“Are all six yours, or is it a blended family?”
“Blended about as well as oil and water, but that stays between us.”
“My theme of the day,” Casey sighed, “Dads with secrets.”
“Did you hit the headstone out of frustration or anger?”
She ran her hand over the clipped grass. “The funeral was a scam.”
“Then the man in the morgue is your father?”
“Looks that way.” She stood up. “Sorry about running off. I needed time alone.”
“No problem. You were never out of sight.”
She met Lalonde’s gaze. “You said you found him in a house on Marine Drive?”
“On the main floor, in front of a chair in his den. It appears the killer came up from behind while your father was still seated.”
Casey pictured the cuts on his left side. “He must have raised his arm to ward off the blows.”
Not an image she wanted to dwell on. She focused instead on pansies surrounding a nearby tree trunk. A large, deep blue and black Steller’s jay squawked from a branch.
“What did your father do for a living, Miss Holland?”
“He was an architect with his own firm. His associate and friend Vincent Wilkes inherited the business.”
Lalonde removed a notepad and silver-framed glasses from his pockets. “Address?”
After providing the information, Casey added, “It’s a renovated house on Tenth Avenue, just off Granville, but I don’t know if Vincent’s still around. We haven’t kept in touch.”
She saw Lalonde’s attention turn to a man standing in front of a grave about fifty feet away. The man’s hands were clasped together, his head lowered.
Lalonde turned back to her. “Your father spent a great deal of time in Europe.”
“Dad loved to travel. He worked for a lot of Europeans who’d bought property here and he usually vacationed overseas. He was always bringing back exotic piece of art: masks, carvings, glass sculptures.”
“He must have been quite successful. But even though Mr. Holland wore expensive suits and owned a Jaguar, he hadn’t filed a tax return in three years and his checking account was almost depleted. Do you know if he had assets in foreign banks?”
Maybe loyalty was a habit, but Casey didn’t want Lalonde to know about Dad’s money problems. How on earth could he have afforded a Jaguar and a house in one of the country’s most expensive areas?
“He never mentioned foreign banks.”
“We found a one-way ticket to Amsterdam in his den. He was scheduled to leave this week. His passport shows that this was a frequent destination.”
“I don’t know anyone living there.” Casey gazed at the Fraser River on the other side of the cemetery. “Dad was a social guy. Couldn’t stand being alone.” She turned back to his grave. “I still have trouble believing he cut himself off this way.”
“Maybe he thought he had no choice.”
She knew what he was thinking. Dad had broken the law and faked his death to escape, but then why stay in Vancouver? “Whose name is the house in? Who pays the taxes?”
“We’re looking into that.”
“It should be simple to find out, or are there complications?”
“Let’s just say that nothing about this case appears to be straightforward,” he replied. “Your father could have been in serious trouble, Miss Holland. Something so dangerous that someone felt compelled to kill him with a heavy knife or meat cleaver.”
“A cleaver?”
“Possibly—there was a collection of them in the kitchen. And bits of onion on the countertop. Dirty dishes by the sink. Looked like he hadn’t cleaned up from dinner.”
“Had he eaten alone?”
“It appears so.”
“I’ve never known Dad to use a cleaver.” She shook her head. “From the depth of some of those cuts, it seems someone was really pissed at him.”
“Someone close to him, perhaps?”
Crap. She should have realized she was a suspect. “In case you were wondering, I was at a baby shower for one of Mainland’s clerical staff last night from seven till eleven. A dozen people can vouch for me.”
“They have. Since you took so long getting back to the office, I had time to chat with your colleagues. They think highly of you, by the way.”
“Good to know.” But the gossip would be flying now. “I guess you’ll want to exhume this body?”
“Not until I hear from the coroner.”
“When you know who this man is, let me know, okay? And I’d still like forensic proof that the man in the morgue is my father.” Lalonde said nothing, and she had nothing else to tell him. “I’d better make some calls.”
“You do know you’re unqualified to investigate this matter, Miss Holland.”
She kept her irritation in check. “You don’t mind if I share the news with a few friends, do you?”
“You can talk to anyone you like as long as it’s commiserating, not interrogating.”
She started to leave when Lalonde said, “Do you know where I can reach your mother?”
A chill ran through Casey. “I haven’t talked to my mother since Dad booted her out of the house seventeen years ago.”
“She was the one who told us you were next of kin and where you live and work.”
Casey could almost feel the blood leaving her face. How long had Mother known? Why would she even care?
“How’d you find her?”
“Her name and number were in an address book at the house. It took several hours to reach her, which is why we didn’t contact you earlier.”
Why would Dad have kept that info? “I bet Mother thought it was funny that he’d died twice.”
“Shocked, I’d say. I’ve tried to reach her again, but her assistant said she’s left for the day. I gather you wouldn’t know where she is?”
“I don’t know a thing about my mother’s life.” Didn’t want to either.
“She runs her own clerical service agency in Vancouver, Holland Personnel.”
Casey shrugged, uncomfortable with Lalonde’s scrutiny.
“I’d still like you to compile a list of old friends, family, and acquaintances along with contact info,” he added.
“Okay, but I’d like to know if any names on my list show up in his current address book.”
Again, she started to leave.
“Did you know you’re being followed?”
Casey saw him nod toward the man she saw earlier. As the man started toward the cemetery’s south exit, Casey made a note of his height, clothes, and the black ponytail dangling down his back.
“Is he familiar?” Lalonde asked.
“No.”
“Krueger noticed a black Saab when we left your office, and again when you left the morgue. Every time you changed buses the car pulled over and waited.”
“When are you going to question him?”
“Shortly. Krueger’s running a license check. Meanwhile, here’s my card. Call me when your list’s ready.”
“I want to talk to that guy.”
“No, we’ll handle this, Miss Holland.”
She ignored him and marched toward the man, vaguely aware that her thoughts were frazzled and this was a dumb move, but the day’s events had mangled the sensible approach to mystery solving.
“Miss Holland, come back here right now.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled, and began to run.
The man must have heard them. He turned to her and then began racing toward his vehicle. Before Casey could reach him, he roared away in the Saab.
