cruisers or unmarked vehicles either. What to do? Wait for Roberto and Lundy, or face Gabrielle alone? It was twelve-thirty. Gabrielle would be expecting her, and Birch would be home from work soon. On the other hand, he might already be here.
Casey popped a stick of gum in her mouth and entered the trailer park. As she drew closer, she noticed streaks of grime on Birch’s trailer and the weeds that filled the tiny plot of dirt in front. Gabrielle’s silver Jetta was parked in the covered stall beside the trailer.
When Casey reached the trailer, she stopped and turned around. Where the hell were Roberto and Lundy? She studied the trailer a few moments, then tiptoed up four rickety wooden steps and listened for sounds inside. All was quiet. Across the lane and two trailers down, a man washed his car. A middle-aged lady walking her poodle looked at Casey. Someone had the TV on next door.
Feeling a little safer by all this activity, Casey knocked. Seconds later, she tried again and blew a huge pink bubble which splattered over her mouth and grazed the tip of her nose. She peeled the sticky gum from her face, and knocked a third time.
She zeroed in on the small window to the right of the door. The blinds were open, but no lights were on. She craned her neck toward the window, but it was too far away to get a good look inside. Damn it, what was Gabrielle playing at? Casey scanned the lane as someone headed out of the trailer park on a motorcycle.
Casey rattled the door handle to get Gabrielle’s attention, but the door started to open. Casey stepped back. Had Gabrielle purposely left it unlocked? It was probably a good idea to hightail it back to the car, but what about Jeremy? Was he inside? Was he okay? Casey recalled what Paval had said about Gabrielle scarcely giving the boy a second glance when he introduced her to the toddler.
She poked her head inside. “Hello? Gabrielle?”
The silence creeped her out. “Jeremy?”
More silence. Something was wrong, she could feel it. Taking a step inside, the smell of sweat and overripe bananas bombarded her. Dirty plates and mugs littered a table next to a love seat in the cramped living area. A tattered sock monkey and toy cars were scattered on the braided rug.
“Hello, anyone home?”
The mess in the adjacent kitchenette was worse. Casey stepped farther inside and stared down a short, narrow hallway with two doors on the left, one on the right, and a fourth at the end.
“Hello?”
More silence. Chomping her gum to curb the growing unease, she headed for the door on her left. There was a stronger smell at this end of the trailer, something she couldn’t identify. Casey turned the handle and found herself peering into a closet. The second door on her left was a cluttered little bathroom in need of a good scrubbing. She stepped across the hall.
“Hello? Anyone here?” She tapped on the third door. No response.
Casey peeked inside at an unmade toddler’s bed and three stuffed animals on the grungy carpet. The box of clothes Casey had seen Birch carry out of Jasmine’s place was wedged between the wall and Jeremy’s bed. Maybe Jeremy was at daycare, and Birch didn’t know Gabrielle would be here. Was Gabrielle planning to end a relationship whose main purpose might have been to destroy Jasmine? Did she want to cut Birch loose to keep her inheritance for herself?
The closer Casey came to the door at the end of the hall, the faster her heart beat. She wasn’t sure why she dreaded looking in that room. Wasn’t even sure she should, yet if Jeremy was in there . . . She gripped the doorknob and tried to ignore the warning signals crashing through her brain.
“Casey?”
She jumped back, bumping her elbow against the wall. “Roberto?”
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. Sweet jesus, this place reeks.”
She went back to the front door and found him standing there, his expression pensive. “Come in.”
“Where’s Gabrielle?”
“I don’t know, the door was unlocked. I’ve looked around, but no one’s here.” She glanced at the hallway. “There’s one more room to check.”
Roberto followed her down the hall.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” she murmured.
“Let me do it.” He stepped in front of her and reached for the handle. “If this is Birch’s room, it could be in worse shape than the rest of this dump.”
Fear pricked Casey’s arms with the force of dozens of tiny needles. “Maybe we should wait.”
Roberto pushed the door open. “Holy shit!”
Casey nudged him to the side, looked in, and gasped. Gabrielle was sprawled on the double bed. Her blood- soaked T-shirt clung to her ribs. Dull eyes stared up at the ceiling, her mouth set in a grimace. Sweat broke out on Casey’s back and torso. She tried to speak, but her gum slid to the back of her throat, causing her to choke.
Casey yanked the door shut while Roberto pressed digits on his phone. Her stomach convulsed. Dashing to the bathroom, she collapsed in front of the badly stained toilet bowl and heaved. By the time she’d lost everything, her eyes were watery and she was shaking so hard she couldn’t stand. Lowering her head, she rested her arms on the bowl’s cool porcelain. Bile burned her throat. Tears seeped out from her closed eyes.
“Feeling better?”
Casey flinched and looked up. Corporal Lundy was staring down at her. She wiped her eyes and reached for the toilet paper roll.
“Did you touch anything?” he asked.
“Doorknobs, toilet seat.” She tore off two squares of toilet paper, wiped her mouth, and flushed the toilet. As she got to her feet she said, “I only saw Gabrielle. Was Jasmine’s little boy in there too?”
“No one else is here.” She noticed that he’d already put on latex gloves. “Let’s go before you contaminate more of the crime scene. And don’t touch anything.”
Casey shuffled down the hall on unsteady legs and saw Roberto leave the trailer with another officer. She followed Lundy to an unmarked vehicle.
“Okay, Miss Holland, tell me what happened from the moment you reached the trailer.”
After Casey described everything she did and saw, Lundy said, “When was the last time you talked to Miss O’Reilly?”
“In Parksville.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Her mother. She didn’t want me talking to Hannah again.”
“What else?”
After Casey gave him the highlights, Lundy said, “Quite the confrontation.”
A cruiser pulled up and blocked the entrance.
“Well, no one threw punches.”
He flipped through his notes. “The last conversation you had with your ward’s grandmother before her attack was also confrontational, was it not?”
“Yes.” He knew it was. They went over this last night.
“And you argued with Jasmine Birch before she died?”
“Your point, Corporal?”
“I’m just wondering why people die, or nearly do, after they argue with you.”
“I have alibis, you know.”
Lundy closed his notepad and tried not to smirk. “If I value my life, I’d better not argue the point.”
Casey rolled her eyes. Cops, death, and dark humor. She’d heard them deal with the bad stuff through sarcasm and lousy jokes before, but she never thought she’d be the joke.
“Corporal?” A third officer, who looked about seventeen years old, appeared behind Lundy and handed him a sheet of paper. “I found something.”
Lundy turned his back to Casey, blocking her view.
“Look for a computer or typewriter,” Lundy told his colleague.
Casey moved closer. As if aware of her action, he lowered his voice so she could only hear him say something about picking up Birch. The young cop headed toward the cruiser parked near the entrance, while Lundy turned his attention back to Casey.
