The Opposite of Dark

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “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 fiancé, 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 Café, 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.

  “In a room with a lot of books,” Gil replied. “It’s on the ground floor, next to our fence.”

  “So, you can see into the room?” Casey asked.

  “A little bit of it, when I’m in the garden, like I was then.” Gil lowered his voice. “Saw her through the knothole. It’s opposite a door with a window in the upper half.”

  Must be a good-sized knothole, Casey thought. How much time had he spent looking through it? “Do you often garden at night, Gil?”

  “No, but my parents will be back from Arizona soon. I’m supposed to have all the gardens ready for planting and the lawn mowed by then, and I’ve kind of put it off.” He shrugged.

  Gil zeroed in on her boobs again, but Casey didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay for crucial information. If he’d witnessed the murder, she’d toss him her bra and throw in a belly dance.

  “Gil, did the woman look in her seventies?” Rhonda asked.

  “I only saw the back of her, but she didn’t dress old. She was in some sort of blue sparkly outfit with a matching hat.”

  Rhonda’s eyes narrowed. “What was the woman doing? Did you see her hair color?”

  “She was standing and talking, and her hair was eith
er really short or pushed up under the hat ’cause I didn’t see it.”

  Casey knew what Rhonda was thinking: the woman could have been a lover. She wanted to ask Gil if he’d seen them embrace, but Rhonda was developing a pout.

  “Too bad you didn’t see the woman’s car,” Casey said.

  “I can only see his driveway from my bedroom upstairs. Anyway, I gave up on the stupid garden pretty quick, then went inside and cranked up the music. Crashed about eleven-thirty.” He glanced at Casey’s breasts again. “I did look out the window once, but the car was gone. Must’ve left while I had the music on. Didn’t hear an engine start.”

  “Can you see into the room with the books from your bedroom window?” Casey asked.

  “Angle’s too sharp, but when I closed my drapes I saw that the lights were out. Didn’t think in a million years anyone was dead in there.” He tucked strands of hair behind his ears.

  Rhonda fidgeted. “Had you seen the woman before?”

  “Nah. Didn’t see him around much either. No parties, loud music, not even a barbecue.”

  “Did you tell the police about the woman?”

  “Uh-huh. They came in and looked out the window, tracked freakin’ dirt all over the carpets.”

  Casey sighed. What else had Lalonde not bothered to tell her?

  Five

  CASEY STEPPED OUT of her Tercel and glanced at the back of Mainland Public Transport’s admin building. The drab gray paint and two floors of narrow, paned windows always reminded her of a warehouse rather than an office building.

  On her way to the entrance, she heard three-hundred horsepower engines starting up in the yard behind her. Most people couldn’t bear the smell of diesel fuel, but to Casey it meant paychecks, friendships, and busy-ness. In summer, when the windows were open, the yard was noisy, but she didn’t mind. The atmosphere was more informal than downtown’s tinted-glass towers with talking elevators. Here, people used the stairs and talked to one another.

  She’d barely entered the building when a man’s loud curses caught her attention. They came from the ladies’ locker room farther down the corridor. Casey pushed the door open and nearly stepped on scattered makeup, magazines, and clothing. Sickly sweet perfume from a broken bottle seeped into a pair of socks. Hands on hips, Stan stood in front of a group of open lockers.

  “It looks like some moron used bolt cutters on five padlocks, including yours,” he said. “See if anything’s missing. The cops will be here, eventually.”

  “Any idea when it happened?”

  “Between two and five this morning. Janitors found the mess when they showed up. They might have scared the freak off. The men’s room wasn’t touched.”

  Casey picked up the black garter belt and stockings she wore yesterday.

  “Aside from this, how are you doin’, kiddo? Any leads on your dad’s killer?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did they get hold of that woman?”

  Casey shoved the lingerie in her locker. “How did you know about her?”

  “I overheard the detectives yakking about some lady who saw your dad the night he died.”

  “Did they happen to mention a name or description?”

  “Not that I heard.”

  Casey dumped her bag on top of the stockings. “Everything’s here and none of it’s valuable, so I’d better get going.”

  “I’ll have new locks put on today.”

  “Thanks.”

  She was jogging toward the M15 when she heard a familiar voice calling her. She turned and saw Lou running to catch up.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, slowing to a stop. “You running to catch a bus or preparing to leap over one?” Lou’s gray eyes shone over a pair of dimples and a sweet smile.

  “I’m trying to be on time.”

  He gazed at her outfit. “Let me guess, high-powered executive, right?”

  “And purse thief target.” She stopped to tuck in her blouse.

  “I heard you left early yesterday.”

  “I did, but came back around quarter to five to read up on this assignment. You were gone by then. Anyway, I have news that only a horror fan like you can appreciate.”

  “Oh?”

  Casey put her arm around Lou, something she’d caught herself doing a lot lately. Lou returned the gesture. Rhonda thought Lou was in love with her, but Casey didn’t think so. She and Lou had been friends for years and he’d never even hit on her. Sure, they’d gone to pubs, shared tons of pizzas, and seen the occasional movie together, but he’d never asked her on a real date. Lou had had his share of girlfriends, but she’d noticed that he looked more intensely at her lately. Did it really matter, though? She wasn’t good relationship material, but neither was Mother, and if there was a person Casey didn’t want to emulate, it was her mother.

  “You want to talk about it at my place tonight?” Lou asked. “I’ve restocked the Coors.”

  “Casey, hurry up!” A wall of hairy, freckled flesh shouted from the M15 bus. “We’re late.”

  She started for the bus. “How about I give you a lift to bowling tomorrow? We can talk on the way down, because tonight I’ve got to see a house, which is part of my news.”

  “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

  “It is, trust me.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  Casey thought about it. “Resurrection.”

  “Good word, but I have no idea what you mean.” He rubbed his chin. “Before I forget, I’ve got two sets of tickets, one for a new blues singer and the other for the Canucks, nosebleed section. Which would you rather see?”

  “You’re joking, right? It’s the playoffs!”

  He laughed. “Just checking.”

  “So, who will you take to the blues thing?”

  “Mom. The tickets are another birthday present from her anyhow.”

  Casey always had liked Lou’s eclectic tastes and an energy for life as strong as Dad’s had been. When her marriage ended, Lou was one of the few people who hadn’t said, “I never liked Greg.” In fact, he and Greg had been buddies until they got into a fight after Casey ended the marriage. She’d been too busy feeling sorry for herself to ask Lou why he’d sided with her. Now, it didn’t seem important. She was just grateful for his friendship.

  “Move it, Casey!” Wesley shouted.

  “All right, all right. Geez.” They didn’t call him Rude Wesley Axelson for nothing. She started to jog. “Later, Lou.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She hurried up the steps.

  “About bloody time.” Wesley started the bus.

  “Would you relax. The day’s barely started and you’re already grumpy.”

  Wesley pulled away fast, forcing Casey to grab the pole behind his chair. She tapped his head with her clutch bag. “Try not to injure the team, Wes.”

  • • •

  When Casey returned to her apartment around lunchtime, she collapsed on the sofa. No one had tried to grab her clutch bag all morning, damn it. She would ride again from three to six. Afterward, she’d visit more of Dad’s West Van neighbors and see if anyone had known him.

  She looked up the funeral home’s number and then dialed. “I’d like to speak to the director, please.”

  “He’s not available at the moment,” a woman replied. “May I help you?”

  “My name’s Casey Holland. Your funeral home handled arrangements for my father’s burial at Cedar Ridge Cemetery on March eleventh, three years ago. Only, his body showed up at the morgue yesterday.”

  Her response took a few seconds. “Let me see if I can reach Mr. Nay.”

  Mr. Nay came on the line and tried to sound like he had no food in his mouth. After highlighting events, Casey asked if an exhumation had been ordered. Nay reported that he hadn’t been contacted by anyone, and as far as he knew Marcus Holland was still in plot 352.

  “Then what should I do with the second Marcus Holland when his body’s released?”

&nbs
p; “Uh . . . well, let me consult with the morgue and our head office, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Casey gave him her cell phone and landline numbers. She covered her face with her hands. It was all too weird. Twenty-four hours had passed since this ordeal began. In some ways she felt worse than she had yesterday. The thought of a second funeral made her cringe. The first one was bad enough, especially after some freak trashed Dad’s house, forcing the reception to move to Rhonda’s place. This time, no announcements would be made in the paper.

  Casey felt a headache coming on. Before it got worse, she made a quick call to find out when Dad’s remains could be claimed. After a long wait and a couple of transfers, she learned that Mother, of all people, had asked to claim the body. Since Mother wasn’t next of kin, Casey refused to give consent.

  She wasn’t too surprised that Mother hadn’t tried to contact her about Dad. After all, Casey had made it clear that she didn’t want any contact between them, and Mother hadn’t come to the funeral three years ago. Why did she want his body now? What made her think she had any right to him?

  Casey grabbed a teddy bear from her shelf and threw it across the room. Rhonda used to say it was better to lash out at stuffed animals than people. Soon all the bears were bouncing off the sofa, thumping against walls, or skidding along the floor. Adrenalin pumped with the ferocity that only criminals and her mother could bring on.

  Casey’s vision blurred and the throbbing in her head escalated. Damn. A migraine was coming. She didn’t get them often, but the symptoms could be harsh. Casey closed her eyes a moment. The only remedy for it was to take a painkiller and sleep.

  Casey shuffled to the bathroom, popped a couple of pills, and then slid under her comforter. The last thought she had before dozing off was that she’d have to pick up all those bears.

  Six

  BY THE TIME Casey had finished another uneventful shift, grabbed some food, then talked to Dad’s Marine Drive neighbors, it was dark. No one admitted to having known Dad. Few had even seen him, and most didn’t want to discuss the night of the murder because the police had already asked enough questions.

  “Marine Drive’s a busy street,” an elderly neighbor said, “with cars speeding along all the time. Some passenger in a vehicle could have spotted a car in your dad’s driveway, or saw someone entering the house. I did see a couple of people walking their dogs that night. One of them is a tall lady with short red hair who lives down the street. Didn’t recognize the other young fella.”