“So tell me, what do you really think Miss O’Reilly wanted to see you about?”
“Maybe to tell me she saw who shot Jasmine. I’m betting hers was the silver car in the church parking lot that day.”
Lundy nodded. “We knew the first three letters on the license plate. They match the plate number you gave us.”
She should have known he’d keep that information from her. “I think one of the Gallenskis killed Jasmine, and that Gabrielle recognized the shooter. Given what her mother told me about Gabrielle’s greed, it’s possible she was blackmailing one or both of them, although I have to say that after my talk with the Gallenskis yesterday, I would have thought that Ursula was the one doing the blackmailing, but it must be the other way around.”
“Why can’t I go in!” a familiar voice shouted.
Casey turned and saw Marie trying to slip past the police by the entrance. She hoped they’d make her leave.
“You invited another friend?” Lundy asked.
“No, Marie Crenshaw’s butting in again.”
She followed Lundy as he strolled up to Marie. “What brings you here, Mrs. Crenshaw?”
Marie squinted at Birch’s trailer. “What happened? Is Jeremy okay?”
“He’s not there. What did you want to help Miss Holland with?”
“Confronting Gabrielle.”
Casey shook her head. How had she found out about the meeting?
“Why would you need to confront her?” Lundy asked.
“Because Gabrielle’s a horrible bitch, and Roberto told me she’s hooked up with Birch who’s the real killer, not my brother.”
Casey spotted Roberto talking to two officers. His hands were in his pockets and his head lowered.
“What makes you think Mr. Birch is guilty?” Lundy asked Marie.
“I just know, and I believe you’re about to arrest my brother, which would be a huge mistake.”
“Go home, Mrs. Crenshaw.”
“Why won’t you tell me what happened?” Her voice rose. “Obviously, Casey knows or she wouldn’t look so green.”
Funny, her face felt flaming hot.
“Casey, what’s going on, damn it?” Marie asked. “I have a right to know.”
“Better not argue with Miss Holland,” Lundy remarked. “I have all the homicides I can handle.”
Casey glared at him so he’d know he wasn’t funny.
THIRTY-ONE
CASEY SCARCELY NOTICED HOW COLD it was on the empty M6 bus. The Kevlar vest was keeping her warm enough; so was the adrenaline rush as she anticipated the rockhound’s appearance. He was overdue for another strike and conditions were perfect tonight. She wanted more than a rock-throwing nut, though. She wanted Jasmine’s killer. Violence had escalated since her return from Parksville, and enough was enough. As Wesley drove toward New Westminster, Casey fidgeted in her seat, eager to reach the rockhound’s turf minutes from here. She sat in front for a better view of the sidewalk and intersections.
Before she left the trailer park this afternoon, Corporal Lundy inadvertently confirmed that they’d found a suicide note next to Gabrielle. Judging from Lundy’s abrupt manner and monosyllabic replies to her questions, the corporal had decided he’d already said too much. Unfortunately, Roberto and Marie had overheard them.
“That’s it then,” Marie had said to everyone with earshot. “Gabrielle and Birch stole the guns from Wesley’s place, and one of them shot Jasmine so Birch could have Jeremy. Birch then killed Gabrielle and forged the note to save his lying ass.”
Lundy’s chilly response hadn’t surprised Casey. “That note is confidential, Mrs. Crenshaw, and accusing someone without knowing all the facts is begging for trouble.” He then asked Marie if she knew where her brother was at that moment. Marie had assured him he was home, at which point she took off.
Lundy wouldn’t reveal the type of gun found in Gabrielle’s hand, but Casey had a hunch it was Wesley’s Glock twenty-seven. She hadn’t told Wes about the shooting. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Besides, Rude Wesley Axelson looked grumpier than usual. Thanks to Marie and Roberto’s love of gossip, he might have heard the news anyway.
Wesley pulled up to the stop where the plainclothes officer was waiting. Casey recognized the guy from last night’s shift, but couldn’t recall his name. Undercover Man wasn’t a big talker and he usually mumbled. The cop climbed on board, nodded to Wesley, and then took his usual seat behind the center door. As he ambled past Casey, he barely gave her a glance. He’d hardly looked at her since they met. Maybe the guy didn’t think much of female security officers, or just her. His behavior made her even more determined to catch the rockhound, but it wouldn’t be easy.
After discussions between Stan, Eisler, and the police, it was decided that only Undercover Man could sit in seats nearest the sidewalk, which meant he’d probably spot the suspect first. More officers would be patroling the area, especially near Fourth and Clarkson, where Casey had chased the rockhound a few days ago. The other problem was police insistence that the M6’s Not in Service sign be left on. To Eisler’s chagrin, no fares would be picked up.
While Casey understood the cops’ determination to catch the shooter, their presence was a waste of time. No one at Mainland, except Stan, knew she was on duty tonight, and she’d made sure she wasn’t followed to work. Still, the cavalry was here; ready to protect, defend, arrest, and annoy.
As Wesley drove under the Pattullo Bridge, Casey shifted forward in her seat. A few pedestrians were walking down the sidewalk, or entering bistros and restaurants on this cold, dry Friday night. As usual, traffic was heavy and slow, not only because of the many traffic lights, but because parking was allowed on the street.
The M6 cruised into the hot zone and passed a man with a loping gait, dark hoodie, and the same scraggly beard she’d seen the night of the shooting.
Casey stood and approached Wesley. “Let me off here. I want to talk to the man we just passed.”
“Dumb idea.”
“He’s not the shooter, Wes. I was watching him walk away when it happened. Anyway, Undercover Man’s here; you don’t need me.”
The hairy bear scowled. The traffic light turned red and he stopped the bus. “What if he’s the rockhound?”
“Then the only weapon he’d have is a rock and I can handle that.” Casey watched the guy catch up with the bus and then continue through the intersection, despite the red light. “Open the door, Wes.”
“It’s still a stupid idea.” He did as asked.
“Wait for me at the next stop.”
“Hey,” Undercover Man shouted at her, “what do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to talk to someone I saw the other night.”
“You can’t do that.”
“If you’re worried, radio your backup for help, but I’m going after that guy up ahead. He was nearby when I was shot at the other night and could have seen something.”
Before he could respond, she stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking while Wesley moved the M6 ahead. Zipping up her jacket, she breathed in the late October air, then exhaled slowly. In front of her, two blondes in short denim skirts, leather jackets, and high heels giggled and clung to each other as they tried to walk a straight line. Beyond them, a group of guys and girls strolled behind the bearded man. Strutting toward Casey and the blondes were three gangly teens who gawked at the girls.
The M6 stopped for a red light at Columbia and Fourth. Casey moved faster. Bearded Guy and the group of five were now beside the bus.
Casey waited for the geeks to pass by before she overtook the girls. She was still waiting when the sound of cracking glass made her flinch. Casey hurried past the girls as a man ran up Fourth Avenue.
“There goes someone’s booze,” one of the blondes remarked. “What a waste.”
