Deadly Accusations

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “This is Casey.”

  “You got the cash?”

  “Yes.” Geez, this wasn’t a drug buy, for heaven sake.

  The intercom buzzed and Casey entered a lobby cluttered with boxes and full plastic bags. A woman and two guys were pushing a sofa toward the door.

  “Moving day, huh?” Casey asked.

  “Yeah, thank GOD,” the girl replied.

  “It’s that bad here?”

  She barked out a laugh. “You could say that.”

  “Really? I was thinking about moving in.” The tenant headed for the door.

  “Please, I need to know. I’m about to give them a damage deposit.”

  The girl turned around. “Stuff goes missing around here.”

  “From the laundry room?”

  “From your bloody apartment. Coins or a five dollar bill; things they don’t think we’ll notice.”

  “Has it happened to others?”

  “Two that I know of.” The girl headed for the door. “Run while you can.”

  “Thanks.”

  Casey continued to the Gallenskis’ apartment. Ursula answered the door dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt that barely covered her bulging stomach. A sudsy bucket and a pair of yellow rubber gloves sat by the door. Casey tried not to smile. She’d never pictured Ursula as the cleaning type.

  “You look busy,” Casey said.

  “People moving out, people moving in.” Ursula removed a key from the board by the door. “I hate these losers.” Ursula handed her the key. “Bring it back when you’re done. Someone else is supposed to drop by, so leave the door unlocked.” She put on the gloves. “You won’t take off without paying, will ya? I’ll be in suite three-ten.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Right, you’re one of the good guys.” Ursula watched her. “I heard you’ve been tracking down the skanky half sister.”

  Casey frowned. “Who told you that?”

  “That dingbat Marie told Paval.”

  Just great. “Why would she tell your husband?”

  “They’re friendly. Why, I’ll never know.”

  So, Ursula now knew about her interest in the murder. Damn, damn, damn. Casey stepped into the corridor. “I’ll get the stool.”

  “What did that cold witch have to say?” Ursula asked.

  A suspect would want to hear what she knew. “Gabrielle warned me to stay away from her mother.” Paval walked up to her, carrying a basketful of clothes. A tiny baby slept on top of the clothes. “Cute bundle you got there.”

  “Warm laundry puts them right to sleep.” His smile faded. “Did I hear you mention Gabrielle O’Reilly?”

  “She threatened Casey,” Ursula said. “I think that chick’s more than capable of blowing someone’s head off.”

  “I told Corporal Lundy that Gabrielle and Birch are a couple. She’s the one you spotted in his car.”

  Ursula didn’t look surprised. Paval, on the other hand, seemed baffled. “How do you know?”

  “I saw them together, and Gabrielle admitted it yesterday. She claims she wasn’t in Vancouver the day Jasmine died. Anyway, she’s on the mainland now. We rode the same ferry over.”

  “She’s here?” Ursula asked. She put her hand on her swollen belly and avoided Casey’s gaze.

  The longer Casey watched her, the more nervous Ursula seemed. “Did you know about Birch and Gabrielle?”

  “No, what a stupid thing to say.” She started to leave.

  Paval stood in the doorway. “Did you recognize Gabrielle in Birch’s car?”

  “All right, I did, yeah. I thought they’d hooked up to hurt Jasmine and maybe even take Jeremy. It looks like they decided to kill her instead.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Casey asked.

  “What for? It would only be my word against theirs.”

  Maybe Ursula had seen Gabrielle up close and decided to blackmail her. She might have already stooped to stealing from tenants. “I’d better get that stool.”

  “It’s twenty bucks.” Ursula held out her gloved hand.

  “Let her see it first, darling,” Paval said, “then we’ll work out a fair price.”

  “Look, Pav, I’m trying to do everything I can to put money aside. You know maternity benefits won’t cover what I get from tips. We can’t slide into poverty either. I’m not going through that shit again.”

  The phone rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Ursula put down the bucket and removed one glove.

  “Be right back,” Casey said, and started down the hall.

  She unlocked Jasmine’s apartment and stepped into a room reeking of garbage and over-used kitty litter. The red shag looked dirtier than she remembered. The only furniture in the living room was the sunflower footstool and a broken wooden chair.

  The chill Casey had felt her first time in this apartment returned. She hated being here. It was as if Jasmine’s essence still hovered. She glanced at the dark kitchen cupboards and yellow countertop, a throwback to the seventies when this building was probably constructed. Casey headed for Jasmine’s bedroom, curious to see what else was left.

  The bed and bureau were gone, as were her disco clothes, wigs, red feather boa, and even her shoes. In Jeremy’s room, she found a box of clothes and a crucifix on the wall. Otherwise, the room had been picked clean. Poor Jeremy. His life had changed so much. Was he still waiting for his mom to come and get him?

  Feeling a bit queasy from the apartment’s stench, Casey headed for the bathroom, flipped on the light, and tossed her gum in the garbage. She sat on the edge of the tub and took slow deep breaths. Reminders of Jasmine were everywhere: a toothbrush in a red plastic cup, mascara and lipstick by the sink. Bath toys cluttered the top of the toilet tank.

  Jasmine hadn’t been the world’s best housekeeper. The tile grout around the tub was black in places. Blue decals on the bottom of the green tub were also stained. Staring at the decals, Casey recalled the photo of Jeremy. He’d been sitting in the bathtub and grinning up at the camera. But hadn’t the picture seemed much brighter? Casey looked at the two swag lamps on each side of the sink. The wattage wasn’t strong.

  The sound of a closing door made Casey jump. The other buyer? She hoped this person didn’t want the stool. Casey left the bathroom and flinched when she saw Elliott Birch walking toward her.

  Birch stopped and gaped at her. “You were at the funeral.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “Yes.”

  “You’re a friend of that Crenshaw bitch.”

  “We’re coworkers, but no one would call us friends.” Crap, he was blocking her path to the living room. “Are you here for the sale too?”

  “I’m picking up the rest of Jeremy’s stuff, but I ain’t paying for nothin’.”

  His black hair, which had been slicked down at the funeral, was disheveled. Casey leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, hoping to look more at ease than she felt. “How’s your son doing?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s it to ya?”

  “Just making conversation.” Birch’s stare rattled her. Why wasn’t he saying anything about her confrontation with Gabrielle? Surely he knew about it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I came to buy the footstool.” She nodded toward the living room.

  Watching his hands, she strolled toward him. If he reached in his pockets she could be in deep trouble. Birch was shorter and thinner than her, but still dangerous. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. She walked closer, but he didn’t move. When she was close enough to touch him, he turned and let her pass. Casey marched toward the stool, feeling his gaze on her back. She lifted it and turned so she could examine the piece while keeping Birch in view.

  “Why do ya want that shit?” he asked. “It’s dirty.”

  “Dirt can be removed.” Moron. “I like sunflowers and it’s beautifully embroidered.”

  “Yeah well, I suppose everybody’s good at one thing.” Birch hurried to the door, blocking her
exit. “When are you and Crenshaw going to stop acting like cops? Gabby told me about you and Hannah.” He looked like he wanted to flay her. “If you tell her mother about us, I swear you’ll regret it.”

  If Birch had a weapon, he would have waved it at her by now. Maybe he preferred his fists. “Seeing as how you didn’t kill Jasmine,” she said, holding the stool chest high, “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Birch laughed. “Damn straight.”

  What was he hoping to do? Marry Gabrielle so he could cash in on the inheritance when Hannah died? Casey flung open the door and hurried down the hallway. She looked over her shoulder. Birch wasn’t following. As she rapped on the Gallenskis’ door at the far end of the hall, Birch stepped out of the apartment, carrying the box she’d seen in Jeremy’s closet.

  Ursula was still on the phone when she opened the door. Somewhere in the apartment, Casey heard a baby start to cry.

  “I gotta go,” Ursula said into the receiver. “Bye.” She looked at the stool. “You still want that thing?”

  “Yes, and I just had a run-in with Elliott Birch.” She spotted Birch coming down the hall. He turned and headed toward the building’s entrance. “He’s leaving right now with a box and said he isn’t paying for anything.”

  Ursula spun around. “Pav, Birch is here and he’s taking off!”

  “Would you pick up the baby while I deal with him?”

  After Paval rushed out the door, Ursula held out her hand. “Where’s my twenty?”

  “The stool has a couple of stains, so I’ll give you fifteen.” Casey removed a twenty dollar bill from her wallet. “Do you have change?”

  Ursula looked at her with contempt. “No wonder I’m still living in this dump. I have to get the baby, so wait here.”

  “How about I get the baby for you? It’ll save time.” It would also give her a chance to peek into the bathroom. Since Jeremy had spent a lot of time here, she had a hunch.

  “Whatever.” Ursula clumped down the hall. “She’s in the room at the end.”

  Casey followed her until Ursula stepped into a bedroom on the left. Farther down the hall, Casey stopped at the bathroom. The lights were off. She continued to the second room containing two cribs, a chest of drawers, and a changing table.

  The baby had spit up. Sour milk dribbled down her chin and onto her pink sleeper. Casey lifted the child and headed for the bathroom. Once she’d switched on the light, she found a box of tissues on the counter.

  She wiped the tiny face and moved closer to the green tub with its clean white decals. The wall tiles were spotless. Halogen lights made the room much brighter than Jasmine’s bathroom. Had Jeremy’s picture been taken here? Jasmine might have come to pick him up early, seen him playing in the tub, and borrowed Paval’s camera. But what if she hadn’t taken the picture?

  Casey lifted the whimpering infant onto her shoulder and massaged her back. Given the sexual abuse Jasmine had suffered, the thought of a landlord taking pictures of her naked child might have enraged her. Was this what Jasmine meant when she wrote that Paval had crossed the line? Maybe Jasmine hadn’t given Hannah details because the implication was too awful. She wouldn’t have wanted to upset her ailing mother.

  Paval appeared in the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, but babies make me nervous.” She handed the child to Paval. “She spit up.”

  Casey watched Paval’s liquid eyes. The first two times she met him, she assumed he’d been close to tears over Jasmine, but maybe he always looked this way. What if he and Jasmine had argued about the photo? A sexual abuse allegation would end his job, possibly his marriage, and launch a police investigation. Could he have killed her? Was he nasty enough to have beaten Winifred and threatened to kill Summer? He didn’t know Summer existed, though, unless Marie had told him. A prickly, stinging sensation ran up and down Casey’s arms, as if someone was grazing her skin with a bouquet of thorns.

  “Here’s your change.” Ursula plunked a crumpled five dollar bill in her hand.

  “That’s exactly what I got out of Birch,” Paval said. “The jerk was about to take a swing at me.”

  Casey picked up the stool and stepped into the hall. “Thanks for this.”

  She hurried out of the building and looked for Birch’s car, but he’d apparently taken off. Keys ready, she jogged to her Tercel, alert for trouble. Once inside, she locked the door, then called Corporal Lundy.

  While the phone rang, Casey’s thoughts swirled. Thefts, child abuse, beatings, murder. Was Paval responsible, after all? Dirty blue decals, clean white decals. Three weeks had passed since she’d seen those photos. She couldn’t be completely sure which bathroom the photo was taken in until she saw the snapshot again. Casey tried to exhale her anxiety away. Don’t jump to conclusions, girl. Ask Lundy about the photo first, and then see what was what.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  WHY DID LUNDY HAVE TO be on another line? Casey plunked her phone on the passenger seat and pulled away from the Gallenskis’ building. She checked the time. Quarter to five.

  Before she’d left the house, Stan had called to make sure she’d be on the M6 bus by eight. She’d have time to grab some food and then head for the library to work on her essay. Ordinarily, Casey didn’t welcome shifts with Rude Wesley Axelson. Tonight, though, even his company would be better than staying home and listening to every creak in the house. Besides, if the rockhound could describe the shooter, she wanted to catch this nut fast.

  Casey checked her mirrors for any sign of Birch’s Dodge Dart. She didn’t see his car or the silver Jetta, but they could still be around, waiting for her. By the time she reached the highway, her tense shoulders had begun to ache.

  She first spotted the SUV following her on the Gallenskis’ street while she was turning onto Foster. A quick left turn onto North Road and then a slow right onto the highway hadn’t changed the SUV’s pace. The vehicle kept three car lengths back, too far away to read the license plate. Still, she might be making too much out of this. The highway was less than five minutes from the Gallenskis’ place and a heavily used route to Vancouver. On the other hand, what if her encounter with the Gallenskis had prompted the tail?

  Did Paval prey on kids? Did Ursula know? Why hadn’t she told anyone that she’d seen Birch and Gabrielle together? Blackmail was a possibility, given Ursula’s money worries. Had she found out that Gabrielle’s mother was wealthy, and assumed Gabrielle had access to cash? Was Gabrielle on the mainland now to deal with Ursula? Casey tried to ignore the dread slithering like a serpent inside her. She again glanced at her rearview mirror. What kind of car did Paval drive?

  Her phone rang. She answered with her Bluetooth.

  “This is Corporal Lundy. You left a message about the photos?”

  “Yes, but first, I think someone’s tailing me.” Casey explained what had happened and where she was.

  “It’s rush hour, which means a lot of traffic,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “Can you describe the vehicle?”

  “Just that it’s a dark SUV. There’s another intersection coming up and an Esso station on the corner. I’m turning off.” She switched on her right turn signal, cruised through the intersection, then pulled into the gas station. “The SUV’s driving past.”

  “Good. From what you described, you were near Mrs. Birch’s apartment building, is this correct?”

  “Yeah, Jasmine’s landlords are selling her furniture, so I bought a footstool I saw in her apartment when we were picking up Jasmine’s pets; which reminds me, would you like to own a gerbil, hamster, or guinea pig?”

  “Thank you, no. You mentioned something about a bathroom?”

  “Yes. I stopped in hers to get rid of my gum and that’s when I noticed the blue flower decals on the bottom of Jasmine’s bathtub. The lighting wasn’t good, but the landlord’s bathroom has much better lighting and white decals.”

  “How do you know?” He sounded annoyed.

&
nbsp; “I was in there, too, helping with a crying baby. So, now I’m wondering which room the photo was taken in. I know it’s none of my business, but this is important.”

  “That’s your professional assessment, is it?”

  Casey sighed. “Do you know what type of car the Gallenskis drive, by any chance?”

  “It’s not a SUV or silver compact, and I want you to stay away from that building, understand?”

  “Just one more thing: did you know that tenants have had things stolen from their suites?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I bumped into a tenant as she was moving out. She said the landlords stole stuff from her apartment and that it’s happened to others. Jasmine even caught Ursula in her apartment one day and thought she took an amethyst pendant and earrings.” Casey watched drivers pumping gas. “Apparently, she searched the Gallenskis’ bedroom, which could be how she found the photos.”

  “How did you know about the stolen jewelry when you told me the two of you weren’t on good terms?”

  “Jasmine wrote about it in a letter to her mother. Hannah wanted me to read the letters, so she invited me to Parksville. Jasmine also wrote that both Gallenskis had stepped over the line.”

  “Why did the mother want you to read the letters?”

  “Because I know some of the people Jasmine wrote about.”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to it than that?”

  How could she explain that Hannah put more faith in her interpretation of clues than she did in the RCMP’s investigation? “Hannah wanted me to see if there was a clue to the killer among them. The only incriminating stuff was about the Gallenskis.”

  “Do you still have the letters?”

  “Only the last seven. I didn’t have time to read all of them over there, so she let me take copies home.”

  “Are the letters with you now?”

  “In my purse.”

  “I’d like to see them.”

  “My shift starts in a few minutes; otherwise I’d bring them now.”

  Lundy muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. “I want them here first thing in the morning.”