by P. A. Wilson
As soon as Melanie was out of sight, Monique looked under the counter. It was like a cabinet, three drawers along the top, a cupboard under the left two drawers, and two shelves under the drawer on the right. Drawers and cupboard had locks. She gave each a small tug, all locked.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Melanie wasn’t coming down the hall, Monique sorted through the contents of the shelves, brochures, and blank sign-up forms. What she needed was definitely behind one of the locks. On the top shelf, Monique found an Altoids tin. Prising it open, she found a single key on a ring. The key was small enough to fit the locks. She only had a minute or two and didn’t want to take the man’s signup form away so she’d need to copy the information.
She opened the first drawer, a cash box. Monique closed and locked the drawer. The next one held Melanie’s purse. The third one held what looked like the lost and found. Time was running out.
The cupboard lock stuck and Monique’s stomach tightened. She wiggled the key with one hand and unlocked her phone with the other. The door gave, and she saw a pile of completed forms. Hoping Melanie hadn’t sorted them into some particular order, Monique quickly separated the ones with women’s names and took a picture of each of the other forms.
As she locked the cupboard, the phone rang. Dropping the key into the tin and pushing it to the back of the shelf, Monique picked up the phone.
“A Walk in the Past, how can I help you?” She slid her phone into her pocket, nodded at the group of women entering the small office, and reached for a pen to take a message. She felt Melanie’s presence just before the man on the phone asked her about booking a private tour. “Just a second, I’ll pass you on to Melanie.”
She ignored the conversation on the phone to greet the women she’d be taking around downtown for the next hour and a half. As her heart slowed to a normal place, Monique said, “Ladies. Are we ready to go?”
CHAPTER 15
Two hours later, Monique sat on her couch looking at the four pictures on her phone, ready to delete the ones that were not creepy guy. He hadn’t shared his name with the group, but the other three had, it was just a matter of remembering which names matched with the younger guys.
She closed her eyes and thought back to the introductions. The four young kids had gone first; introducing themselves like they were couples. Emily and Todd, yes he’d been the redhead. Alex had been the skinny one with the acne scars. The other two names, Drago Cakic and Rad Divac, had the right sound to be involved with The Colonel, but neither of them had accents. At least she only had to follow up on two names. Monique checked the addresses. They were almost at opposite ends of the city.
She closed her eyes. All the young guy had said was his name. She couldn’t tell if he had an accent. Rad was short enough for that, and it could be a street name. If he’d said, Drago, would she have heard an accent? Maybe. Well, all she could do was check out both addresses. She’d start with Rad’s address because her gut said the creep was Drago, and she wasn’t ready to follow her gut just yet.
It was still early enough to go and check out the places without seeming weird driving past houses. Rad’s address was across town. It was probably a basement suite given the 1/2 in the address, fifteen minutes’ drive at most at this time of day. Monique grabbed a coat and her keys and headed out before she could change her mind.
The address was in the middle of a street lined with Vancouver specials. Houses built between the sixties and eighties. They were designed to have a rental suite on the ground floor, legal or not. Rad’s home was lit up with the curtains drawn back and all Monique needed was for him to walk by the window. She sat in her car for what seemed to like too long to go unnoticed. She was craving a cigarette, but was glad she’d left them at home.
Then the light dimmed inside, leaving only a flickering that meant the TV was on. Was he settled for the night? Monique didn’t relish the thought of sitting outside the house until morning. If he didn’t have a day job, he might not come out. She slid down in her seat, reluctantly preparing to spend the night. She wished she’d thought to get a coffee on the way, and then she regretted the thought as her bladder twinged. “I’m not cut out for this stakeout thing.”
The TV was backed up against the window, blocking half the space. The flashes of light gave Monique the impression that he was watching an action movie. The flickering light made Monique blink, and each blink was a little slower. It was chilly and she was starting to doze off. She pinched her thigh to keep alert.
She was tempted to drive away, but she couldn’t just leave now. If this was her guy, she needed to know. Even if he wasn’t, well then she’d know it was Drago and that meant she could figure out her next move. She decided to stay for an hour. If Rad didn’t move within that time, she’d go looking for the other address.
She looked at the pictures of the receipts again. No phone numbers so she couldn’t make him move by calling. She couldn’t knock on the door, he would recognize her. Even if he wasn’t the creep, she’d have a hard time explaining what she was doing there.
She kept checking her phone for the time. Over the next half hour, the flashing from the TV stopped three times. Each time Monique held her breath but the shadow of someone moving never resolved into a face in the window.
Monique realized she wasn’t going to be able to sit for the full hour. The intervals between checking her phone were getting shorter. Rad didn’t seem to need to come to the window, and she was going to have to move on and hope that it wasn’t a mistake.
She gave herself five more minutes, and sat on her hands to stop them reaching for the phone every thirty seconds. The TV went dark a moment later. Then Rad appeared in the window. Monique started the car and pulled away. Rad was the young guy.
The address Drago had given was out near Hastings Park, almost in Burnaby. The rain had started up again, making it difficult to see the lines on the road. Monique rarely drove, and even less often at night, because she had problems seeing clearly in the glare of traffic. The oncoming headlights seeming to be running on high beam the whole way. Tension had her gripping the steering wheel so tightly her hands ached. She tried to ease her hold, but it wasn’t until the next red light that she could release the wheel, and shake out the stiffness in her fingers.
Arriving at the address, Monique was glad of the rain. It meant that no one was wandering the street, and the few residences were tightly locked behind drawn curtains and blinds. There would be no witnesses to her lurking.
Parking under a burned out streetlight, she stared at the building. It seemed to be an old warehouse turned into a collection of offices. She couldn’t count on seeing Drago unless he visited closed businesses at night in the rain. And she was suddenly unsure that he’d be likely to have given a real address, or name.
Monique decided to wait anyway. There was nothing to do at home but worry about Didi, and she could do that in the car just as easily as at home. She’d stopped on the way at a gas station to use the bathroom, so she wouldn’t have any distractions.
Monique scanned the windows of the building. Each had signs about the businesses that occupied the office. It was an eclectic group, none of which were War Criminals Incorporated. There was a web design company, a building developer, and a caterer. The other three companies had names so weird that she had no idea what they produced.
There were lights on at the caterer, A Taste of Home, and at the web design company, Yoursite.com. Everyone else had gone home. Maybe the creepy guy was just a socially awkward computer geek. She couldn’t find a way to make herself believe that. And it was too dangerous to ignore the questions he’d asked. If she was going to investigate, Monique decided she would believe her gut and think of him as a threat.
After a few minutes, she saw movement on the street. It was a couple of men walking toward the building, one too short to be Drago, and the other too fat. Both wore hoodies against the drizzle and they seemed to be talking quietly. The lights went out at the web design com
pany as the men approached. They glanced around before entering the building. The fat guy tossed a butt into the gutter. A few seconds later, two young women exited the building, popped up umbrellas, and walked toward the lights of Hastings.
So something was going on at the caterer. Were they prepping for tomorrow? Or was this something more sinister? Monique had hoped that following up on Drago would answer some of her questions, not create more.
Over the next half hour, six more men made their way into the building. A caterer that only employed men didn’t feel legitimate. Monique didn’t know what to do next. Staying in the car seemed like a waste of time. Going home felt unsatisfying. What she really wanted to do was snoop. Go look in a window and see what was going on. If it was just a catering company, then she could go home. If it was something else… maybe she’d give the information to the cops and go home.
Was she ready to take the chance and go look? As much as she hated to admit it, Rafe was right. Monique had lived too long trying to safeguard herself, to keep others out. She’d never had her privacy threatened before.
She knew that whatever was pushing her to find out who was behind the killings was part self-preservation. Not knowing what the police were doing to catch the murderer was feeding her need to take control. She had no doubt that the threat was real, but she was seeing danger in every little quirk, and that was not a safe way to live either.
Monique scanned the street. There was no movement. No one had come toward the building for at least ten minutes. The rain had stopped. She had to find out if she was just paranoid about Drago, or if her sense of survival was telling her the right thing.
She stepped out of the car and hunched into her jacket. Leaving the car unlocked, and holding her ignition key ready to use, Monique walked to the end of the street.
She hoped there was a handy back alley she could use to spy from. If not, she would have to try looking through the front window. That felt both dangerous and idiotic.
When she turned the corner, her heart lifted. A service alley led back halfway down the block before turning right to empty onto the parallel street. The only light came from the window of A Taste of Home, and it was right at the turn of the alley.
She would be visible to anyone looking out, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the alley. The left side was almost completely dark. She might be able to get away with it. If she moved her car to the parallel street and came from that direction, it would mean she wasn’t approaching the building head on, which should make her safer.
Monique did a quick check that she wasn’t being watched, and then walked back to the car, forcing herself not to run and bring attention to her actions.
The next block was mixed residential and commercial properties, which meant that, at this time of night, everyone was home and their cars were parked on the street. She took the chance and pulled in next to a hydrant, then made her way to the alley. Monique relaxed a fraction of the tension that held her tight. This side of the alley was much better for sneaking up on the building. Two dumpsters cast shadows and provided quick nooks for hiding in an emergency.
Monique sidled along the alley. Her heart banging in her chest, she felt the pulse in her throat and lips and fingers. She didn’t even try to calm it, she just kept moving.
She saw a deep shadow between the electrical pole and a garage at the corner of the alley. If she slipped in beside the electrical pole, she’d be able to see most of the interior of the lit room. The danger was being seen as she crossed the space between the last dumpster and the pole.
Her mouth went dry at the thought of being caught. Now she was here, the reality of what she was doing sank in. She stood as still as she could and tried to think. Panic shivered in at the edge of her perception.
The longer she was in the alley the more danger that someone would do something about her car. Like call the police. She realized that if she went back to the last dumpster, she could cross more safely, but it was adding delay to her limited time. Monique stopped dithering and made her way back through the shadows to cross the alley, and then stepped carefully through the weeds and mud at the edge of the paving until she was safe in the darkness beside the pole.
Watching the activity in the room across the way, Monique could see about three quarters of the room and from about hip height up. It was definitely not a catering business. There was a big table. Men were seated around it, some drinking from mugs, and others from shot glasses. They were looking at someone sitting out of her line of sight.
Monique couldn’t help feeling like she was on display. Some of the men seemed to be staring right at her. She calmed the rising panic by telling herself that they would be reacting if they could see her. None of them so much as changed position, so she felt safe enough to watch.
At the far side of the table, Drago sat with a bottle at his elbow. He was definitely not a socially awkward geek. In this setting his menace was painted all over his face. That, and his body language, erased any lingering doubt that he was innocent. Despite everything, Monique still had nothing she could give to the cops.
It wasn’t illegal to pretend to be a caterer. It also wasn’t illegal to ask creepy questions.
Her feet were freezing and wet. The cold creeping up her legs and sapping her will to stay. She kept her eyes on the window as she started to shift her weight to begin her escape to her car. No one seemed to notice the movement. They continued to listen to whoever was talking. Monique was almost around the power pole when Vincent walked into the room.
She froze.
He couldn’t see her. She didn’t know if she was telling herself, or praying to anyone who might be listening.
He took the bottle from beside Drago and reached for one of the glasses in the middle of the table. Pouring himself a shot, he raised his glass toward the unseen person in the corner and tossed the contents back. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, he took a chair and leaned back.
Taking a shaky breath in, Monique inched away from the corner. As soon as she was sure she was out of sight, she ran to her car.
Monique was shaking so badly she had to pull over into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. It took her a few minutes to stop trembling, and clear her mind enough to pay attention to the road again. Far from feeling satisfied that she’d found something out, Monique was terrified. She couldn’t feel the compulsion to investigate through what was becoming a familiar panic attack.
What the hell was she doing?
Was she crazy?
Three murders and two threats – there was no doubt in her mind that Drago had been threatening her – and she acted like she was some kind of super sleuth.
Monique badly wanted a cigarette, but she wasn’t going to buy them. She couldn’t have a drink until she got home. She’d never been a nervous eater, so McDonald’s didn’t have anything that would calm her nerves. What she needed to do was talk to Rafe. At this point, she was willing to apologize for anything as long as she didn’t have to be alone.
After about five minutes, the trembling had subsided enough for her to drive, so she started the car and pulled out into traffic. At this time of night, it was mostly taxis taking people home from clubs. They were driving sanely, so she could concentrate on her own driving rather than worry about everyone else.
As she drove, Monique gave herself a pep talk. “Don’t argue with him. Apologize and leave your ego out of it. It’s okay to like someone, not everyone will betray you.” She’d given this speech to herself many times over the years. Each time she did, she tried to believe it. Every time up to now, her instinct had been proven right as people betrayed her over and over again.
Parking outside Rafe’s apartment building, Monique looked up to his window. There was a faint light leaking through the blinds. He was awake, at least. She swallowed a feeling of regret that she needed to see him because she was afraid that she had to admit she couldn’t deal with everything on her own, that she had gotten in over her head.
; He buzzed her in without comment. When the elevator door opened, he was waiting for her. “You look like shit. Come on, it’s warm in my place.”
Monique reached for his arm, but he had already turned away. She followed him to his door and walked through as he held it open. His gas fireplace was turned on and, by the warmth that flowed over her, it had been on for hours. The chill in her bones was replaced with a weariness that had her crawling onto his couch.
“Wine?”
“Please.”
He handed her a glass then looked closely at her face. “Have you eaten?”
“Today?” When he didn’t laugh, she added, “I could eat, I guess.”
Rafe didn’t answer, just went to the kitchen, and started banging around.
Monique fought to keep her eyes open. The shock and the cold were enough to explain the way she felt. Between sleepless nights, threats, and worry about her brother, it was no wonder she was out of energy. The next thing she knew, Rafe was poking her awake.
“It’s just an omelet. Eat then tell me what happened to make you look like death warmed over.”
He sat across from her and stayed silent until she put the last bite in her mouth.
“Okay, Monique, talk. And don’t pretend it is all okay. I know you.”
She considered everything that had gone bad in her life recently. “It’s hard to know where to start. I guess a good place is that you and I are fighting again. I’m sorry about that. Can we call a truce?”
“Maybe. Keep talking.” Rafe wasn’t being hard on her to be an asshole. Monique saw the twitch of the muscle in his jaw. He was holding back his anger to give her a chance. It was a good sign that he was trying to let her talk before reacting. And maybe his anger was a good sign too. It meant he cared.
She started with the easiest stuff. Stuff he couldn’t expect her to control. “Didi is not coming out of the anesthetic. At least that’s the last I heard from Andy.”