Simon Says... Jump (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 2), Page 5

  “Finally you’re involved, and then number two photo, without you in it, so maybe not involved?” Lilliana said, thoughtfully tossing out ideas. There was a moment of silence, as everybody stared at each other.

  Then Kate groaned. “Please tell me that it means that they thought I would be involved in the investigation of the suicides because I was seen at the first and then, when I didn’t show up at the second one, they assumed that I’m not involved.” Her gaze went from one to the other. “The only reason I would be involved is—”

  And they all jumped in. “They weren’t suicides.”

  *

  Simon’s Tuesday Morning

  Simon woke up Tuesday morning, his head full, his mouth dry, his tongue swollen, seemingly wrapped in fuzzy cloth. Uh-oh. He had been watching for weird symptoms to see if they were precursors to visions. Hopefully not. He got up, brushed his teeth thoroughly, and had a hot shower. When he stepped back out again, he still felt a bit woolly-headed, but, once he was dressed and headed to his kitchen for coffee, he hoped for the best, though he had a long day ahead of him. He had barely seated himself at the kitchen table when his phone buzzed. Seeing it was his ex, he put it on Silent and shoved it off to the side.

  He hadn’t even checked his emails or messages yet, something he needed to do. But this time in the morning, with a cup of coffee, needed to be honored and appreciated before the day closed in on him and went to shit right afterward. He clicked on the news and checked that everything in his world was fine. Only as he heard word of another suicide did his heart stop, and slowly he looked at the scene, so similar to what Kate had seen yesterday and had shared with him. It was a different bridge and a different pair of shoes but the same theory, and he knew she would have an ugly day because of it. He immediately grabbed his phone, turned the sound back on, and sent her a note. Sorry, just heard there was another suicide. Don’t let it get to you.

  And he let it go at that.

  As soon as he started his workday, his papers all packed up in his portfolio, he headed on foot to the one building he was still considering buying. He hadn’t heard back from the Realtor. It could be a done deal or a dead deal; he wasn’t at all sure, but he had several meetings he had to accomplish with his own builders, as they rehabbed other projects currently underway.

  There was never a time when he had nothing to do. He also needed to do some banking, and that was always fun. Moving money is what he called it, but people had to be paid, and people of all kinds needed to be kept in the loop. Paychecks were important, and he couldn’t stand to see anybody not getting what they were due. Plus, a lot of people just needed help. Speaking of which, he thought about a couple he knew on the streets, as well as a women’s shelter, that could always use a little more money. He added a few notes to his To Do list on his cell, then looked at all of it and winced. “It’ll be a damn long day again,” he muttered.

  Still, if need be, he had leftover spaghetti and meatballs, even some salad and garlic bread too. He shook his head at that. He was worth millions and was happy because he had leftovers for later. He sagged. “One of these days you’ll have to start looking after yourself.” It was so reminiscent of what he told Kate over and over again that he laughed. “Fine, but, if she ever finds out, you’re in trouble.”

  Chapter 3

  Kate’s Wednesday Morning

  Progress had come to a dead stop on the drive-by case. Kate couldn’t locate the vehicle. Reese hadn’t found anything either, which frustrated both of them. None of the current witnesses had anything to say, other than it was an older faded-blue truck. Kate groaned at that and headed toward the morgue. It’s not that she had a gruesome bent by any means, but she liked to see the damage for herself. She liked to see and to understand the angles and to figure out in her head just how somebody did this … and why.

  Rarely did she get the answers that she needed, but it did give her the motivation to keep going and to find the asshole who thought life had so little value that they could just shoot somebody down in the street in broad daylight, for no other reason potentially then just because they were there. Reese was still working on the victims involved, from years ago and from the current shooting, looking to see if she could find any connection between the cases, but, so far, nothing had popped. And Kate was afraid that, as time went by, nothing would happen with it—until the next time this guy decided to come through with another drive-by shooting.

  She had no way to know for sure that these drive-by cases were connected, but she liked the concept. She really liked the idea, but what she needed were facts. Cold hard evidence was the only thing that would help in a case like this right now. If only she could get what she needed. As she neared the hospital, she saw the flashing lights and heard the sirens, as vehicles headed off in another direction. “Crime just never takes a break, does it?”

  But then she also knew, from working in a variety of law enforcement departments, that somebody was always out there, causing chaos for somebody else. Not everything ended up with a murder, but almost all cases ended up as a crime. That kept everybody busy, even if they didn’t want to be. By the time she made it to the morgue and headed to the autopsy room, she stopped just outside, looking for Dr. Smidge.

  He looked up, caught sight of her, and narrowed his gaze.

  She shrugged. “Just wondering how the autopsy on the drive-by was coming.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked, motioning to a table off to the side. “I just finished.”

  “Anything unexpected?”

  “Nope. A healthy twenty-three-year-old male, who didn’t look to have any lingering illnesses of any kind. Died at the scene from three bullets to the chest. I would say instantly, but, of course, nothing is instant.”

  She nodded. “I got it.”

  “Have you found out who your shooter was?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m wondering if it’s connected to a drive-by from three years ago.”

  His gaze narrowed at her. “Why would that be?”

  “Possibly the same vehicle for one thing.”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “No, but not a lot in this world does,” she fired right back at him.

  He groaned. “Isn’t that the truth. Well, let me know when you get there.”

  “It’s the bullets I’m looking for.”

  “Ballistics has them,” he said.

  “Right, I’ll wait on that then.”

  “It was three bullets here. How many did your victim die of before?”

  She turned, looked at him, and said, “Three.”

  He frowned. “Damn. How old?”

  “In his twenties too. The shooter drove slowly up and down the street, either looking for somebody or for an opportunity that would work, then chose his victim and shot him.”

  “So random killing, random timing?”

  She nodded. “That’s what it looks like—at the moment at least.”

  “Well, if it’s connected,” he snapped, “we need to find him before he does this again. Senseless killing always pisses me off.”

  “Any killing,” she said quietly. “But, yeah, the ones like this are so much worse.” She turned to walk back out again, already dialing Ballistics. “Do you have anything on that drive-by?”

  “Not yet,” Daniel said. “Do you want us to do something in particular when we get there?”

  She said, “I want you to check it against a cold case from three years ago.” She gave him the case number.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Well, it’ll come up in the database.”

  “But that might take extra time,” she said. “Check it against the ballistics when you can, please.”

  “Will do,” Daniel said.

  She smiled and kept on going. She had a sense of freedom and accomplishment being where she was in her job as a detective. She also had a ton of hard work and responsibility that really didn’t go down as easily as she had hoped it would
. But she was here, and she was doing the job; there wasn’t anything else she could ask for.

  Out of the blue Kate wondered what the hell the number thirteen was about that Simon had texted her earlier this week. She was always wary with any information that came her way, but some of these random things of his had proven valuable, but she just wasn’t prepared to automatically count all of it as being true. Then again, he had never asked that of her either, and that was nice too.

  As she headed to her vehicle parked outside Vancouver General Hospital, her phone rang.

  “We’ve got another drive-by,” Rodney said.

  “Shit. Really?”

  “Yes,” he said, “and another old blue truck, according to the witnesses.”

  “Crap, can we get it on video at least? I’m heading out now. Tell me where.”

  “Texting you the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  Getting to the scene took her a bit, as traffic was heavy. When she finally arrived, she parked at an angle across the road, thankful that the scene was at least blocked from traffic, as she headed over to Rodney. “What have you got?”

  “Four witnesses off to the side,” he said, pointing at them. “They were all out walking. The victim is a friend of theirs.”

  She looked at the young man lying on the street, a sheet partially tossed over him. “Same age group as the other two?”

  He nodded. “Doesn’t mean they’re related though.”

  “Nope. It’s just one more similarity.”

  “Meaning he picks victims who are young and healthy.”

  “Oh, that’s not a bad thought,” she said, turning to look at him, considering.

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe he’s aging or diseased, or he’s the same age and is disabled and is taking out his anger at the world on healthy people around him.”

  “Well, that would suck. So just because you’re having a shit life, you turn around and make others pay for it?”

  “Well, we’ve seen a lot worse,” she said quietly.

  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “No,” she said, “none of us do.”

  Rodney shook his head. “Well, we don’t really know what’s going on yet, so let’s keep an open mind.”

  She walked over to the first of the four witnesses and pulled the woman aside. “What did you see?”

  “Just this old truck,” the young woman said, tears streaming down her face. “We were all just talking and laughing.”

  “Were you laughing at the truck?”

  She looked at Kate sideways. “Maybe. It was one of those really old beaten-up trucks, you know? Nothing special.”

  “Do you think he heard you?”

  The girl looked at her, shocked. “Oh God,” she said. “I don’t know. Is that why he shot Billy?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate said quietly. “We’re looking for a motive.”

  The witness shook her head. “Well, we wouldn’t have said anything if we thought he would react like that.”

  Kate wondered how many times people had to get a bad result before they would understand the effects of their shit talking. Sometimes you don’t get a second chance to change. Like Billy. “Have you seen the guy before? Did you recognize the truck?”

  The young woman shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve never seen it before.” She started to cry.

  “Okay, what do you know about the victim?”

  She wiped her eyes. “He’s a friend of my brother,” she said. “We were just going to the mall. I wanted to go, but I’m not allowed to go alone, so they were walking me there. I never want to go to the mall again now.”

  “Take it easy,” Kate said quietly, “this isn’t your fault.”

  “But you said maybe it’s because we were laughing at the truck.”

  “No,” she said firmly, “that’s not what I said. And, even if that were true, you’re not the one responsible. The guy who did this shooting is responsible. Remember that. But next time somebody drives something that you think is funny, or you want to make fun of someone, maybe just keep quiet.”

  The younger woman nodded. “I will,” she promised. She looked over at Billy. “He was a really nice guy,” she said. “He’s the reason we’re walking because he wouldn’t let me go alone. He said it wasn’t safe anymore and that the world was different now.”

  “And he’s right,” Kate said sadly. “Unfortunately his death proves that.”

  The girl started to wail again, while Kate moved on to the next witness and then the next, the brother of the victim, who sat off to the side, stunned. She looked over at him and asked, “Are your parents on the way?”

  “Yeah, they are,” he said, “but I don’t want to leave Billy like that.”

  “The coroner is coming too,” she said. “There’s nothing more you can do for Billy now, except help us catch this guy.”

  “I don’t even know who it was,” he said, staring up at her face. His eyes were wide and dry, from holding back the tears, but his anger kept his spine stiff. “I’ve never seen the guy before.”

  “Did you get a good look at his face?”

  He shook his head. “No, he was wearing a baseball cap, pulled down low.”

  “Of course he was,” she muttered. “What about the truck?”

  “It was an old Chevy. Beat-up. The front grille was bashed in. I noticed that. Billy and I were talking about the repairs it needed. One of the doors, the driver’s side door, looked like it was a different year or style than what was originally on it.”

  “Do you think the driver heard you at all?”

  The brother looked at her in surprise. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know why or how he could have. We were on the street, and he was driving by. An old truck like that… chances are he wouldn’t have heard anything outside of the cab.”

  She just nodded and didn’t say anything. “And, as far as you know, you’ve never met this guy before? And I don’t suppose you would have any idea if Billy had met him.”

  “He didn’t sound like he did,” he murmured. “He didn’t say anything about it at all.”

  By the time she was done, and everybody had been interviewed, she headed to where Rodney stood. “It looks very similar to the drive-by we had a couple days ago. Same truck description too.”

  He nodded. “We’re pulling the footage from all the cameras we can find,” he said. “That should help us to tie it in.”

  “And hopefully tie these current cases into the open one from three years ago.”

  He looked at her and shrugged. “That’ll be a lot harder.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I guess one of the biggest problems is that three-year break in pattern, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Why would there be three years between shootings and then only two days now?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea, but it seems like something significant happened to change his timing.”

  “Maybe,” Rodney said, but he was distracted, as he looked at the sheet-covered form in front of him.

  “Or are there other cases that we haven’t connected?”

  He looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t know if there are any others—cold or not. And it could also be that our database isn’t as complete as we’d like. Maybe they came from Surrey or Richmond or somewhere else.”

  She nodded slowly. “I was thinking of that too. We need to pull some more data, before this gets too far along. I’ll contact Reese.” She pulled out her phone.

  “Too bad we hadn’t pulled it before,” he said. “This guy is just a kid. He’ll never grow up and live a normal life. He’ll never get married and have kids,” Rodney said, shaking his head, his lips thinning in anger. “It’s senseless!”

  “Look at who he is shooting,” she said. “Why is he picking healthy young men? Like we discussed earlier, maybe the shooter is not young, not healthy himself? Is he making his victims pay a price for his own ill health or something?” she
asked. “What’s his motive?”

  “And the killing is fast and simple. He gets to see it happen, but maybe that’s all he can do.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Maybe he’s not physically capable of getting out of the vehicle and taking these guys down.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have the skill, the strength, or maybe he doesn’t even have the guts,” Rodney added. “You know, like a scaredy-cat killing. From a distance, largely undercover, with an easy getaway, so there’s very little chance in his mind that he’ll get caught. So he’s pulling these stunts and taking down people just because he can.”

  Noting his reaction, she put in the call to Reese, requesting to get as much as the VPD analyst could find on similar cases in Vancouver and all surrounding areas.

  *

  Prepared, Simon headed out for the day, going from one area to the other, slowly taking things off his list. When he walked down the back alley of one of his favorite places, he quietly knocked on a subdued and partially hidden wooden door. When he heard a woman’s voice on the other side, he said, “It’s Simon.”

  A little window opened at the top, and a woman’s face peered through. He held up a roll of bills. “Something to help you out for the next month.”

  Immediately she opened the door and accepted the money with a big smile. “You know, if it wasn’t for guys like you, I don’t—”

  “I get it,” he said, with a nod. “Get back in there before anybody sees you.”

  And, with that, she closed the door, and he kept on going. He had a soft spot for women’s shelters and an even softer spot for kids who found themselves in tough situations. He helped out all kinds of charities, but he was committed to seeking out those who needed help but didn’t fit into the existing charity systems. Those were even harder to find. Simon knew several street kids and several sex workers he would help, especially if they pushed the money along to the kids. Paying it forward was an unspoken agreement. He would ignore their illegal activities among consenting adults, and they would keep him out of the loop of all the lawbreaking, providing that they held up their end of the bargain, and the bulk of the money went toward the kids in need. There were always kids in need.