“No.” Casey focused on the preschoolers shoving each other across the aisle. The woman sitting behind them—presumably the mother—told them to knock it off, which they did, for about five seconds.
“Two of the guys who’ll be racing are called Hellhound and Eagle,” Paige said as she munched her food.
“They live in Richmond,” Lara added.
Before she could stop herself, Casey turned to the twins, who smirked at her.
“A friend told us that Eagle was racing when that jogger got mowed down,” Paige added.
Holy crap, did these princesses actually have a serious lead? “How does your friend know this?”
“Like we said the other day,” Paige remarked, “they’re connected to Eagle’s sisters.”
Casey made a point of looking unimpressed. “Tell the police, not me.”
“I told you, we don’t talk to cops,” Lara shot back.
“You never said why.” As their smug expressions vanished, Casey couldn’t help smiling. “How many run-ins have you had with them?”
“Too many.” Paige stuffed two more fries in her mouth.
Lara smacked her sister’s pudgy arm and said to Casey, “There’s a race on Knight Street tomorrow. We could find out which one is Eagle’s car.”
Casey knew the street well. Knight was long and wide, a natural speedway.
“Hellhound drives a purple Camry,” Lara added.
Oh sweet lord, Harvey’s car. Their info was spot on. Better play it cool. “I know,” Casey said. “I talked to Hellhound a couple of days ago at his workplace and watched him drive away. His Camry is quite the machine. Have you seen it?”
Lara’s smile faded. “I bet he told you squat about the race.”
“Why would he? I’m not a racer, and obviously they need to keep a low profile.”
“We could find out who else will be there,” Lara said.
“We could find out all sorts of shit the cops won’t know,” Paige said. “You want to help nail the driver who hit that jogger, right?”
Casey studied the girls. “Why would you two go to all that trouble?”
“Simple,” Paige answered. “We give you information and you leave us alone. No fines or lectures or other crap.”
The offer didn’t surprise her. Although the bargain would never happen, Casey sure as hell wished there was a way to gain access to the twins’ contacts. Beatrice died ten days ago. When Casey last spoke with Denver, there’d been no new leads.
“I’m not convinced you two can come through.”
Paige and Lara exchanged frustrated glances.
“We know that Eagle’s mom owns a fitness center in Richmond called the Regency,” Lara said. “Follow her and you’ll find him.”
Casey brushed imaginary dust off her jeans and tried not to react to this revelation. If the twins were telling the truth, the rich-looking woman she’d seen climbing into the Jaguar on Saturday could be Eagle’s mother, and the receptionists his sisters. It explained their guarded reaction when Danielle mentioned his name.
“You’ll have to do better,” Casey remarked. “I’ve already been to the Regency and met the mom and sisters.”
“Bullshit!” Paige blurted.
“The place caters to people my age and older, which is probably why the sisters looked so bored behind the counter.” Casey smiled as the twins turned back around. With any luck, they’d keep quiet for the rest of the ride.
Did Danielle know about tomorrow’s race? If Casey told her, Danielle would want to know her source, but mentioning the twins wasn’t an option. Danielle would want to interrogate them, and putting those three together could be an explosive combination. Besides, what if they were lying about the date and/or location?
After the excursion to the Regency two days ago, the only contact she’d had from Danielle was a link to the forum containing coded info about the next race. If Danielle learned that Eagle’s mother owned the Regency, she’d want to follow her. There was no proof that the Asian woman and receptionists were truly related to Eagle. Still, it was worth mentioning to Denver.
As the bus passed the Granville and Forty-First stop, Casey looked at the tributes for Beatrice. Every time she saw the flower-covered light standard, the sadness returned. Someone pulled the cord as a roaring car caught up to the M7. Casey rushed to the nearest empty seat across the aisle, opened the window, and peered at a pair of blazing headlights weaving in and out of traffic. She inhaled sharply and her stomach clenched. Was it a Roadkill driver, or just another maniac?
Greg slowed the bus as the black vehicle zoomed past. Casey looked to see if other racers were approaching, but none were. Passengers grew silent. The anxiety was almost palpable.
“It’s a Volvo C70 coupe,” she heard Greg say on his cell phone. He then gave the year the car was made. The guy always had been a bit of a car nut.
Casey hurried to the front of the bus but couldn’t see the vehicle. The sound of screeching brakes made her gasp.
“Hold on,” Greg said into the phone. “Something’s happening.”
Casey gripped the pole behind his chair. She thought she heard an agonized scream. Oh god, this couldn’t be happening again.
“Greg, stop the bus. I need to get off.”
“I’ll see if I can get closer.”
Casey fetched the first aid kit as Greg eased the M7 forward until he caught up to stopped traffic. He opened the doors while he told the dispatcher that there may have been a collision. Casey bolted south down Granville. Her lungs felt raw in the night air and her throat was bone dry. One and a half blocks ahead, a car horn blasted, then another. Casey kept running. She heard shouts.
Southbound traffic wasn’t moving at the Granville and Forty-Ninth intersection. A couple of vehicles had been abandoned. Some people were crying, others shouting. A few simply stood in the middle of the intersection, their expressions shocked and horrified. Casey couldn’t see what everyone was staring at, but a woman’s high-pitched wail told her more than enough. As she maneuvered her way through spectators, a woman said, “A whole family! I can’t believe it.”
A man in front of Casey shouted, “Step back, please!”
More horns blasted from east and westbound drivers who were too far away to see what was happening. Casey surged forward and finally broke through the cluster of spectators.
“Oh, no.”
A woman and child were sprawled on the asphalt. The girl looked maybe ten years old. Blood soaked her white tights and seeped onto a sheet of music trapped under her right leg. A man and a woman performed first aid on the child, while a gray-haired lady wailed over the motionless woman.
“Can I help?” Casey bent near the man. “I have first aid training.”
“We’re doctors,” the man replied without looking up. “The other victim’s deceased. If you’ve got something to cover the body, do so.”
As Casey opened the kit, she noticed three people directing traffic. She approached the dead woman whose eyes were open, her mouth slightly parted. Blood pooled around her head. An elderly man squatted next to the keening woman and rocked back and forth on his heels. His hands covered his face and his shoulders shook. Casey carefully placed a blanket over the victim’s head and body while distant sirens grew louder.
“If you want to help,” one of the doctors shouted at Casey, “get the crowd back to make room for the ambulance!”
Two Asian men in their twenties burst through the spectators. They saw the little girl and halted. One of them lifted the blanket off the body, then moaned. The other blurted something in Japanese.
“Okay, people!” Casey shouted. “We need to clear the area for emergency vehicles. Can everyone move to the sidewalk, please?”
As people started to comply, Casey approached the Japanese man who was watching the doctors work on the child. The other man tried to comfort the distraught seniors.
“Excuse me. Do you speak English?”
He barely nodded.
“Do
you know the little girl?”
“My niece . . . Crystal.”
Casey took a deep breath. “And the woman on the ground?”
Tears glistened in his eyes. “My sister, Anna-lee.”
The mother. Casey figured the grieving seniors were the grandparents. Her heart had been pounding since she left the bus. Queasiness was settling in, accompanied by a surreal lightheaded feeling. A fire truck arrived. The young Japanese men helped the elders to their feet. Casey retreated to the curb on shaky legs.
“How could anyone do that?” a male voice said next to her. “The guy’s insane.”
Casey saw a teenaged boy clinging to a girl about the same age. The girl dabbed her eyes. “We should go, Jeff.”
“Did you see it happen?” Casey asked them.
“Hell, yeah,” Jeff answered. “The freak sideswiped that Kia.” He pointed to the damaged car by the curb.
“Is the Kia’s driver okay?”
“Think so. He’s the one waving his arms and yakking.” He pointed to a man standing near the Kia.
“Did the hit-and-run driver strike the pedestrians, then hit the Kia? Or did he hit the Kia first, then veer into the pedestrians?”
“He hit those people first, then took off,” Jeff replied. “That’s when he sideswiped the Kia.”
“I heard screeching brakes,” Casey said. “The driver must have tried to avoid the pedestrians.”
“No! He braked to avoid a pickup.” The girl choked back tears. “The asshole hit them on purpose!”
Casey wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “What?”
“He went straight for them, man,” Jeff said, barely able to contain his emotion. “Like he was targeting them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Damn right. I know what I saw.”
Nausea roiled in Casey’s stomach. “Which way did he go?”
“West. Down Forty-Ninth.”
“Did either of you get a look at the driver?”
“The windows were tinted,” Jeff answered.
The ambulance arrived, followed by two police vehicles.
“We heard him shouting,” the girl said, sniffling.
“Shouting?”
“Like he was on a rollercoaster.” She wiped her tear-streaked face. “Excited, ya know? He had to be high, or a total psycho.”
Casey tried to breathe, but it felt as if someone had kicked her in the ribs. Her mind reeled. “Stay here, okay?” she said to the couple. “The police will want to talk to you.”
Denver and Liam marched toward the center of the intersection. Denver took over traffic detail, while MacKenna spoke with the doctors. As Casey walked toward Denver her legs felt even weaker, as if she’d been wading through mud.
When Denver noticed her, he said, “Don’t tell me you saw this one, too?”
“I heard it. Got here a couple of minutes later.”
Denver shook his head and watched the traffic.
“It was a black Volvo, and I was just talking to two witnesses . . .” She gulped down air. “The hit-and-run driver also sideswiped that Kia.” She pointed to the car. “The driver’s the one waving his arms around.”
Denver’s facial muscles tightened as MacKenna joined them. “Another week, another freakin’ horror show.”
“This one’s different,” Casey replied. “The racer was alone and didn’t even try to avoid the pedestrians. The witness I talked to swears that the driver deliberately struck those people.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “This was cold-blooded murder.”
NINE
CARRYING A BASKET OF CLEAN laundry, Casey trudged up the stairs to her third-floor suite and tried not to think about that poor child, Crystal, and her mom lying in the intersection. Lou had heard about it last night and come over after his shift. All night long, her emotions had alternated between grief for the family and rage at the driver. She was grateful Lou had chosen to hang around this morning.
“Maybe we should install a mini washer and dryer in your apartment so we won’t have to trek down to the basement all the time. I’ll pay for it,” Lou said, following her up the stairs with the second basket. “Do you think Rhonda would mind?”
“She said I could change whatever I wanted in this suite.” But where would they put a washer and dryer?
“Have you told her I’m moving in?”
“Yep.” Casey opened the door. “Her exact words were ‘it’s about time.’”
Rhonda adored Lou as much as Summer did. After Casey left Greg and moved in here, Lou had started coming by fairly often, as a friend. Rhonda had always claimed he’d been in love with Casey from the get-go and, after her divorce, had encouraged Casey to go out with him. It took a bullet in Lou’s chest to open her eyes.
Casey dropped her basket by the coffee table and slumped onto the sofa. Lou plunked his basket next to hers and turned full circle. “Where should we put my couch?”
In the nearest dumpster if it were up to her, but saying so out loud would be rude. A week had passed since Lou suggested moving in, and she hadn’t yet come up with a plan to make room for his furniture. Even if he brought only half of it, her apartment would still be cramped.
“What if you sell some of your stuff and make a few bucks?” Casey said. “Or we could store some of it in the basement.”
“We could store your things just as easily and give this room a new look.”
Oh, crap. “You’ve only brought over one small box so far. It’s kind of hard to picture how the room will look in plaid.”
“I don’t want to overwhelm you with a truckload of stuff,” Lou replied. “I know how scary this is.”
Scary didn’t begin to cover it. “I’ll be fine.” Casey wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed her and then checked his watch. “My shift starts soon, and Summer won’t be home from school for a while, so get some rest, okay? You were tossing and turning all night.”
“I will.” She was too restless right now. As Casey began folding towels, Lou left for work. She was glancing about the room, wondering what she could possibly banish to the basement, when the phone rang.
“Did you hear what happened last night?” Danielle asked.
“Heard the screams, saw the victims.”
“Oh my god. Talk about lightning striking twice.”
“I work afternoon shifts on a Granville Street bus these days.” Casey leaned back against the sofa. “Thankfully, doctors were on the scene before me.”
“Did you see the car that hit them?”
“For a split second. It was a Volvo.”
“Word is the little girl will live. She’s only ten, for shit’s sake.”
Casey rubbed her eyes. “Her name’s Crystal.” Denver had called to tell her that the girl had several broken bones and had undergone surgery to stop internal bleeding.
“I know. The mother is Anna-lee Fujioko.” Danielle paused. “It seems she and the grandparents were walking Crystal home from piano lessons when the Volvo struck. Anna-lee tried to shield Crystal. Some think it was a targeted hit involving drugs.”
Denver had said the family wasn’t known to police. “Does anyone in Roadkill drive a Volvo?”
“Volvos aren’t Roadkill’s style, and I doubt there’s a connection anyway. The jerk wasn’t racing anyone. I also heard that the car was stolen and torched in Queen Elizabeth Park.”
Casey had learned the same thing from news coverage. Queen Elizabeth Park was at Cambie and Thirty-Third, just a few minutes from the scene of the crime. A large part of the park was situated on a hill. Roads and parking lots weren’t plainly visible from the street, especially after dark. Had the driver planned to leave the vehicle in the park, or was it a random decision? Either way, he’d taken a big risk. There was a restaurant on the hill that stayed open fairly late, and he could have been seen.
“Are you certain there’s no connection? It’s the same time and place.” Casey began pairing up socks. “Not to mention the same recklessness.”
&
nbsp; “Roadkill lives to race and collect prize money and bragging rights. Killing people would draw too much attention. This was just some copycat psycho, probably high on drugs and pissed off at the world.”
“Or a frustrated wannabe who’s been rejected by the group too many times.”
“Roadkill members are racers, Casey, not car thieves. These guys’ identities are wrapped up in their vehicles. It’s a huge pride thing. Stealing someone else’s wheels to race would be like taking their sister to a dance.”
“Have you talked to your source about it?”
“He says he doesn’t know what’s going on, but there might be another way to find out, seeing as how I learned something cool about the Regency Fitness Center.” Danielle spoke faster. “Guess who owns it? No, don’t. I’ll tell you. It’s owned by a woman named Mary Wing. Wing as in Eagle, get it? Eagle is probably her son.”
“Maybe.” Apparently the twins were right.
“The girls we saw climbing into that Jaguar with the older lady could be Eagle’s sisters,” Danielle added. “Eagle might even have been the driver.”
“If that’s true, he would have recognized me from the funeral.”
“Good, let him freak a little. By the way, I found a last name for Harvey, who drives the purple Camry. It’s Haberkorn, and I know where he lives too.”
Also known as Hellhound, according to the twins. “You’re pretty resourceful.”
“It wasn’t hard. I borrowed my dad’s car and followed Harvey home from the Regency last night. I had only been watching the place for an hour when he took off again. He met a guy at a garage not far from his house.”
Casey didn’t like the sound of this. “Are you sure you weren’t spotted?”
“Totally. They headed for the pub next door, so I went in and managed a good look.”
Casey dropped a pair of socks. “For god’s sake, Danielle. That was way too dangerous.”
Beneath the Bleak New Moon Page 6