“Marie Crenshaw. She described the crime scene, Corporal, and it sounds like Jasmine was shot at close range, which makes me wonder if she recognized the driver and didn’t think he’d be a threat.” His stare irritated her. “Yesterday was warm. Jasmine usually drove with the window down and music blaring. If music was on and her eyes closed, she might not have heard or seen anything until it was too late.”
“Do you know people who have access to guns?” Lundy asked.
“I can’t think of anyone.” Oh, crap. Wesley had a gun rack in his truck but she’d never seen a gun in the rack, or even heard him mention one. “Do you know if she was killed with a shotgun or a handgun?”
“That information’s not yet available to the public.”
And she was the public; no more, no less. Casey pictured Jasmine slouched in the driver’s seat, her head against the door, music playing. She imagined the van drawing nearer, the driver raising a gun. Jasmine might have turned her head and spotted the weapon just as . . . Casey’s stomach churned.
“What time did you finish your shift this morning?” Lundy asked.
“Ten o’clock. I then had a ten-thirty class at the Burnaby Mountain campus, but I was a half hour late because I forgot my textbook and binder, and had to drive home.” Casey stopped at the women’s locker room.
“Can anyone verify when you returned home?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then you don’t live alone?”
“Yes and no. I rent the top floor apartment in a large house on Napier Street in East Van. The owner’s a good friend who’s away for a while, so I’m acting as landlord to two other tenants. I’m also legal guardian to my landlord’s daughter, who would have been at school. The tenants each have a room on the second floor at the back of the house, and I don’t know if they were home.”
“Do you share a common entrance?”
“The tenants usually enter through the front door. I park at the back and go in through the kitchen. The house is on a corner lot, so the tenants park either in front or on the side street. I honestly didn’t notice if their cars were around or not.”
“What are the tenants’ names and phone numbers?”
“I don’t have their numbers handy.” After she gave him their names, Lundy said, “You were in class at the time of the murder then?”
“Yes, I got there at eleven.” She watched him jot down the time. “The prof glared at me when I came in.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“A red Tercel. Why?” He didn’t answer. “How can I help you, Corporal, if you don’t meet me halfway?” She knew she sounded impatient, but didn’t care. “I promise confidentiality.”
He seemed to be thinking it over. “A silver compact was also seen leaving about the time of the shooting, and that is confidential.” He peered at her. “We don’t know the make and model. Do you know anyone who drives this type of vehicle?”
“Tons of people.”
“Including employees?”
“Sure.” She entered the locker room. Lundy didn’t follow but just stood there, fiddling with his pen and notebook. Casey smiled. “All clear, come on in.”
He stepped inside and took a furtive glance around. She saw his nostrils twitch, possibly from the clashing smells of perspiration, perfume, and cologne.
“Do you know anything about Jasmine Birch’s activities last night?” he asked.
“I heard her tell someone she had plans for the evening.”
“Plans with whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was she talking to?”
Casey shrugged. She hated the idea of involving Roberto.
“This isn’t the time to start withholding information, Miss Holland.”
“I work with these people, Corporal. Many of them are friends.”
“I appreciate that, but, as we’ve established, this conversation is confidential.”
“I’m the only one who heard them talk, and if you mention this, he’ll know I told you.”
“Miss Holland.” His voice was stern.
“Jasmine was talking to Roberto de Luca.”
He started scribbling. “Was the big guy with the reddish beard at the back of the lunchroom Wesley Axelson?”
She had a feeling he already knew the answer. “Yes.” The corporal would find out why nearly everyone referred to him as Rude Wesley.
“Were Mrs. Birch and Mr. Axelson a couple?”
Geez, who’d told him this stuff? “I heard they dated casually, but neither of them confided in me.” Casey removed a slip of paper from her pocket. “You should talk to people who knew her better, like Marie. She and Jasmine were good friends.”
Casey read Jasmine’s locker combination on the slip of paper. She turned the knob slowly, anxious to get it right the first time. Normally, she didn’t feel this uncomfortable around cops. She’d never had to supply an alibi or rat out coworkers, though. Casey opened the locker and found it crammed with clothes, towels, toiletries, and paperbacks. Lundy removed several dog and cat magazines.
“Pet owner?” Lundy asked.
“So I’ve heard.”
Two photographs fell out of a magazine. Casey picked them up. One was a head shot of Jasmine with her eyes closed and jaw slack, as if asleep. A rumpled, sky-blue comforter with yellow roses covered her chest. In the second photo, a jubilant Jeremy was splashing in the bathtub. Why would Jasmine keep the pictures here?
Lundy took the photos from her. “Thanks for your help, Miss Holland. That’s all I need for now.”
A driver entered the room.
“Oh Casey, it’s so horrible!” The woman threw her arms around her.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Jasmine was only twenty-four, and who’ll look after her little boy?”
“I don’t know.”
While the driver wept, Casey found herself thinking about Jeremy; how he must be asking for his mother right about now. A lump appeared in her throat.
SIX
“LOOK, CASEY, I’M SORRY YOU’RE run off your feet,” Marie said as she slid her SUV’s side door open, “but it’s not my fault we’re short-staffed.”
Good lord, all she said was that this had been one of the busiest, most stressful weeks she’d had in ages. Casey buttoned her sweater. An autumn chill had already invaded the Lower Mainland this late September morning. Marie’s attitude wasn’t making her feel any warmer.
“I can’t cope with those brats on the M10 this afternoon.” Marie handed her a pet carrier. “Jasmine’s only been gone twenty-four hours.”
If anger was part of the grieving process, Marie was well into it. Casey looked at the three-story apartment building in front of them. The old wood and stucco exterior needed cleaning. Sliding glass doors opened onto balconies just large enough to fit a chair and a hibachi. Still, Jasmine had chosen a good location. Whiting Way was quiet and the mall, SkyTrain, and buses were within walking distance.
Casey counted five balconies on the left side of the building’s entrance and five on the right. “Which apartment was Jasmine’s?”
“It’s the ground floor, corner suite to your left.” Marie handed Casey a second pet carrier.
“How many animals did she have?”
“I’ve never counted them.”
