jacket. Not much of a disguise, but it might be enough. She spotted an entrance right away. Unlocking the door took some time, partly from a lack of practice with the picks, but also because it wasn’t easy to look like she was having key trouble when she was trying to manipulate the pick and tension tool. As she’d hoped, some cheapskate had installed a regular pin tumbler lock.
Inside the building, the bank of mailboxes revealed that Mother lived in the penthouse. Figured. Casey stepped off the elevator into a spacious area of slate blue walls, halogen lights, and thick carpeting. She pressed her ear against Mother’s door. No sound. She knocked and waited. Still nothing. Casey pulled latex gloves out of her jeans pocket.
Tools ready, she looked at the elevator. The digital message read “lobby.” In the privacy of the foyer, it was much easier to feel the vibration of the pins, to keep the pressure on them with the tension tool until she heard the click.
Heart thumping, Casey opened the door. “Anyone here?”
After ensuring the place was empty, Casey began inspecting the large, tidy penthouse. Mother’s home was a showpiece devoid of personal items or used coffee mugs. The bathroom contained a soaker tub and a separate shower stall with flowers etched on the glass doors. There were double sinks, light bulbs surrounding the mirror, and what looked like gold-plated faucets. Everything a spoiled woman could want.
In the living room, a computer printer sat next to an answering machine. Mother probably had a laptop with her. The machine’s light flashed. Why would she use a machine instead of voice mail? Or did she use both for different numbers? Casey pressed the play button and jumped at the sound of Darcy’s voice.
“Some jerk got himself shot at Casey’s place and the cops are everywhere. Phone me.”
The next three messages were also from Darcy, each increasingly abrupt. The fifth message was from Theo, telling her what had happened, and that he’d lost Darcy. “I’ll pop by to see if he shows up,” he’d said. “But you’d better disappear a while.” The sixth call was Darcy again. He was furious she wasn’t home. “Have you turned on me too? Don’t do this, Lil.”
Darcy’s final call was nothing but curses followed by a slamming of the receiver. Casey looked at the machine. So, where was Mother?
In the bathroom, Casey opened the cabinet and drawers. No sign of a toothbrush or toothpaste. She searched bedroom closets for a blue sequined dress and hat. In the living room, she lifted chair and sofa cushions, stopping when she spotted a tiny splotch of dark rust on the pale green and ivory cushion. More traces were visible on the back of the sofa, just above the seat. Why this imperfection in such a perfect place? Casey touched the stain. A fragment crumbled and fell into the crack where the seat met the back of the sofa. She removed the cushion and examined the spot again. Not rust. The stains were too dark.
Staring into the crack, she spotted something shiny. Cautiously, Casey slipped her fingertips into the crevice and touched a hard, cool object. Metal? Slowly, she squeezed her hand into the crevice. Gripping the object, she pulled, but it was wedged in tight. She pulled harder until the end of a cylindrical handle appeared. Casey lifted out a meat cleaver, scattering dried blood on her jeans and the sofa seat. Horrified, she hurried to the kitchen and retrieved a paper bag she’d seen in a cupboard.
After placing the weapon in the bag, she knelt on the carpet to retrieve the cushion that had become partially wedged under the sofa. Peeking underneath, she noticed strips of duct tape running down the lumpy underside.
Casey studied the sofa perched on curving walnut legs. The furniture looked so light that if three people rushed to sit down they’d fall backward. She pulled on the back of the sofa until it thumped onto the floor. The lumps shifted. She stripped off some of the tape, reached inside, and felt sequins. Even before she saw the garment Casey knew the sequins were blue.
She removed the dress and saw splotches of blood. Casey sat on the floor, her stomach roiling. Mother had done a lot of horrible things in her life. But murder?
She placed the dress in another paper bag, then searched the lining again. A sequined hat appeared, also dotted with blood. She re-taped the lining, then set the furniture upright. It was stupid of Mother to have kept these things.
Had she killed Gustaf for the money or had she fallen for the same face she’d married thirty years earlier? One engaged to somebody else? In a sordid twist of fate, Mother would go to jail for killing Marcus Holland’s impostor while her lover went to jail for killing the original.
At the elevator, Casey hesitated. She could burn the dress, throw the cleaver off a bridge, and let the crime remain unsolved. After all, Mother was the only family she had; but to help her get away with murder? With a good lawyer using the crime-of-passion tactic, Mother wouldn’t stay in prison long. Casey stared at the bags. What to do?
The elevator doors slid open. One glance at the person inside and Casey wanted to sink through the floor.
Twenty-seven
CASEY WAS TICKED off with Krueger. He didn’t have to be so rude about grabbing the evidence bags from her. Nor did she appreciate the threat to charge her with breaking and entering, among other things. And confiscating her lock picks was totally unnecessary.
From the coffee shop, she’d called Barb Sheckter and learned that Lou was still hanging in there. Barb had seen him again, but Lou had been too out of it to talk. Casey was afraid to ask when she could visit. Barb had sounded so exhausted. Yet sitting around waiting for permission to see him would drive her nuts, so better to focus on work.
She’d called Van Tech Secondary and learned that the school did have an active track and field team, but the woman on the phone said she couldn’t give out information about practice times. School security had tightened over the years.
Casey checked her watch. It was nearly noon and a warm sunny day. Lunch break, and lots of students would be outside, and possibly the track team. Van Tech was fifteen minutes from here if traffic moved well. Even if the team wasn’t practising, she could still look for a tall kid with a black and yellow backpack. Good running skills didn’t mean he was on a team, especially when he was so busy with stealing purses.
A short while later, Casey reached the high school and noticed bus stops out front on either side of East Broadway. She made a right turn onto a side street, then pulled over and studied the layout. From here she could see one of the stops and part of the playing field behind the school.
As expected, students were everywhere. Using a pair of binoculars she kept for surveillance work, Casey scanned the area. One of Mainland’s buses arrived, but it didn’t stop. She eased the Tercel forward for a better view of the track. The block-long, green space looked more like a small park than a school sports field.
Five guys and two girls were stretching on the track. On the grass inside the track, more boys were playing football. Casey parked near the field’s public entrance. The binocs would make her too conspicuous. She put on her hat and sunglasses, stepped out of the car and sauntered across the grass, keeping her distance from the track. A hill led from the track up to the school parking lot. Several girls sat on the grassy slope, watching shirtless boys play football and stretch on the track.
As Casey climbed she heard a girl say, “God, Jason’s so flexible; he’s awesome.”
All of them seemed to be watching a black-haired, broad-shouldered kid who posed with legs apart and hands on hips, like he was used to being admired. The kid had the muscular upper body of a sprinter.
The student who interested Casey, though, stood half a head taller and appeared not to have lifted a weight in his life. His skinny frame was better suited for longer distances. The boy had the same physique as the purse snatcher. Without the backpack and a close look at his face, though, she couldn’t tell if this was her guy.
Casey sat near the girls as all five boys, including the tall, skinny kid, prepared themselves at the starting blocks. The whistle blew and the boys took off. The skinny kid stayed in front for half a lap before the others caught up and one guy pulled ahead. Casey watched the skinny kid’s relaxed and fluid technique. He sure moved like the perp. At the start of the second lap, he picked up speed and was again in front. The longer he ran, the more distance he put between himself and the competition. He won the race easily.
Afterward, the kid stood apart from teammates and talked to the guy who’d timed the race. The school bell
