Deadly Accusations (3 page)

“Almost.”

Yeah, sure, Casey thought.

“What about you, Casey?” he asked.

“It's printing.”

“Give me five minutes, then bring it in.” Stan looked at Lou. “I'll talk to you after Casey has her say.” He started to follow Jasmine into his office, and then stopped. “What the hell happened out there?” He raised his hand. “Wait, don't answer; just bring your report and a damn good explanation.”

Stan spotted Summer. “Hey, kiddo, how's it going?”

“Okay.”

“That's a hell of a lot better than me.” He stepped inside and slammed the door.

Summer started to smile. “Are you guys in trouble?”

“Maybe,” Casey replied. “Why don't you start your homework while I meet with Stan.”

“Okay, but I hate the way Mrs. Nally treats me like a baby. Can't Lou stay with me?”

Casey had asked Lou to stay with Summer twice before while she worked the rock-throwing assignment. Taking advantage of him wouldn't be right.

As if reading her thoughts, Lou said, “I don't mind.”

“Thanks.” She winked at him. “Come for dinner.”

“Can we order a pizza?” Summer asked.

“We've had pizza three times in eight days. I'll cook something nutritious.”

“Watch out.” Lou smirked at Summer. “She could be on a health kick again.”

Summer groaned. “The last time she did that some gross green glob stuck to my plate.”

“That was a month ago. Let's get over it and move on, shall we?” They still looked uncertain. “We'll have spaghetti. A little tomato sauce, some peppers, mushrooms, onions, and fresh herbs.”

“Pizza would be easier,” Summer said.

“It's not been an easy day. I thought I'd keep the theme going.”

“Days don't have themes. School dances do, which reminds me.” Summer shuffled her feet. “I, like, need to talk to you about Friday night.”

Oh geez, this kid was growing up way too fast.

CASEY SHIVERED ON THE CHILLY
M6 bus. Although the thunderstorm had rumbled out of Vancouver and headed east into the Fraser Valley, the air was nippy and occasional wind gusts were trying to sweep pedestrians off the sidewalk.

She'd asked Wesley to switch on the heater, but he'd said, “I ain't turning my bus into a frigging sauna.”

Small wonder that staff called him Rude Wesley. Since the guy was built like a refrigerator and covered in hair, he obviously didn't feel the cold that normal people did.

While Wesley stopped for passengers, Casey thought about Stan's reprimand this afternoon. He'd told her and Jasmine about the irate phone call from the father of the girl Jasmine had slapped.

After reading Casey's report, he'd started in on Jasmine. “You should have stepped in the second the shouting started, and there should have been better communication between team members.”

Casey cringed all over again. Stan was right. Her anger with Jasmine had sabotaged any desire to form a plan.

“If you ever slap a passenger again, you're fired,” Stan had gone on. “You'll be let go anyway if the parents press charges. Regardless, you're now on a week's suspension without pay.”

Casey was still baffled by Jasmine's lack of response. The woman was either a master at hiding her feelings when she wanted, or she really didn't care. Casey's punishment was to keep riding with the warring students until Jasmine's suspension ended. Stan's message was clear. Stay on the assignment and get the job done. It'd be a challenge juggling two work assignments and her criminology course over the next few days, unless she caught the rockhound tonight.

Across the aisle and two seats ahead of her, three young women yakked without pausing for breath. In the greenish hue of the bus's fluorescent lights, their hair color looked like varying degrees of orange. Near the front, a forty-something woman in scrubs and a long sweater had her eyes closed. Behind Casey, a male passenger hacked and coughed. For ten o'clock on a Tuesday night, this was as crowded as the M6 would get, which was just as well. If the rockhound struck, the fewer passengers the better.

The rockhound had chosen to break windows between nine and eleven, perhaps because there were fewer pedestrians at this time of night to identify him, or get in his way. He'd chosen to strike along the stretch of Columbia Street with the most traffic lights, where the M6 would have to make frequent stops.

Although the glass manufacturer had assured
MPT
management that fist-sized rocks wouldn't shatter a window, Wesley was required to warn people about the potential for danger, should they prefer to ride the TransLink buses also servicing this route. Since those buses didn't show up as often,
MPT
's ridership numbers hadn't diminished, but Casey had heard that vice president David Eisler was worried they would. Staying competitive was hard enough. Management was always saying that Mainland had to be a safer, better service provider than TransLink's larger fleet. Repeated vandalism was bad for business, and if a passenger got hurt, a lawsuit or negative publicity would mean layoffs and more cutbacks.

“I'm doubling your shifts on the M6 until this rock nut is caught,” Stan had told her this afternoon. “Stop this jerk, Casey.”

Since Columbia Street ran through the City of New Westminster, Stan had contacted the New West Police, who'd agreed to step up their patrol of this area. Their station was only two blocks from the rockhound's turf, though Casey hadn't noticed any police presence tonight.

She scanned the sidewalk on her right, wishing the M6 cruised past the gorgeous, stately heritage homes built decades ago at the top of the hill. She loved looking at those places, but the M6 only served New West's busier, commercial routes. In five minutes, they'd reach the hot zone: a stretch of Columbia Street populated by stores, restaurants, and bars.

Columbia ran parallel to the Fraser River. Between the river and Columbia, Front Street was hidden from view except at intersections. At this time of night, the antique and pawn shops would be closed and there'd be little traffic around. Next to the street, rail tracks, bushes, and trains provided plenty of hiding spots for anyone needing a quick escape.

By all accounts, the rockhound was a lone male of average height and weight. Witnesses had described him as wearing a hoodie or a raincoat. He'd also been spotted wearing a ball cap or a black tuque on different nights. Some said he wore a moustache while others said he was clean-shaven. Some thought he was young; others insisted he was old. Until Casey saw this guy pitching a rock, she wasn't sure how she'd identify him.

Her cell phone rang.

“Casey, this is Winifred. I just called Summer and it sounds like she's having a party, for heaven's sake. I heard horrible music blaring in the background. Do you have any idea how late it is?”

Casey slumped in her seat. The last person she wanted to talk to, aside from Jasmine, was Summer's grandmother. “Summer likes to listen to music when she's finished homework.”

The M6 cruised under the Pattullo Bridge. Casey glanced at the Fraser River.

“Who's supervising her?”

“Lou.”

They travelled under the Fraser River Rail Bridge and adjacent SkyTrain tracks. Casey sat forward. They were in the hot zone. “Winifred, I have to go—”

“A twelve-year-old shouldn't stay up this late.”

The bus rolled past Blackwood Street on Casey's right. Fourth Street was half a block ahead. Casey spotted three guys strolling across the Fourth and Columbia intersection. As the M6 cruised past them, she took note of their jeans and dark jackets. Two of them had their hands in their pockets and none were wearing hats. She couldn't see their faces clearly.

“Are you listening to me?” Winifred demanded.

One of the orange-haired girls pulled the cord.

“Sorry, I can't talk right now.”

Wesley eased to the stop.

“I still think it's best if Summer moved in with me.”

Damn it, she'd brought this up at least twice a month since Rhonda's incarceration. When would the woman let it go? “She wants to stay with—”

A loud thunk and cracking glass brought Casey to her feet. The girls yelped while the woman in scrubs sat upright and looked around. Casey spotted someone turn the corner at Fourth and disappear. She shoved the phone in her pocket and, glancing at the window, charged toward the exit. “Anyone see who did it?”

The coughing guy shook his head and sneezed.

“He took off up Fourth,” another man answered. “I didn't see his face.”

Outside, two of the three guys who'd been strolling down the sidewalk stopped in front of the damaged window. The third guy was gone.

“
MPT
security.” She flashed her
ID
. “Can you two wait here? I'll be right back.”

Casey sprinted to the corner, turned left onto Fourth, and scanned the road's steep upgrade. Part way up the hill, a man darted across the street and into a lane. Casey sprinted after him, but it wasn't long before her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. Drizzling rain sprinkled her face and she blinked droplets from her eyes.

When she reached the narrow alley, she stopped to catch her breath and study the dumpsters and parked vehicles. There was no movement anywhere. Bending over, she propped her hands on her thighs and took deep breaths. It had been a long time since she'd chased a suspect uphill. Obviously, yoga routines and the occasional spin on her stationary bike weren't enough. She straightened up and scanned the alley. Nothing. She trudged back down the hill.

The M6 was waiting, not that Wesley had a choice. Drivers weren't supposed to leave during pursuits until they heard from the security staff.

He stood on the sidewalk, tossing a good-sized rock up and down. “About bloody time.”

“Where are the guys I told to wait?”

“They said they didn't see a thing, so I let them go.”

“The suspect was walking right beside them.”

Wesley shrugged and headed into the bus. “Passengers didn't see nothing either.”

“Don't we need to talk to the police?”

“I already called and told them what I just told you.” He sat down. “Girls shouldn't be handling this stuff. Where are the guys?”

“Doing other things.” Casey crossed her arms. “I know my job, Wes, so leave the questions to me next time.”

“Hey, I got to stick to the schedule.”

Casey shoved her hands in her pockets, felt her phone, and realized she'd forgotten about Winifred. She picked it up. The line was dead, so she called Summer. Wesley lurched the bus forward, forcing Casey into the seat behind him.

Summer answered on the second ring. Casey could almost feel the rap music vibrating through the phone as Summer said, “Grandma doesn't want me to have any fun. She treats me like a baby and it's not fair!”

Casey rubbed her temple. She wanted to say that whining about it made her sound like a baby, but the thought of another argument today held no appeal. “It's nearly ten-thirty. You should be getting ready for bed.”

“Why can't I stay up? My friends do.”

“I don't care.” Casey's voice rose. “I want you to—”

“Oh fine!”

She hung up before Casey could ask to speak to Lou.

“I heard about your cat fight,” Wesley said.

She stood to see him better. “Excuse me?”

“You and Jasmine.” He kept his gaze on the road. “You need to control your temper there, girl.”

Jasmine must have told him her version of events. “She was the one who slapped a child, Wes, or didn't she tell you that bit?” Casey waited for a reply, but none came. “There were witnesses and a complaint about her, which was why Stan suspended her for a week.”

“Well, don't go blabbing it around. It ain't professional.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or yell, but she'd had enough of people telling her what she'd done wrong today. “Do you think it was professional for her to call me names, throw herself at Roberto, and slap a child?”

His red bushy brows fused together. “What do you mean, throw herself at him?”

How convenient for Wesley to ignore the rest. When she told him about the kiss this morning, Wesley said, “It's no big deal. Jasmine isn't hooked up with anybody, so she can do what she wants.”

Casey watched him. “I didn't know you were a fan of hers.”

“She's a friend.”

Really? So, what did those two have in common? Jasmine liked dancing. Wesley was training for the pro wrestling biz. They had rudeness in common, and Casey understood Wesley's attraction to Jasmine. What did she like about him?

“Why are you looking like someone just dangled a worm in your face?” Wesley asked.

She didn't know she was.

The exit bell rang. Casey turned and saw both guys at the back preparing to leave.