?”
“I just told you I have.” Casey struggled to keep her anger in check. “I was doing my regular job tonight and, like I said, we’ve already told everyone at work that I’m done asking questions.”
The cop tried not to smile. “It looks like someone didn’t get the memo.”
Casey glared at his snickering partner. “If I’m getting warnings to stop investigating, then isn’t it possible that I’m on the right track?”
The smirks vanished. “Let the professionals handle it, ma’am,” the female cop said. “There’s probably lots going on that you know nothing about.”
Casey was fed up with the woman’s condescension. As the officers started to leave, Casey said, “Maybe you should put a rush on that ballistics test. If it did come from the same weapon that shot holes in Marie’s house, the Vancouver cops and IHIT will want to know.”
Neither officer acknowledged her as they left the M6.
“They think we work in a freakin’ nut factory,” Wesley muttered.
Casey sighed. “They could be right.”
The problem was, one of the nuts might be a killer, and the danger to Summer might have just escalated. Casey retrieved her cell phone and tried Barb’s number again.
EIGHTEEN
AS CASEY DROVE TO NOEL’S house, she tried to ignore her aching shoulders. After last night’s drama on the M6, her muscles were still knotted. When Noel called this morning to invite her to lunch as a thank you for helping him and said Marie would be there, she’d accepted. If they both heard what happened last night, maybe Noel could convince Marie to stop badgering her to investigate.
Casey checked the rearview mirror for glimpses of lurking strangers. Despite Barb’s and Summer’s assurances last night that they were fine, Casey hadn’t stopped worrying. It took another call to Summer this morning to keep worry from turning to panic.
Stan had his concerns, too. Before she met with him this morning, she’d heard a shouting match between Stan and David Eisler through Stan’s closed door. Eisler was saying that she was bringing too much trouble to Mainland and should be suspended. Stan had stood his ground, thank god. By the time Eisler flung open the door
