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.
“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.”
If he needed them that badly, he’d offer to meet her at the M6 bus, or call Stan to arrange a later shift start. “I have a class up at SFU that finishes at noon. I could bring them after that.”
“Our detachment’s about fifteen minutes from there. I’ll expect you by twelve-thirty and, as I said, stay away from that building.”
“No problem.” There wasn’t a reason to go back. “Did you know that Jasmine was sexually abused by her grandfather when she was six years old? She mentions it in the letters. Any hint of inappropriate behavior with her child, like taking a photo of him naked, might have enraged her enough to threaten one or both Gallenskis with the police.”
“I had a call from the Vancouver police about an assault in your house.”
Why was he changing topics? “I asked them to phone you. Thought you should know.”
“When was the last time you spoke with the victim?”
“We talked before I left for Parksville, and it didn’t go well. Winifred and I weren’t getting along, and since Summer’s staying with my boyfriend’s mother, I asked Winifred to move out, but she doesn’t like being told what to do.”
“I see.”
“You should also know that Gabrielle O’Reilly’s on the mainland. We rode the same ferry over, which is when I learned that she drives a silver Jetta. I have the plate number.” Casey recited the number she’d memorized. “Oh, and another thing.”
“Just one?”
Cute. “Ursula admitted that she knew about Gabrielle and Birch’s affair before today, but she didn’t tell anyone, including her husband.”
“Which sounds like another reason to stay away from the Gallenskis and their tenants, Miss Holland. Don’t go looking for trouble.”
“That was never the plan, Corporal.”
Casey tossed her phone on the seat. She should have said no to Marie’s plea for help from the beginning; the same for Hannah O’Reilly. Instead, she’d tried to do the right thing. So, why did she feel so bad about everything? And why did she feel the worst was yet to come?
TWENTY-NINE