“Take the bag,” Monica said. “It’s reversible and might come in handy.”
“Thanks.”
Posing as an old lady for the second time in a week wasn’t Casey’s idea of fun. She stuffed her own bag into the beach bag, then turned to the constable.
“I’m ready.”
“Call at the first sign of trouble,” he replied, trying not to smirk at her new look. “And let me know when you’re leaving the area. I’m sticking around till then.”
“Will do.”
Casey headed for the back door, feeling like a lumbering ox in this heavy getup. The quick change had again caused twinges in her ribs and shoulder, reminding her of her vulnerability.
“Be careful,” Monica said.
“That’s the plan, and stay inside.”
Casey left Monica’s backyard and entered the park. There was no sign of Hoodie Guy. Just moms, kids, joggers, and dog walkers. Ricky was farther down to her right, still heading south. Taking a deep breath, Casey began to follow.
TWENTY-FIVE
Casey walked a bit faster than Ricky, but not so fast that she would appear out of character for a senior strolling through the park. Every few yards the old guy paused to glide the metal detector over a patch of ground, forcing her to stop and pretend to search for something in the beach bag. It also gave her time to scan the area for Hoodie Guy.
Among the vehicles parallel parked on the street ahead, were two white vans. Five cars separated the two. Ricky wasn’t far from the vehicles when he turned around and spotted her. Damn.
The quickest way to disappear would be to head for the cluster of trees and bushes. On the other hand, Hoodie Guy could be there, but since Ricky was staring at her, she had to do something. Casey was fairly certain that he’d glanced at her while Monica was gabbing away. If he somehow saw through this disguise, she could be in trouble.
Casey moved as swiftly as an old woman could be expected to. She didn’t dare look back but kept alert for movement and sound. At the moment, all she heard were children playing in the distance. If Ricky was an informer, would he be calling Hoodie Guy to tell him about the old lady heading for the cluster of trees? Did he see an easy mark in her? A potential victim to be observed and followed?
Sweat trickled down Casey’s sides. She walked behind an enormous rhododendron, out of Ricky’s view, then bolted further into the mini forest. When she reached the densest part, she stopped and looked around. No one was here. Given the police presence here lately, the homeless people probably disappeared in daylight.
Casey tore off the wig and accessories, then yanked the padded dress down. Pain shot through her left shoulder. She turned the pink-and-white bag inside out so that it was now orange. She shoved the dress and wig inside and plunked the hat on top.
Casey heard movement. Someone was coming. She jogged further into the trees. Once she cleared the thicket, she looked behind her. No sign of Ricky. Had he decided to continue toward the van?
Casey marched toward the parked vehicles. Both white vans were still there. Anxious to get the plate numbers, she moved with more confidence than she felt. She surveyed the grounds. Still no sign of Ricky and, mercifully, Hoodie Guy wasn’t around either. With Monica’s bag in one hand and her own in the other, Casey picked up the pace until she reached the sidewalk.
While she was memorizing the plate number of the nearest van, the van farther down began to pull out. Casey flinched and ducked behind a Camry. Damn it! She pulled the binoculars from her bag and tried to read the plate, but the van was moving too fast. She phoned the constable.
“I’m among the vehicles at the south side of the park. The old guy I’m following is driving a white van that will either turn right onto Monica’s street or continue straight on this road,” she said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in the vehicle, cruising toward the north side of the park, observing someone in jeans and a gray hoodie.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Is he a big guy?”
“Depends on how you define big. You should leave the area right now.”
“My car’s in Monica’s driveway.” She watched the van continue straight down the road. “Oh shit. It just passed Monica’s street.”
“I’ll call it in, but you need to go.”
“I’ll be at Monica’s in a couple of minutes. Let me know once you’re clear.”
“Ten-four.”
Eager to put some distance between herself and the park, Casey jogged across the road and down the sidewalk. Her ribs were hurting, so she slowed down and called Denver.
After providing an update, she said, “I’ve been thinking. With two of his cohorts dead and an increased police presence, why is Hoodie Guy still hanging around this neighborhood? I mean, if he wanted to get rid of Ricky, wouldn’t he have done so by now?”
“With the added police presence since Erin’s death, maybe he hasn’t found the opportunity, or maybe they’re still a team, working on one more score before leaving town.”
“What if he plans to break into Elsie’s empty home and take other items that might be worth something?”
“As far as we know, the suspect’s only ever been interested in cash and jewelry.”
“Hoodie Guy’s bold and greedy, Denver. I could picture that maniac returning to Elsie’s, figuring that no one would believe he’d be brazen enough to target the house twice.”
“Analyzing his motives is above my paygrade, and yours. Listen, I have to go. Get the hell out of that neighborhood right now.”
“I’m almost there.”
As Denver hung up, Casey looked up and down the street. If Ricky had spotted the patrol car on Monica’s street, would it have worried him enough to call Hoodie Guy? A paid informer might feel obligated to keep the boss up to speed. Memories of her confrontation with that violent psycho prompted Casey to move faster. Pressure circled her head and wriggled into her skull. Another headache was coming.
Someone had taken down the crime scene-tape in front of Elsie’s house. Casey noted every parked vehicle she could see. There was no white van. The constable’s patrol car was farther up the street, stopped in front of the park.
A blue Toyota Echo was parked in front of Monica’s place. It hadn’t been there when Casey arrived. Did Monica have company? Oh god, did it belong to Hoodie Guy? Had he spotted her? She regretted parking in Monica’s driveway. The Echo could have blocked her from leaving.
Carrying her and Monica’s bags, Casey hurried as fast as she could past the car. No one was sitting in the vehicle. Casey rushed up to her own car, unlocked the passenger door, and deposited the bags inside, grimacing at the pain in her shoulder. Monica would have to wait to get her things back. She needed to get out of here.
Casey backed out of the driveway and cruised down the street. She was tempted to speed but didn’t want to attract attention. She felt guilty about leaving Monica without a good-bye. She deserved an explanation, just not the real one.
Casey waited until she was several blocks away before pulling over. First, she let the constable know that she was out of the area. Next, she dialed Monica, who finally picked up on the fifth ring.
“Sorry I had to leave, but Summer needs me.” How could she explain that she was freaked out by the car in front of her house and the possibility that Hoodie Guy might be waiting to ambush her?
“I understand,” Monica answered, sounding somewhat subdued. “Sonya showed up, so I’ll be busy for a while too.”
Casey sighed in relief. The Echo was probably hers, although Casey didn’t recall seeing it the night she and Summer met Sonya.
“Ricky left the area and the homeless guy’s gone,” Casey said. “But please don’t share this with anyone, including Sonya. The police want this kept quiet.”
“No problem. We’ll talk later.”
Grateful that Monica was too distracted to request a play-by-play of events in the park, Casey drove off. She hadn’t gone far before she spotted a white van in the rearview mirror.
The van was turning off a side street and onto this one. There was no sign of a patrol car behind him, so maybe this was a different van. Plenty of trades people drove those types of vehicles. But what if Ricky knew the make of her car? It could be him.
Casey’s mouth grew dry and she gripped the steering wheel. Keeping to the speed limit, she considered turning down a side street to see if the van followed. No. Bad idea. It’d be safer staying on busier roads.
Casey chose the same thoroughfare used by the M20 bus. Making a right turn, she headed east down another busy road, as did the van. Adrenalin surged. She told herself not to panic. A Corolla was between them. The van appeared to have only one occupant, yet she couldn’t tell if he was young or old. Before she got too close to home, she needed to find out if she really was being followed.
Casey turned left at the next intersection. So did the van. She began to hyperventilate. Her shoulder throbbed. She turned right, sped up, turned again. The van stayed with her.
Spotting a shopping mall, Casey pulled in and found a parking stall near the grocery store’s entrance. The van didn’t enter the lot. Maybe he’d keep his distance and wait for her to leave. Casey turned off the engine, took a deep breath, and called for help.
TWENTY-SIX
Casey watched Denver enter the coffee shop. They were fifteen minutes away from Monica’s neighborhood, and although the white van had disappeared and the constable she’d met earlier had patrolled the area, danger still felt far too close. Given the constable’s proximity, he was the one she’d called first. More patrol cars had appeared. Shortly after that, Denver had phoned her and requested a meeting. He said he had news.
Casey noticed heads turn as Denver, in uniform, crossed the room and sat down across from her. The waitress hurried over with a pot of coffee.
After she left, he said, “An officer caught up with the van as it left the park earlier.”
“Excellent. Was Ricky pulled over?”
“No. He wasn’t doing anything illegal.”
Casey leaned forward. “Tell me it’s not a stolen vehicle.”
“It’s not.” He gave her a quick smile. “Ricky is actually Richard Hannigan. A former resident of Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, and Calgary.”
Casey started to lift her coffee cup but put it down again. “I read about home invasions in those cities. The one in Calgary sounded way too similar. Ricky’s part of the gang, isn’t he?”
“We can’t confirm that one way or another yet,” Denver replied. “But I do know that he served a bit of time for shoplifting.”
“If he saw my plate number, he could give it to Hoodie Guy,” Casey said. The implication made the coffee burn in her stomach. “I suppose it would be too lucky that the person the constable was following in the park was actually Hoodie Guy?”
“He wasn’t. For one thing, the man got into a Volvo that was filled with kids. Secondly, when the constable got close enough, he saw that the guy was a good forty pounds lighter than your description of the suspect.”
The waitress reappeared and asked if they’d like anything else. When they said no, she left two bills on the table.
“Aside from this morning’s drama,” Denver said, “how are you feeling in general?”
Why was he asking? “Fine.” Casey reached for her coffee.
“You know that a one-word answer won’t work with me, right?”
Casey attempted a smile. “Sleeping’s a problem. There’ve been flashbacks to that day in the condo. I can’t work yet, so everything seems off-kilter. With the wedding postponed, well let’s just say life sucks right now.”
Denver sat forward. “Has anyone talked to you about PTSD?”
Casey sighed and leaned back. “Stan did. He wants me to get counseling.”
“How often are the headaches happening?”
“Not every day.” She didn’t want to mention the two pills she’d popped ten minutes ago. “Anyway, a cancelation came up, so I have an appointment with a therapist tomorrow.”
She didn’t add that Lou had set up an appointment last week. He’d mumbled something about it one night before bed. She’d put the details out of her mind until the phone call came.
“Just in time,” Denver remarked.
She returned his stare. “What does that mean?”
“Did you know that your leg’s twitching a mile a minute? I can practically feel it from here.”
She’d had no idea. Casey clamped her hand on her thigh.
“I also noticed the edginess when we met in Stan’s office,” he added.
Wait a sec. Had he and Stan been discussing this when she arrived for that meeting in his office? Had Denver asked to see her today because he thought she was losing it? Sure, she’d been anxious about Ricky and Hoodie Guy, and possibly being followed, but did that warrant a face-to-face visit?
“Just say what’s on your mind, Denver.”
“I’m worried about how you’re coping with all that’s happened lately.”
“I’ll be okay. Especially when that maniac who went after me and Harold is caught.”
“Uh-huh.” Denver sipped his coffee. “A few years ago, I was sent to a domestic dispute. We’d had previous reports about the husband and wife fighting, but weapons were never involved.” He paused. “The door was partly open when I got there. Found the mother stabbed to death behind it. She’d obviously been trying to get out. The father had stabbed their three kids too, all under age ten, before slitting his own throat.” He paused. “All were dead, except the youngest, the three-year-old girl.” Denver cleared his throat. “I tried to keep her breathing until the paramedics got there. But . . .” He shrugged.
The sunlight pouring through the window illuminated the green in Denver’s hazel eyes, and the pain. His flushing cheeks caught Casey off guard. Denver wasn’t an emotional guy. Yet something that tragic and violent would have upset anyone.
“That’s terrible, Denver.”
“Yep.” His gaze drifted to the table. “I was off work for a few months after that. Struggled with depression, then eventually got therapy. It helped.”
Casey clasped her hands on the table. “I’ve had problems with depression on and off for years. It hit hard after my father’s death, and when my marriage ended.” She bit her lower lip. “I had some counseling. Didn’t like it much.”
“Liking it or not isn’t the point,” Denver replied. “The point is that it helps.” He took another sip of coffee. “I put off counseling as long as I could, but it came down to either getting help or losing my job and my family. In the end, it was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done.”
Denver rarely spoke of his wife and kids. She knew he had two boys and two girls, and the oldest was in high school. Since their friendship revolved around work and the occasional criminology class, family life rarely came up in conversation. But Denver had met Lou, and he certainly knew about Summer.
“It’s been hard on Lou and Summer,” she said. “They were overprotective at first. Both gave me a lot of grief every time I wanted to leave the house. Treated me like an invalid until I told them to back off. I think they’re worried about a major setback.”
“I remember that feeling.”
Denver’s phone rang. Casey welcomed the distraction. Despite all the coffee, fatigue was setting in.
“Great work, and thanks for getting back to me so fast,” Denver said, scribbling in his notebook. “Yep. Send it to my phone.” Smiling, he put the phone back down on the table. “I asked for any further information that was dug up on Hannigan. Turns out Ricky has a grown son named Tyrone Ripple, who’s served time for assault.”
“Whoa.” She perked up. “Is Hoodie Guy the son, or am I making too big of a leap?”
“With your help, we may find out soon. I’m about to receive his mug shot,” Denver answered. “We don’t have a current address for Ripple or even a driver’s license. Looks like he’s living off the grid.”
“Could be hiding out at his dad’s,” Case
y replied. “Ricky’s the perfect cover. A friendly, physically challenged senior who’s befriended the locals.” She told him Monica’s story about Ricky’s super-hero status.
Denver’s phone pinged. He tapped the screen, studied the image a moment, then handed the phone to her. “Well?”
Casey inhaled sharply. “That’s the maniac who went after me and Harold. I’d recognize those light, menacing eyes anywhere.”
Denver took the phone back and smiled at the photo. “Hello, you pathetic a-hole. We’re coming for ya.” For a guy with large hands, Denver texted pretty damn fast. When he was done, he said, “In case Ricky did see your plate number, does your house have an alarm system?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make sure the patrol guys keep watch.”
“Thanks.” But it wasn’t enough to make her feel safe. “If Ricky’s not a loose end to tie up, are he and Tyrone still in that neighborhood because he has another home invasion planned?” Casey sat up straighter. “Oh shit! Monica Silver lives alone and wears a lot of gold jewelry in public. Detective Novak knows this, but maybe you should remind him.”
“Will do.”
“Do you think Novak will contact Ricky today?”
“As I’ve said before, I’m not privy to his game plan,” Denver answered. “Novak may simply want to observe for now, see if the son shows up.”
Casey sighed.
“Don’t worry.” Denver gave her a quick smile. “It won’t be long before they’re both arrested.”
As far as Casey was concerned, it couldn’t happen fast enough.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Coffee in hand, Casey left MPT’s lunchroom and headed down the hall, bracing herself for a meeting with Stan. She hadn’t spoken with him in nearly a week. Marie had told her that he’d been stressing over staff shortages.
Casey had tried not to dwell on her longing to be back at work. She’d been trying to keep busy with errands, light housework, and visits to the slowly improving Hilda. She’d also survived her first counseling session—not as awful as she’d feared—and a sudden visit from Barb, who wanted to apologize for ranting after Lou announced that the wedding was off again. Casey hadn’t witnessed the outburst, but she’d heard about it. Barb was hoping that they’d set a new date soon. So was she.
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