“An old Honda Civic. White and a bit rusty, I think.”
“If Paval had acted alone when he stole your van, he would have had to leave his car near your place, but could he have driven a specialized van?”
“It didn’t take Marie long to learn. He could have test driven one.”
“Marie said the van was found at a park near your house?”
“Actually, it was on the other side of Como Lake.”
The lake wasn’t large. Anyone walking from the other side could be at Noel’s place in five minutes. “Would he have parked his car in that area, too?”
“Possibly.”
“We need to find some neighbors who might remember seeing a rusty white Honda Civic on the morning of September twenty-eighth.”
“This whole area had a lot of break-ins last year, so there’s a Neighborhood Watch program on both sides of the lake. I’ll find out who’s in charge.”
“What are the odds of someone remembering the car more than three weeks after her death?”
“Who knows? An unfamiliar car would only have been reported if a crime had been committed. I gather some of the volunteers are pretty zealous about writing down models and license plate numbers of cars they don’t know.”
Casey thought she heard the stairs creak. She held her breath until she remembered that Lou would be joining her. “Did you tell Neighborhood Watch about your van?”
“I was going to, but Jasmine’s death pushed it out of my mind, and then there were the police at my door, meetings with the lawyer, and work deadlines.”
“Even if people knew about the van, they wouldn’t have made the connection with it and the appearance of a white Honda Civic.”
“Someone around here might know something. I’ll call the Coquitlam detachment to see if Neighborhood Watch reported any suspicious vehicles around the twenty-seventh or eighth of September.”
There was a knock on the door. Lou had a key, but he didn’t use it if he knew she was here.
Casey rose. “Call me if you find anything.”
“I will, and take care, okay?”
“You, too.” She shoved her phone in her jeans pocket and headed for the door. “Lou?”
No answer. Fear swept over her. “Lou?”
“It’s Paval Gallenski. I need to talk to you.”
THIRTY-THREE
OH GOD, HOW HAD THE murdering maniac gotten in the house? Casey bolted for her bedroom.
“I want to talk now,” Paval called through the closed door. “You need to hear the truth.”
Casey grabbed her cell phone and called 911. “A man’s trying to break into my apartment! I’m in the top floor suite of a house.” She rattled off her name and address.
“Come on, Casey, open up!” Paval kicked the door. “I’ll use the rifle if you don’t co-operate.”
Casey’s heart tap danced. “The intruder’s Paval Gallenski and he’s got a rifle!” she blurted. “He’s already killed two people.” She locked the bedroom door. “Hurry!”
Leaving the line open, Casey shoved the phone in her pocket and dashed to the window. She lifted the wood frame, then flung her leg over the sill. She could hear the dispatcher’s raised voice asking her to respond. Casey stepped onto the fire escape. A shot rang out from behind her and then a loud bang. Shit, it sounded like he was in her apartment.
Stepping onto the first rung, she clambered down the ladder. She’d almost reached the bottom when she heard what sounded like a door banging open. Casey leapt to the ground. She landed on damp grass, skidded, and fell on her side. Pain flared through her right hip as she struggled to her feet and started to run. A noise above made her look up.
Paval was on the fire escape. “Stay there, Casey!”
She heard the shot about the same time she felt a whoosh of air pass her right ear.
“I could have hit you, but I want you to hear my side,” he called out.
Was he stupid, or crazy? All that noise would lead the cops straight to him. Not a bad idea, though. Casey glanced at her Tercel. Crap, she’d left her keys in the apartment; wouldn’t reach it in time anyway. She ran along the back of the house. She was about to turn the corner when pain seared her right upper arm. She slumped against the house while the burning sensation streaked to her wrist. She clamped her hand over the source. Blood warmed her palm.
“That was your last warning,” Paval shouted. “You have to hear the truth!”
Across the back lane, a dog’s deep bark broke the silence.
Casey turned and looked up at Paval on the fire escape. “What truth, Paval?” She took a small step backward.
“Jasmine got it all wrong.”
Casey took another step back. She was at the corner. There was no time to hesitate. She bolted. Paval would have to use the fire escape or go through the house. The willow tree and hedge wouldn’t be enough to hide her. Sweat seeped down her forehead. She thought she heard a voice, then remembered her phone and pulled it from her pocket.
“I’ve been shot!” Her voice trembled. “I’m at the front of the house, trying to hide.”
“Stay calm, ma’am. Help’s on the way.”
Stay calm? Really? She’d never realized how dumb that sounded when she dealt with irate passengers. Casey entered the front yard and looked at the porch. The door was closed. She ran toward the willow, tripped over something and fell, dropping the phone.
“Shit!”
Casey groped cold blades of grass and the tree root she’d tripped over. She tried using her right hand, but deep, blazing pain made her arm quiver. Wincing, Casey got to her feet and raced for the gate. Her hand shook as she lifted the rusty latch and took off.
“Are you too ignorant to hear the truth, too?” Paval shouted from the front porch.
Too? A fourth shot rang out and ricocheted off a vehicle. Casey raced down the sidewalk, her eyes scanning for help, but no one was around. Somewhere nearby, two more dogs started barking. Had Lou arrived? He always pulled up at the back of the house. She prayed he’d heard Paval and was staying clear.
Casey’s breathing grew ragged. She looked at cars and darkened windows. Most of the neighborhood had already gone to bed. Paval fired again. He was close—too close. Veering to her left, she cut across someone’s yard. Beneath her sweater and long-sleeved shirt, blood trickled down her throbbing arm.
“I’m not a pervert!” Paval yelled.
Adrenaline ricocheted through her body.
“They were only two harmless photos!” he shouted. “That’s all.”
Casey’s ears and chest pounded. The dogs kept barking. Why were there no signs of cops? She swung her leg onto a waist-high, wooden fence separating two front yards. Using only her left arm, she hoisted herself over the fence, lost her balance, and collapsed onto a bed of dirt. Groaning, she scrambled upright and looked at the house. Lights were on and curtains drawn. A couple with four kids lived here. Part of her wanted to rush up the steps and pound on the door, but if Paval was close she’d be dead before she reached it.
Keeping low, she scurried down a weedy path toward the back of the house and headed for the lane. Garages and sheds might keep her hidden. The sound of footsteps behind Casey forced her to dive behind a compost bin at the back of the property. She nestled between the bin and a chain-link fence bordering the lane. Near the house, a garbage can fell over and a man swore.
“Jeremy had messed in his pants,” Paval called out. “I had to clean him up. He was having so much fun in the tub that I snapped a picture, and that’s it!”
Let him talk. Let the whole world know where he was. Obviously, Paval didn’t care. The man had lost his mind. Casey pressed down on her wound. Mercifully, the back lane was unlit. No floodlights in the yard either.