Deadly Accusations

by Debra Purdy Kong

  Casey yanked the door shut while Roberto pressed digits on his phone. Her stomach convulsed. Dashing to the bathroom, she collapsed in front of the badly stained toilet bowl and heaved. By the time she’d lost everything, her eyes were watery and she was shaking so hard she couldn’t stand. Lowering her head, she rested her arms on the bowl’s cool porcelain. Bile burned her throat. Tears seeped out from her closed eyes.

  “Feeling better?”

  Casey flinched and looked up. Corporal Lundy was staring down at her. She wiped her eyes and reached for the toilet paper roll.

  “Did you touch anything?” he asked.

  “Doorknobs, toilet seat.” She tore off two squares of toilet paper, wiped her mouth, and flushed the toilet. As she got to her feet she said, “I only saw Gabrielle. Was Jasmine’s little boy in there too?”

  “No one else is here.” She noticed that he’d already put on latex gloves. “Let’s go before you contaminate more of the crime scene. And don’t touch anything.”

  Casey shuffled down the hall on unsteady legs and saw Roberto leave the trailer with another officer. She followed Lundy to an unmarked vehicle.

  “Okay, Miss Holland, tell me what happened from the moment you reached the trailer.”

  After Casey described everything she did and saw, Lundy said, “When was the last time you talked to Miss O’Reilly?”

  “In Parksville.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Her mother. She didn’t want me talking to Hannah again.”

  “What else?”

  After Casey gave him the highlights, Lundy said, “Quite the confrontation.”

  A cruiser pulled up and blocked the entrance.

  “Well, no one threw punches.”

  He flipped through his notes. “The last conversation you had with your ward’s grandmother before her attack was also confrontational, was it not?”

  “Yes.” He knew it was. They went over this last night.

  “And you argued with Jasmine Birch before she died?”

  “Your point, Corporal?”

  “I’m just wondering why people die, or nearly do, after they argue with you.”

  “I have alibis, you know.”

  Lundy closed his notepad and tried not to smirk. “If I value my life, I’d better not argue the point.”

  Casey rolled her eyes. Cops, death, and dark humor. She’d heard them deal with the bad stuff through sarcasm and lousy jokes before, but she never thought she’d be the joke.

  “Corporal?” A third officer, who looked about seventeen years old, appeared behind Lundy and handed him a sheet of paper. “I found something.”

  Lundy turned his back to Casey, blocking her view.

  “Look for a computer or typewriter,” Lundy told his colleague.

  Casey moved closer. As if aware of her action, he lowered his voice so she could only hear him say something about picking up Birch. The young cop headed toward the cruiser parked near the entrance, while Lundy turned his attention back to Casey.

  “So tell me, what do you really think Miss O’Reilly wanted to see you about?”

  “Maybe to tell me she saw who shot Jasmine. I’m betting hers was the silver car in the church parking lot that day.”

  Lundy nodded. “We knew the first three letters on the license plate. They match the plate number you gave us.”

  She should have known he’d keep that information from her. “I think one of the Gallenskis killed Jasmine, and that Gabrielle recognized the shooter. Given what her mother told me about Gabrielle’s greed, it’s possible she was blackmailing one or both of them, although I have to say that after my talk with the Gallenskis yesterday, I would have thought that Ursula was the one doing the blackmailing, but it must be the other way around.”

  “Why can’t I go in!” a familiar voice shouted.

  Casey turned and saw Marie trying to slip past the police by the entrance. She hoped they’d make her leave.

  “You invited another friend?” Lundy asked.

  “No, Marie Crenshaw’s butting in again.”

  She followed Lundy as he strolled up to Marie. “What brings you here, Mrs. Crenshaw?”

  Marie squinted at Birch’s trailer. “What happened? Is Jeremy okay?”

  “He’s not there. What did you want to help Miss Holland with?”

  “Confronting Gabrielle.”

  Casey shook her head. How had she found out about the meeting?

  “Why would you need to confront her?” Lundy asked.

  “Because Gabrielle’s a horrible bitch, and Roberto told me she’s hooked up with Birch who’s the real killer, not my brother.”

  Casey spotted Roberto talking to two officers. His hands were in his pockets and his head lowered.

  “What makes you think Mr. Birch is guilty?” Lundy asked Marie.

  “I just know, and I believe you’re about to arrest my brother, which would be a huge mistake.”

  “Go home, Mrs. Crenshaw.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what happened?” Her voice rose. “Obviously, Casey knows or she wouldn’t look so green.”

  Funny, her face felt flaming hot.

  “Casey, what’s going on, damn it?” Marie asked. “I have a right to know.”

  “Better not argue with Miss Holland,” Lundy remarked. “I have all the homicides I can handle.”

  Casey glared at him so he’d know he wasn’t funny.

  THIRTY-ONE

  CASEY SCARCELY NOTICED HOW COLD it was on the empty M6 bus. The Kevlar vest was keeping her warm enough; so was the adrenaline rush as she anticipated the rockhound’s appearance. He was overdue for another strike and conditions were perfect tonight. She wanted more than a rock-throwing nut, though. She wanted Jasmine’s killer. Violence had escalated since her return from Parksville, and enough was enough. As Wesley drove toward New Westminster, Casey fidgeted in her seat, eager to reach the rockhound’s turf minutes from here. She sat in front for a better view of the sidewalk and intersections.

  Before she left the trailer park this afternoon, Corporal Lundy inadvertently confirmed that they’d found a suicide note next to Gabrielle. Judging from Lundy’s abrupt manner and monosyllabic replies to her questions, the corporal had decided he’d already said too much. Unfortunately, Roberto and Marie had overheard them.

  “That’s it then,” Marie had said to everyone with earshot. “Gabrielle and Birch stole the guns from Wesley’s place, and one of them shot Jasmine so Birch could have Jeremy. Birch then killed Gabrielle and forged the note to save his lying ass.”

  Lundy’s chilly response hadn’t surprised Casey. “That note is confidential, Mrs. Crenshaw, and accusing someone without knowing all the facts is begging for trouble.” He then asked Marie if she knew where her brother was at that moment. Marie had assured him he was home, at which point she took off.

  Lundy wouldn’t reveal the type of gun found in Gabrielle’s hand, but Casey had a hunch it was Wesley’s Glock twenty-seven. She hadn’t told Wes about the shooting. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Besides, Rude Wesley Axelson looked grumpier than usual. Thanks to Marie and Roberto’s love of gossip, he might have heard the news anyway.

  Wesley pulled up to the stop where the plainclothes officer was waiting. Casey recognized the guy from last night’s shift, but couldn’t recall his name. Undercover Man wasn’t a big talker and he usually mumbled. The cop climbed on board, nodded to Wesley, and then took his usual seat behind the center door. As he ambled past Casey, he barely gave her a glance. He’d hardly looked at her since they met. Maybe the guy didn’t think much of female security officers, or just her. His behavior made her even more determined to catch the rockhound, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  After discussions between Stan, Eisler, and the police, it was decided that only Undercover Man could sit in seats nearest the sidewalk, which meant he’d probably spot the suspect first. More officers would be patroling the area, especially near Fourth and Clarkson, where Casey had chased the rockhoun
d a few days ago. The other problem was police insistence that the M6’s Not in Service sign be left on. To Eisler’s chagrin, no fares would be picked up.

  While Casey understood the cops’ determination to catch the shooter, their presence was a waste of time. No one at Mainland, except Stan, knew she was on duty tonight, and she’d made sure she wasn’t followed to work. Still, the cavalry was here; ready to protect, defend, arrest, and annoy.

  As Wesley drove under the Pattullo Bridge, Casey shifted forward in her seat. A few pedestrians were walking down the sidewalk, or entering bistros and restaurants on this cold, dry Friday night. As usual, traffic was heavy and slow, not only because of the many traffic lights, but because parking was allowed on the street.

  The M6 cruised into the hot zone and passed a man with a loping gait, dark hoodie, and the same scraggly beard she’d seen the night of the shooting.

  Casey stood and approached Wesley. “Let me off here. I want to talk to the man we just passed.”

  “Dumb idea.”

  “He’s not the shooter, Wes. I was watching him walk away when it happened. Anyway, Undercover Man’s here; you don’t need me.”

  The hairy bear scowled. The traffic light turned red and he stopped the bus. “What if he’s the rockhound?”

  “Then the only weapon he’d have is a rock and I can handle that.” Casey watched the guy catch up with the bus and then continue through the intersection, despite the red light. “Open the door, Wes.”

  “It’s still a stupid idea.” He did as asked.

  “Wait for me at the next stop.”

  “Hey,” Undercover Man shouted at her, “what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Going to talk to someone I saw the other night.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “If you’re worried, radio your backup for help, but I’m going after that guy up ahead. He was nearby when I was shot at the other night and could have seen something.”

  Before he could respond, she stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking while Wesley moved the M6 ahead. Zipping up her jacket, she breathed in the late October air, then exhaled slowly. In front of her, two blondes in short denim skirts, leather jackets, and high heels giggled and clung to each other as they tried to walk a straight line. Beyond them, a group of guys and girls strolled behind the bearded man. Strutting toward Casey and the blondes were three gangly teens who gawked at the girls.

  The M6 stopped for a red light at Columbia and Fourth. Casey moved faster. Bearded Guy and the group of five were now beside the bus.

  Casey waited for the geeks to pass by before she overtook the girls. She was still waiting when the sound of cracking glass made her flinch. Casey hurried past the girls as a man ran up Fourth Avenue.

  “There goes someone’s booze,” one of the blondes remarked. “What a waste.”

  Ahead of them, someone yelled, “Whoa! He smashed the window!”

  Casey spotted a man running toward her. The blondes were too busy laughing and staggering down the sidewalk to notice the approaching man.

  Casey jumped in front of the pair, ID in hand. “Ladies, step out of the way, please. You’re in danger.”

  The runner spotted her and slowed down. He wasn’t the bearded man. This one was short, sported a ball cap, and carried a white plastic bag.

  She flashed her ID card at him. “MPT security! Stop right there!”

  The blondes scurried away; the suspect stopped moving.

  Casey edged closer to him. “Put the bag down.”

  Behind the suspect, a uniformed officer jogged toward them. Farther down, Undercover Man talked to witnesses. Casey edged closer to the suspect until she was only two strides away from the suspect. She’d put in too many hours to let New Westminster police bust her rockhound.

  “Get away!” He began pinwheeling his arm, swinging the bag in a circle.

  Judging from the way the bag moved, there had to be at least one more rock inside. Curious that he’d brought a spare. Had he planned two strikes to make up for lost time? While the bag was high above his head, Casey rushed the guy and tackled him to ground. The man’s cap fell off, exposing a bald head fringed with scraggly gray hair. Casey was about to handcuff him when the uniformed cop caught up to her.

  “I’ll take over from here, Miss.”

  She grabbed the bag from the suspect.

  “Give me my bag!”

  Peering inside, Casey saw a large rock. The suspect lifted his head. Lines creased his brow and bracketed his mouth. The guy had to be at least forty-five, but he was fit enough to run up and down hills.

  “I ain’t done nothin’!”

  “You broke a window on one of our buses.” Casey noticed Wesley marching toward her. “Police are interviewing witnesses now.”

  “Prove it!” he shouted.

  “Let’s see some ID, sir,” the officer said.

  “It’s at home.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Avery.”

  “Last or first?”

  “I’m Avery Watts.”

  Wesley caught up to her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, he ran right toward me. Go figure, huh?”

  He mumbled something about a lucky break. “We found a good-sized rock on the sidewalk.”

  Casey knelt down near Watts. “Yours, by any chance, sir?”

  “No, I just found that bag a couple minutes ago.”

  The officer helped him to his feet.

  “It’s amazing how technology can lift fingerprints off practically anything these days,” Casey said. “Seeing as how you aren’t wearing gloves, I wonder what the technicians will find?”

  She had no idea if prints really could be lifted off a rock, but he didn’t need to know that. The officer started to read the rockhound his rights, but Watts cut him off. “Your lousy buses got what they deserved! I’m a good driver, I shoulda got a chance!”

  The cop warned him about saying anything, but Watts didn’t even look at him.

  “Are you talking about working for MPT?” Casey asked.

  “Damn straight. I sent in an application, but they didn’t even call. It’s not fair!”

  “Mr. Watts,” the officer tried again. “I caution you not to say—”

  “I deserve a shot at driving.” An approaching police siren caught Watts’ attention. He turned to the officer. “Let’s make a deal. I got information ’cause I saw the guy who shot the bus the other night.”

  Wesley and Casey exchanged wary glances.

  “He shot the stupid door and took off,” Watts went on. “He shouldn’t have been on my turf.”

  “Did you see his face?” Casey asked. “Could you identify him in a police line?”

  “That depends on what I get out of it.”

  When Undercover Man joined them, the uniformed cop filled him in on what was happening.

  “I doubt this loser could pick anyone out of a line,” Wesley said. “The shooter wore a wide-brimmed hat.”

  “True.” Casey’s hopes sank.

  “I saw him! The moron nearly knocked me over when he ran into the station. I was standing at the entrance.”

  “Did you see the weapon?” Undercover Man asked.

  “It was a handgun.”

  The uniformed officer opened a notepad. “What did he look like?”

  “About my age. Average height and weight.”

  Casey stared at Watts. “A middle-aged man?”

  Two police cruisers pulled up.

  “Yeah, with dark watery eyes, and he had a big nose.”

  Casey’s mouth grew dry and the adrenaline soared. “Oh.”

  “I ain’t saying more till I see a lawyer.”

  Undercover Man didn’t look pleased. “Get him out of here.”

  The officer escorted Watts into a cruiser.

  “I know someone who fits that description,” Wesley murmured to Casey. “He was at the funeral, and I’ve seen him a couple of times when I was at Jasmine’s place.”

&n
bsp; “Me, too.”

  “The apartment manager, right?”

  “Yeah.” She shivered in the cool night air. “Paval Gallenski.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  DAMN IT, ANOTHER BLOODY COP had dismissed her. Casey had lost track of the times she’d busted someone, called police to process the suspect, then once they arrived, had been brushed off in countless irritating ways. Tonight, Undercover Man had said, “We’ll take over from here, Miss. Go back to your bus, and stay away from Mr. Gallenski.” She was almost sorry she’d told the New Westminster police about Paval. Corporal Lundy was the one who needed to know. Although Undercover Man assured her he’d contact Lundy, Casey had left her own message for the corporal.

  Traffic was sparse now at ten-thirty, so Casey sped through the intersection, anxious to get home and then go see Summer. After a brief chat with Stan a half hour ago, she’d called Summer to tell her she’d caught the rockhound. She’d left out any reference to Paval.

  “That’s awesome. You won’t have to work nights for a while,” Summer had said. “Can we celebrate with some double chocolate fudge ice cream? There’s still a full carton in the fridge, and you could pick it up before you came over, right?”

  Since it was Friday night and Casey felt like celebrating herself, she’d agreed. When she called Lou to give him a more detailed account of events, his response was less positive.

  “For god’s sake, Casey, you were in Paval’s apartment yesterday. You could have been killed.”

  “Only if I’d accused him of murder, and I’m not that stupid.”

  “This freak passes himself off as a gentle guy who loves kids and pets, when he actually killed two women, beat up a senior, and threatened kids’ lives. God knows what he’s done to the babies he looks after.”

  After Lou’s tirade, he told her that his sister had brought his truck back from Parksville and that he insisted on picking her up. “Pack a bag,” he’d added. “We’re not staying there until the bastard’s caught. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”