Striker nodded. ‘I won’t deny that. But just because she’s sick doesn’t mean she doesn’t know something. She might have evidence on Mandy’s death – it is possible – and if that’s the case, then we need to know what. Keep reading through the files. Run every alias and associate the woman has. See if you can find a connection somewhere. Nothing is too small.’
Felicia let out a tired sound, as if she was sick of reviewing the same reports over and over again, but did as requested. Meanwhile, Striker got the phone number of Dr Richter from the details page and called it. The phone rang once then went straight to a standard pre-recorded computer greeting: The person you are trying to contact is not available . . .
Striker waited for the beep, then left a message, telling the doctor who he was and that he needed to speak to him about a particular patient. When he finally hung up, Felicia was also finishing reading the reports. She made a hmm sound.
Striker looked over. ‘What do you mean, hmm?’
‘There was an actual CAD call created for Larisa’s place, just this morning.’
‘This morning, or yesterday morning?’
Felicia looked up. ‘This morning.’ She read through the call. ‘It was made by Car 87. Bernard Hamilton. So not only did they run her but they went right out there to Larisa’s place.’
‘They actually attended the residence?’
‘Yeah, they’re listed as On Scene.’ Felicia scanned the call. ‘The narrative is basically a shell. There’s no information in it. Just a time arriving on scene and then clearing.’
‘What kind of call was it?’
‘A Check Well-Being.’
‘Does it actually show them arriving on scene? By GPS?’
‘Yeah, the time was logged.’
Striker frowned. That was the second CAD call created by the mental health car for Larisa Logan. And in just two days. It bothered him, mainly because Bernard Hamilton was not that dedicated a man. If he had attended Larisa’s place twice in two days – and at such an early time this morning – there was a good reason for it.
He considered just calling Bernard and asking him outright, but the man could be a snake. Striker wanted to do some of his own digging first, and he wanted to speak to the man in person, not over the phone. Face-to-face meetings always told cops more.
So much communication was non-verbal.
‘Where to?’ Felicia asked.
Striker cranked the wheel and hit the gas. ‘Burnaby,’ he said. ‘We’re going back to Larisa’s house. I have a feeling we’ve missed something.’
Thirty-Three
‘I’m liking Bernard Hamilton less and less,’ Striker said as he drove across the Boundary Road perimeter and entered the City of Burnaby. ‘And I never liked him in the first place, so that says a lot.’
‘Maybe he’s just respecting Larisa’s privacy,’ Felicia suggested.
Striker cast her a hard glance. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Feleesh. Bernard Hamilton does nothing that doesn’t serve his own purpose. We’re out here trying to save this woman, and he knows that. Yet he’s done nothing to help us. If anything, he made things harder.’
He drove up Willingdon, turned east on Parker Street, and made his way down to Larisa’s rancher. Seeing it felt odd. The last time he’d been here, it had been night, deep and dark. Now, in the soft hue of the nine o’clock morning light, with pale blue sky backing the lot, the entire place looked different. The vinyl siding was actually painted a dark blue colour, not grey, and the slab of stucco above the vinyl was an off-cream colour, dirtied and worn from time. Inside the front room, the window drapes were pulled shut.
Striker looked at this and frowned.
‘Did Car 87 make entry?’ he asked.
Felicia skimmed the computer. ‘The call says no.’
‘Then she’s been home.’
He climbed out of the car and felt his shoes slip on the frosted asphalt. When he reached the sidewalk, Felicia got out, too. They hiked up the cement walkway to the front alcove, where Striker hesitated.
The door wasn’t closed, like he’d originally thought; it was open a crack. Before leaving last night, he had made sure the door was closed and the entire place locked.
‘Be ready,’ he told Felicia.
When she nodded and took her position on the left, Striker knocked on the door. Three solid knocks.
‘Larisa!’ he called out. ‘It’s Detective Striker from the Vancouver Police Department. It’s Jacob. Are you home?’
When no one answered, he pushed the door open and looked inside. The moment he did, the winter wind picked up and pushed the door all the way open. What he saw surprised him.
The place had been torn apart. Looked damn near ransacked. All the coats had been removed from the closet and were lying on the floor, pockets pulled open. All the drawers to the hutch had been pulled out, with the contents of each one dumped on the kitchen floor. And in the living room, all the cushions from the sofa had been torn off and the underside felt cut away.
‘Someone made entry here,’ Striker said. He drew his pistol and stepped inside the foyer; Felicia did the same. Three steps later, he stopped.
‘Take the rear,’ he said.
‘Outside?’
‘Yeah. If someone’s in here, they’re going to fly.’
An uncertain expression formed on Felicia’s face. ‘We should get another unit here, Jacob. A dog, maybe.’
‘There’s no time.’
‘But—’
‘I can clear the place, Feleesh, just take the rear.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You need two people. It’s not safe.’
Striker said nothing for a moment, he just met her stare, saw that her mind was made up, and he nodded.
‘Okay, together then, but now.’
She nodded.
They moved throughout the house, calling out police presence as they went. What they found in the kitchen and bedroom was no different to what they’d found in the living room. It had been torn apart – drawers opened, cupboards searched, and everything dumped on the floor. Left on the ground was everything from money and jewellery to papers and underwear.
In the office, the filing cabinet had been emptied. Everything had been rifled through, yet nothing had been damaged.
It was a search, not a mischief.
Striker made a mental note of what they saw, room by room.
They cleared the entire place. Made sure no one was still there, hiding in one of the closets, or in the crawl space. They even checked the attic. Then, when they were certain no one was left in the house, Felicia called Dispatch and had a call created for a Break and Enter.
She hung up and looked around at the mess of the living room. ‘It doesn’t look like anything’s been taken,’ she noted. ‘You know, this might not be a Break and Enter. This might be more of Larisa’s mental breakdown.’
Striker met her stare. ‘You think Larisa did all this?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Who knows what her state of mind is right now? The house was a pigsty when we got here yesterday. Cupboards were open then. Papers left lying about. Clothes everywhere. Today is the same, only worse.’
Striker shook his head. ‘Not this. This is different.’
Felicia just looked around and studied the room. ‘I’m playing devil’s advocate here. But you’ve got to admit, she’s been doing a lot of weird stuff lately.’
‘Someone else was here, Feleesh. And whoever they were, they were looking for something important.’ He moved through the living room and studied the contents dumped out of the drawers. On the carpet, in the middle of the floor, was an open DVD case. It caught his attention.