by Gerri Hill
"You're too good to us, Casey."
Casey only smiled. He said those words to her every time she helped them with something around their house. Mowing the lawn, hauling bags of compost for their flower beds, fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom, and putting their trash out on the curb for them every Tuesday and Friday morning. But it was all stuff she enjoyed doing for them. They had two kids and seven grandchildren, and in the six months Casey had lived there, she'd seen them visiting twice. The house was full of pictures, but she could see the sadness in their eyes when they spoke of their grandchildren. Apparently, no one had time for visits anymore.
Later, after she and Ronnie had finished their beer, they tackled the gutters. Her reward was getting to share dinner with them. Ruth made chicken potpie and Casey, despite her protests, was sent home with the leftovers. It was a favorite meal and Ruth knew it.
Now, as she sat in the dark sipping her wine, the lights were already out next door. It had been a hot day and even now, nearly ten, the humidity was still high. Casey stretched her legs out, resting them along the railing of her deck, swatting at the occasional mosquito. She looked out over the dark water, seeing the twinkling of lights on the distant shore. Across the way was the country club and golf course. She smiled, wondering if Tori and Sam would really go through with it and buy a house there. She wouldn't mind it, really. It'd be better than them moving off somewhere, away from her.
She leaned her head back, watching the stars overhead, letting her mind drift. She wasn't surprised when thoughts of Leslie came to her. As far as partners went, she couldn't complain. They seemed to sense each other's questions, actions. There'd been not even a hint of a problem between them. She liked her. She must. She'd told her practically her life story. And she enjoyed their conversations, even enjoyed the monotonous chore of staking out the apartments. And like Leslie said, it'd be nice if they became friends.
It'd be nicer if she was old and frumpy, though.
She smiled. "Or ugly and portly," she said out loud.
Chapter Sixteen
"Okay, so they report four possible Peeping Toms...what is that?" Leslie asked. "I mean, we didn't even have one possible."
She and Casey walked along the sidewalk, the morning coolness already giving way to the afternoon heat. At the door to the lab, Casey paused, letting Leslie go first.
"Thank you, Detective O'Connor."
"My pleasure."
They passed the reception desk with a wave and Leslie noticed the quick smile Casey gave Sarah. And the lingering look Sarah gave Casey. She'd found that Casey was a flirt. A flirt in a subtle, gentle way, which for some reason, made it okay.
"Okay, so their Peeping Toms," she said again.
"Either they're making it into a contest, and okay, let's say they're cheating," Casey said with a smile. "Or we have different descriptions of what constitutes a Peeping Tom. I mean, if we want to report every male who walks in the common area as a potential, then we can. I just think it clutters up things."
"I agree. Maybe we need to clarify with them what we're both looking for."
Casey stopped at the door to Mac's office and knocked.
"Come on in."
She opened the door, then stepped aside to allow Leslie to enter first. Leslie brushed her arm as she walked past, giving her a smile. With anyone else, she may have thought it was a condescending act to constantly hold the door open for her. But not with Casey. She'd noticed Casey did it with nearly everyone, including Tori.
"Morning, ladies. Have a seat."
"Hey, Mac. You got something good?" Casey asked.
"I think so." He shoved a piece of paper across his desk. "Take a look."
Casey took it and held it up so Leslie could see too. It was a picture of two pieces of thread or yarn.
"Okay. And?"
"They are identical."
Casey tossed the paper back on his desk. "Wonderful. I'm so happy." She leaned forward. "What the hell does it mean?"
Mac tilted his head. "It's uncanny how much alike you and Hunter are sometimes."
"Please, we are nothing alike," Casey scoffed.
Mac flicked his glance to Leslie. "Right," he said dryly. "The fibers are identical. The first was found at the crime scene of Dana Burrow's."
"The second apartment victim?"
"Yes. Spencer found the fiber in the genital area. It matched nothing in her apartment. We logged it as transfer."
"And the second?" Leslie asked.
"The second is from your homeless man. It's from the blanket he was covered with."
"So, theoretically, that could put our homeless man inside Dana Burrows apartment."
"Theoretically."
Leslie shook her head. "I can't see her opening her door to a stranger, especially someone off the street. I mean, people just don't do that. Especially young women who live alone. You just don't do that."
Casey nodded. "So? Transfer from the killer? That would mean our killer would have been in physical contact with our homeless guy before he killed Dana." She turned to Leslie with raised eyebrows. "Patrick?"
"Who's Patrick?" Mac asked.
"Someone named Patrick killed Rudy Bobby."
Mac frowned. "Who?"
"The homeless guy. Rudy Bobby."
"I didn't think we had a name for him."
"Don't know his legal name, no."
"Any other link?" Leslie asked. "His throat was cut. So was Dana Burrows's. Can we match it?"
Mac nodded. "I've got Emerson going over the photos now. I'll let you know as soon as he's done."
Casey stood. "Okay. Great job, Mac. I'll fill Hunter in."
"Thanks. And I'll e-mail over the report. Spencer's post was plain Jane, nothing jumped out. We'll have tox back tomorrow."
"Thanks."
Back outside, they headed down to their building, keeping to the shaded side of the street. The whole thing didn't make sense to her. She reached out, stopping Casey.
"It seems like too much of a coincidence," she said. She let her hand drop from Casey's arm. "If we theorize that Dana Burrows wouldn't open her door to Rudy Bobby, a homeless man, why would she open it for Patrick, another homeless man?"
"We may never know that. I doubt she knew who she was opening it for. I mean, it could be anything. We guessed pizza or delivery guy. How about he found out what her name was, so he simply knocks on her door and calls out her name in a friendly voice. Maybe she thinks it's a neighbor or something and just opens up."
"Scary."
"Yep."
At the door to their building, Casey paused. "Everything's okay with you, right?"
Leslie frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean tonight, with Michael."
"Oh. You mean because I'll be with you staking out apartments?"
"Yeah." She held open the door. "I mean, if I was him, I'd want you at home. Civilians don't always understand the job."
"Thanks. But I'm afraid he's not going to miss me. The Rangers are in town. They're all going to the game tonight."
"Good. Then I won't feel bad."
"Why would you feel bad? It's my job."
Casey grinned. "Because if I had some hot woman waiting for me at home, I'd hope you'd feel bad that I was having to go on a stakeout."
"Oh, so you're assuming Michael's hot, is that it?"
"Gross. Let's don't go there."
Leslie laughed and squeezed Casey's arm quickly as they walked inside. Sikes sat alone in the squad room. Tori was nowhere to be seen, and Leslie glanced at the two empty desks that sat by themselves, away from their four. Donaldson and Walker. She'd seen them exactly one time since she'd been here. In fact, she almost forgot they were in the same squad together. But judging by the distance their desks were from the others, they probably didn't feel like they were a part of the team.
"Where's Hunter?"
"She went to pee."
Leslie smiled, still surprised at the lack of formality among them. But Sikes must fee
l like a brother with a house full of sisters sometimes. And she suspected he liked it.
"Well, Mac found something. We may have caught a break." Casey looked at her. "Of course, we don't know if it's a break of not."
"What kind of break?"
They all turned as Tori came into the room. Casey pointed to her monitor. "Mac was going to e-mail you. But remember the post for Dana Burrows? Spencer found a fiber and they couldn't match it to anything in the apartment."
"Yeah. And?"
"Mac said it was an exact match to the blanket Rudy Bobby was covered with."
"Who the hell is Rudy Bobby?"
"Oh, sorry. That's our homeless guy. We don't really know his name."
"Rudy Bobby?"
"Some called him Rudy, some Bobby," Leslie explained. "Casey and I have just referred to him as Rudy Bobby."
"I see." She opened up her e-mail, scanning the report. "So, transfer?"
"They're checking the knife wounds on both victims, but it's highly likely that whoever killed Dana Burrows also killed our homeless guy."
Tori took a deep breath, then leaned back. "Okay, hotshot, what's your theory?"
Casey grinned. "I'll let Tucker give it to you."
Leslie nodded. "Maria at the shelter said his name is Patrick, or at least that's what she was told. She doesn't know of a Patrick who frequents the shelter. But he is another homeless man, that's why they won't give him up. Based on Rudy Bobby's dying words--"
"I won't tell, I won't tell," Casey supplied theatrically.
"We think Rudy Bobby knew that Patrick killed Dana Burrows. Whether the fiber is transfer from Rudy Bobby to Patrick and then to Dana, or if Rudy Bobby was actually in the apartment, we would only be guessing at this point."
Tori leaned forward. "How do you know those were his dying words?"
"He was killed Friday night, presumably while in bed, just like the others were who use that alley."
"And that's what they told Maria they heard," Casey added.
Tori nodded. "Okay. So now what?"
"Well, I guess that's kinda the problem. We're still looking for a Peeping Tom."
"Speaking of which," Leslie said. "How is it you had four possibles?"
"We had four suspicious guys lurking," Sikes said.
"Lurking? Lurking where?"
"You know. Around."
"Look, if we're going to start listing every suspicious guy who's lurking," Casey said, "then we're wasting our time. This isn't a contest, you know." She raised her eyebrows at Tori. "Or is it?"
"No." She smiled at Sikes. "We were just bored. It made it a little more exciting to have a possible."
"So in other words, you really didn't have any."
"No, O'Connor, I guess we didn't," Sikes said. "But Tori made me do it."
"Ah ha," Casey said, tossing her pen at Tori. "The truth comes out."
Tori laughed. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stand it."
"Me? Tucker was the one who said you guys were smoking crack or something. I just said you were cheating."
Malone stuck his head out of his office. "What's going on?"
Tori winked at Casey, then turned to the lieutenant. "Just discussing the case."
He nodded. "I just read Mac's report. It's something, at least."
"Yes, sir," Casey said.
"You two going out tonight?" he asked, pointing at Leslie and Casey.
"Yes, Lieutenant," Leslie said.
"Okay. Well, be careful."
Chapter Seventeen
Casey pulled up beside Leslie's car, surprised she was already here. She was fifteen minutes early. She smiled through the window, watching as Leslie juggled purse, water bottle and a bag of chips while she tried to lock her car.
"Need some help?" Casey asked when she rolled down her window.
"I got it."
Casey leaned across the console and opened the door, then took the bottle that Leslie handed her. "Miss dinner?" she asked, looking at the bag of chips.
"I wasn't in the mood for takeout," she said. "There's only so many fast food places you can go to before you're sick to death of them."
"Ah, don't cook," Casey guessed. "Does Michael?" she asked as she backed up.
"Are you kidding?"
"So you guys eat takeout every night?"
"Not fast food takeout, no. But yes, we eat out. I mean, not necessarily out. You can pick up orders at just about every restaurant nowadays."
"It's not that hard to cook," she said.
"I know. It's not that I can't cook. Well, not gourmet or anything, but I can get by. But it's that I don't cook."
Casey raised her eyebrows.
"At first, I cooked all the time. However, more often than not, I ate alone. Our schedules weren't in sync. So, it's evolved into getting takeout and each can eat when they want."
"I see."
Leslie sighed. "No, you don't. It's an insane arrangement, I know." She turned. "But I wouldn't picture you as a cook."
"Oh, I know my way around a kitchen." She shrugged. "Just, it's hard to cook for one. Steak on the grill, baked potato and a vegetable, I'm good to go. But I eat takeout a lot too." She turned on Live Oak and headed east. "And you know, Sam cooks. They invite me all the time, but I try not to go too much. I don't want to be a pest."
"And did you eat already?"
She laughed. "No. I was hoping we could take a break and grab a burger or something. Or else I'll steal half your chips."
"Good thing I opted for the bigger bag." Leslie tossed it behind them on the backseat, then pulled out the spreadsheet and her penlight. "Let's see. Brookhaven requires walking, and Creekside we think is inaccessible to a stalker. So, want to try Cascades? Or Twin Peaks?"
"What all did they hit last night?"
"Since Brookhaven requires walking, I'm assuming that's why they skipped it. Other than that, it looks like they hit them all."
"How would they have time for all of them?"
"Because they probably didn't sit and park like we did."
"No wonder. I should have known. Tori can't sit still this long."
"Let's do Cascades," Leslie suggested. "We never made it by there the other night. My notes say it has outdoor patios on each ground floor unit."
"What block?"
"Turn right on Hall. It's before you get to Gaston."
Casey saw the well-lit entryway--along with the cascading waterfall--well before she saw the sign. She pulled into the parking lot, driving slowly until they saw the opening between the four buildings.
"The view's not great," Leslie said when she parked. "We may need to mark this one as walking required too."
Casey cut the engine and opened the windows, letting in what little breeze there was. "Gonna be a warm night."
"Oh, well. I guess we're all used to it by now." Leslie turned toward her. "I picture you as the summer type anyway. All tan and everything, playing at the lake."
"Yeah. I enjoy the summer. Back in my twenties, I was at the lake all the time." She smiled. "I had a lot more energy back then."
"Didn't we all."
"Yeah. More energy, less sense."
Leslie rolled her head along the seat, watching her. Casey finally turned and raised an eyebrow.
"When did you know you were gay?"
Casey smiled. "The standard straight woman's question, huh?"
Leslie shrugged. "Just wondering."
"I knew when I was young, I guess. I always kinda felt different. So I kept to myself. I didn't have a whole lot of friends then. But I think, at the time, I attributed it to my life at home. It wasn't normal, therefore I didn't really feel normal. And it wasn't like I brought friends home or anything. I didn't want to chance that both my parents would be there at the same time. If they were, that usually meant a fight. It was easier to keep my distance with people...boys."
"How old were you when...you know?"
"What? Sex?"
"Yeah. Your first time."
"I was sevente
en. She was the sister of a friend." Casey leaned her head back, remembering. "She was a freshman in college. She had the longest legs I've ever seen." She turned quickly, looking at Leslie with a smile. "Every time she saw me, she flirted with me. I never really understood it. Not until that day. It was Thanksgiving. I'd been invited to their house. She took me upstairs to listen to some new music she'd just gotten."
"Where was your friend?"
"Helping in the kitchen."
"She didn't know?"
"No. Of course, neither did I. I mean, I thought we were really going to listen to music. We went into her room and before I knew what was happening, she had me on the bed and her hand was down my pants."
"But you knew, right?"
"Yeah. I knew. It just wasn't the way I imagined losing my virginity, you know, with a quickie right before Thanksgiving dinner."
Leslie smiled. "Did you see her again?"
"Yeah. At Christmas." Casey turned back, looking out the windshield. "But that was the last time. She came home that summer and she had a boyfriend. She wouldn't even speak to me."
"So she wasn't gay?"
"No, she was gay. But like some, she tried to fight it. It's okay. I didn't blame her for that."
"Did you try to fight it?"
"No. It never really occurred to me to fight it. It was just who I was. Who I am. I didn't see the point of pretending."
"So you've never slept with a guy?"
"No. I try not to think about it." She grinned. "Because that would just be gross."
"Mmm."
"Mmm?"
Leslie shook her head. "Nothing."
"Okay. So now that we're acting like teenagers and talking about sex, when was your first time?"
"I'll give you a hint. I was the oldest virgin at college."
"No way."
"Yes."
"Man, those boys had to be falling all over you. You're gorgeous. How'd you manage?"
"I had this silly idea I'd wait until marriage."
"And I take it you didn't." She stared. "Michael's not your first, is he?"
"No. Of course not. I held out until my senior year. It was torture. Most of the girls knew I was still a virgin. I got teased constantly."