Rhonda blinked at him. “No, why?”
“My colleague just informed me that his car’s not here,” Lalonde said.
“As far as I know, he hasn’t been around. But his suite’s at the back of the house and my bedroom’s in front, so I might have missed him.”
She had started up the steps when Lalonde said, “Where were you on the night of the murder?”
Rhonda’s puffy eyes looked at Casey. “We knew this was coming, didn’t we?” She turned to Lalonde. “I was watching my daughter’s swim practice from seven-thirty to nine-thirty and chatting with the other moms.”
“Which club does she belong to?”
“Fathom.”
“Does she normally practise Sunday nights?”
“Yeah.”
Casey spotted Krueger who was apparently jotting down every word Rhonda spoke.
“All done, Detective?” Rhonda gripped the railing.
“For now.”
“Good. So what are you West Van cops doing on Vancouver police turf, anyway?” Both officers looked at her, but said nothing. Casey wasn’t ready to explain why she’d called both local police and Lalonde.
“Please, Rhonda. We’ll talk soon,” she said.
“No, I—”
“Rhonda,” Casey’s voice rose. She was losing her patience, but didn’t care. “I said I’ll come see you in a few minutes. I just need you to go right now, okay?”
Rhonda scowled at her. “Fine, whatever, but don’t take too long.”
While Rhonda stomped upstairs, Lalonde strolled toward the appliquéd “Glamor Ladies” picture. From the window, Krueger watched the action outside.
“Was it necessary to question her now?” Casey joined Lalonde. “And after everything you’ve learned about Darcy and Theo, why is her alibi even an issue?”
“The evidence only points to one other person, besides Gustaf Osterman, in the house that night. That person was a woman.”
“What’d you find?” Ignoring her, Lalonde joined Krueger at the window. “Come on, Detective. I promise this stays between us.”
“A blue sequin,” he answered, turning to her. “The blood pattern we found on a cupboard door could have come from a dress or formal gown. Not too many men would wear blue-sequined gowns to commit a murder.”
“Do you really think Rhonda owns a gown? Look in her drawers and closet some time, and then take a good look at Gislinde Van Akker’s wardrobe. By the way, weren’t you supposed to have someone watching this place tonight?”
“Arrangements were more complicated than expected.” Lalonde checked his watch. “He should be here shortly.”
“Too little, too late,” Casey murmured.
Lalonde’s eyes smoldered in that perpetually grim face. “You claimed you saw Theodore Ziegler running from here. Are you certain it was him?”
“Yes.” She turned to watch the activity outside.
“Have you any idea where Darcy Churcott might be?” Lalonde asked.
“Ask my mother. I hear she knows a lot about what’s going on.”
“Who told you that?”
“Vincent Wilkes, Theo, and Gislinde Van Akker.”
A chunky, slightly stooped man entered the room. “Looks like the lady was dead before she got here.”
Lalonde turned to Casey. “If this was a message for you, I’d pay attention.” He and Krueger followed the man outside.
Casey continued to watch the police work until she noticed that she too was being observed. Beyond the yellow tape now stretched in front of the house, spectators had gathered. One of them pointed at her.
Casey retreated to her apartment and kept the lights off. Part of her wanted to seek the safety and comfort of her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. The image of Simone on the porch would probably stay in her head forever. She wished she wasn’t here, in this house, but she couldn’t leave Rhonda.
Casey heard Rhonda’s footsteps below. She was probably peeking out the window, her groggy mind trying to connect the dots. She’d have to see her soon and explain why there was a body hanging on the front porch.
Casey sat on the cushioned seat in the bay window. Was Simone killed because of something she knew, like the money’s location? If the killer had found the three million or at least knew where it was, she doubted he would have taken the time to dump Simone’s body here. All that cash was still out there somewhere, and it was now becoming clear that no one would be safe until the killer found it and left town. But what if she found the money first and handed it to Lalonde? What if Lalonde used it to bait the bastard? Her thoughts raced with the possibility of ending this thing once and for all.
Twenty-two
WHILE WESLEY MERGED the M8 into Broadway’s westbound traffic, Casey stifled another yawn. She sat in an aisle seat, her clutch bag easily visible to passengers. She’d thought about changing to a shoulder bag because the thief was used to taking them, but this bag would make his life easier. In hindsight, though, she realized it might also arouse suspicion.
Casey closed her eyes a moment to ease the burning sensation that sleep deprivation had brought on. Every time she’d dozed off last night, the image of Simone snapped her awake. Letting go of the past wouldn’t happen simply because she’d told Lalonde everything, not after Simone’s murder, and certainly not now that she’d seen Mother.
She couldn’t let tragedy devastate her like it had after Dad’s funeral. She was wiser now, more adept at handling loss and disappointment, and lately, the disappointments had been major. Rhonda should have told her about the ongoing communication with Mother; should have admitted she’d tried to confront the man she thought was Marcus.
Casey opened her eyes and glanced at the fitness magazine she’d brought. She hadn’t wanted to work today, but Stan doubted the thief planned to stop for a national holiday. The sun was out on this warm Monday and the bus was half full. If the thief appeared, she hoped her speed and reflexes would measure up.
“Why are you frowning at the magazine?” a familiar voice asked.
Casey looked up and saw Theo watching her. Geez, how long had he been following her this time? She glanced at his hands and pockets for signs of weapons. Nothing. She’d love to slap a pair of handcuffs on the bastard, but if he resisted, passengers could be hurt. She scanned faces to see if she’d also missed the arrival of the purse thief.
“I need to talk to you,” Theo said.
“I’m working right now. Go away.”
Two elderly women, both carrying large handbags, boarded the bus. Rather than use the seats reserved for seniors and the physically challenged at the front, the ladies chose a seat behind the center exit.
Theo sat in front of Casey and turned around. “I saw what Darcy did on your porch last night,” he whispered.
Darcy? But he wasn’t the one she saw. “I told you, this isn’t the time or place.”
“Listen to me.” Theo leaned closer. “He’s on a rampage and you could be next.”
A young guy climbed on board. His acne, full lips, ball cap, and a black and yellow backpack matched the perp’s description. The kid flashed his pass at Wesley and ambled down the aisle, glancing at every passenger. Wesley looked at Casey and nodded toward the boy.
As the kid strolled past her, she pretended to read her magazine.
“Simone was either unconscious or already dead before he got to your place,” Theo whispered.
“I can’t deal with this now.”
She removed a lipstick tube and mirror from her purse. While applying a layer, she watched the kid settle in an aisle seat three rows behind her.
“Casey—”
“You’re the only person I saw near the house, Theo.”
“I was chasing Darcy. I saw him throw rocks at a window and followed him to the front, but then I saw the body on the porch. I stopped to see who it was and if she was still alive. By the time I took off again Darcy was too far ahead.”