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 rockhound 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.”