The cold rocks were sprinkled with damp sand, pebbles, twigs, and the occasional beer can. By the time Casey reached the police tape along the perimeter, her hands were gritty.
Open, vertical blinds covered first-floor windows that ran the length of the house. Second-floor windows were exposed. The left half of the sloping roof was mostly skylight.
“Pull your skirt down,” Rhonda called from behind. “We’re attracting attention.”
Casey spotted a guy leaning over the second-floor balcony of the house on their left. Brown, shoulder-length hair shielded most of his face. A moment later, she saw Lalonde strolling toward her. Damn.
“What are you doing here, Miss Holland?”
“Satisfying my curiosity.” She ducked under the tape and rubbed grit from her hands. “Do you always start this early?”
“There’s been a break-in, and I got your message about the Saab.” He watched Rhonda climb up. “You should have called before you went after him.”
“There wasn’t time,” she mumbled, so Rhonda couldn’t hear.
“What if he hadn’t driven away, Miss Holland? What would you have done?”
“Casey, help.” Clinging to a boulder, Rhonda struggled to climb onto the property.
After Casey hauled her up, Rhonda extended her hand to Lalonde. “I’m Rhonda Stubbs, Casey’s friend.”
“Lalonde.”
She lowered her hand. “You’re the one who made her go to the morgue.”
Lalonde stared at her.
“Have you been able to tell if anything was stolen?” Casey asked.
“So far, everything looks exactly as we left it. The neighbor next door woke early and heard a loud noise about an hour ago, so he called us.” Lalonde nodded toward the guy on the deck. “It looks like someone took a hammer to the window pane in the door on the neighbor’s side.”
“There’s no alarm system?” Casey asked.
“It’s been sabotaged.” He watched her. “Is this a return visit, by any chance?”
“First time. Okay if we look inside?”
“No, the crime lab technicians are still working.”
“Are they using portable lasers to look for fingerprints and threads?”
She’d never seen Lalonde smile before and wished he hadn’t. His teeth were yellow and slightly crooked. “You a wannabe cop?”
“I’m working toward a criminology degree, and forensics interests me.” Dad had hoped she’d earn a degree, but Greg hadn’t wanted a wife with more education than he had.
Lalonde looked at Rhonda. “Did you know the deceased?”
“Marcus was my fiance, at least he was three years ago.” She shook her head. “We didn’t know he was alive, Detective, I swear. I don’t understand any of this.” Rhonda turned and wandered toward the house.
Lalonde signalled to an officer to go after her.
“Did your license check on the Saab turn up anything?” Casey asked.
“The car’s been rented by a man named Theodore Ziegler from San Francisco. Your father’s address book also shows a Geneva address for Mr. Ziegler as well as an email address.” Lalonde looked at her closely. “Is the name familiar?”
“No. Have you questioned him?”
“Ziegler’s proving difficult to find. He hasn’t checked into the hotel listed on the rental agreement or any others we’ve contacted so far, nor is he answering messages sent to the email address we found for him. If you see him again, call us immediately.” Lalonde watched Rhonda argue with the cop who was ushering her back to them.
“I just want a quick look through the window,” Rhonda said.
“I checked into your botulism story.” Lalonde retrieved his glasses and notepad. “I understand the alleged Mr. Holland didn’t enter a hospital until his vision was already impaired. Also, he couldn’t swallow and was partially paralyzed.” He peered at her over his glasses. “Any idea why he waited so long to get help?”
“No.” But she’d wondered the same thing.
“Marcus hated hospitals,” Rhonda said, rejoining them.
Lalonde consulted his notes. “A woman named Simone Archambault was also affected, although her symptoms weren’t as severe. She went to a hospital outside Paris, which could be why your lawyers didn’t know about her, Miss Holland.”
Casey noticed Rhonda’s frown. Another woman in Dad’s life wouldn’t be welcome news.
“Does that name mean anything to either of you?”
“Not at all,” Casey replied.
Rhonda shook her head. “Did she survive?”
“Yes, it seems she told the medical staff what was wrong with her. After her recovery, Miss Archambault left France, then vanished. Relatives haven’t heard from her in two years, though they did say she used to live in Victoria.” Lalonde flipped a page. “They gave us a landline number, but we haven’t been able to reach her. It seems she doesn’t have a computer or a cell phone. Relatives said she’s an eccentric who’s been living off the grid. Local authorities are trying to track her down.”
“Dad had no friends or family in Victoria that I recall. He did have friends living in other areas of Vancouver Island, though; Ladysmith and Qualicum Beach, I think. Maybe she was a client.”
“Did you mention Marcus to the Archambault woman’s relatives?” Rhonda asked Lalonde. “Do they know him?”
“They knew that she and a man in his fifties had shared the same table at Alvin’s All-Canadian Cafe, but they claim to know nothing about him.” Lalonde looked at Krueger, who came to join them. “Also, the restaurant has new owners, and we haven’t been able to locate any staff who worked there back then.”
“If I knew the family’s address,” Casey said, “it might trigger a memory.” No point in adding that Simone Archambault’s relatives might tell her more than they’d tell a cop.
“How old is this Simone woman?” Rhonda asked. “What’d she look like?”
Lalonde stared at her a moment, then flipped another page. “Seventy-five and petite.”
Casey and Rhonda exchanged perplexed looks.
“Ask Vincent Wilkes about her. He would have known Dad’s clients and many of his contacts,” Casey said. “So, when will you guys be finished with the house?”
“My advice, Miss Holland, is to stay away until the killer’s caught.” He turned to Krueger. “Escort these ladies off the premises.”
Casey fumed as she and Rhonda headed for the front yard. Hell, she hadn’t asked for any of this to happen and she didn’t deserve to be treated like gum on the bottom of his shoe. Krueger stayed with them until they reached the road.
As they started toward her car, Casey said, “Let’s talk to the neighbor.”
The properties were divided by a high wooden fence. Casey had to ring the bell twice before the guy who’d been watching them from the deck opened the door. Up close, he was just a pimply teenager. While he gaped at Casey, he pulled up cotton gym shorts which promptly slumped back down onto narrow hips.
After introducing herself, Casey said, “The man who lived next door was my dad.”
“Oh.” He blushed. “Sorry about what happened.”
“Thanks, and this is my friend, Rhonda.”
He nodded. “I’m Gil.”
“Nice to meet you.” Casey watched his gaze slip to her breasts. “Listen, the cops won’t tell me much and I was wondering if you heard anything the night my dad was killed. I was told it happened on Sunday between 8:00 and 10:00 PM.”
“I—I, uh.” He tried for her face again, “I told them I heard a car pull into his driveway a little before eight.”
Interesting. “Did you see the car?”
“No.” He wiped his hand on his shirt. “Just a lady in the house.”
“What lady?” Rhonda asked.
“And where in the house?” Casey added.
