Chapter 32
“Not that I could see,” Liz replied.
“No rings or jewelry?”
She hesitated. “I don’t think so. It happened so fast. I was in shock. But…" She thought for a moment. "Now that I think about it, the shooter may have been wearing latex gloves. But I can't be certain.”
I thanked her for the information and told her I'd be in touch. Jack cranked up the engine and pulled away from the curb.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Tad wasn't quite as muscular as Steve Renick. I didn't figure him for the shooter, but I couldn’t rule him out. Eyewitness testimony is notoriously inaccurate.
So far, we had a whole lot of nothing.
We headed back to Stingray Bay. I wanted to talk to Ivy's friend Casey. Maybe we could catch a break in the drive-by shooting.
She lived a few houses down from Ivy. Jack pulled to the curb, and we hopped out and strolled to the front porch. I rang the video doorbell.
A woman's voice crackled through a moment later. "Who is it?"
I flashed my badge and made introductions. "I'd like to speak with Casey if she's available."
"She's here. Is she in some kind of trouble?"
"No ma'am. This is regarding Ivy Rourke.”
"So tragic. I'll be right there.”
Static crackled as the line disconnected.
Mrs. Monroe answered the door a moment later. She was an attractive woman in her early 40s with short, dark hair, brown eyes, and a trim figure. "It's gotten even colder out,” she said as a chill gust fluttered her hair. “This is so unusual. Please, come in."
She held the door for us as we stepped into the foyer. She called up the stairs, "Casey! You've got visitors."
The muffled sound of pop music spilled out of a room on the second floor and drifted down the hallway.
Mrs. Monroe frowned. "I'm not sure she heard me. I'll go get her."
She climbed the steps and disappeared down the hallway. She knocked on the door a few times, then cracked it open and told Casey she had visitors.
A few moments later, the two returned. Casey's curious eyes surveyed us. She hesitated at the top of the steps.
"These two deputies would like to talk to you," her mother said.
Casey jogged down the steps with caution in her eyes and greeted us in the foyer.
She was a typical teen girl with a fresh face, sparkling blue eyes, and long, chocolate hair that hung past her shoulders.
Wholesome and innocent, she looked like she could sell face cream or be on the cover of a teen magazine.
I made introductions and told her we had a few questions about Ivy.
Her mother gave us space to talk in private and disappeared into the living room. She fumbled around in the kitchen, but I'm sure she was listening.
"Sorry about your friend," I said.
Casey nodded.
"Was she in any kind of trouble?”
"What do you mean by trouble?"
"Did she have any problems with anybody? An ex-boyfriend, a jealous rival at school? High school can be cutthroat at times."
"You think somebody from high school mowed her down with automatic gunfire because… why?" she said in a skeptical voice.
I shrugged. "We’re just looking for something. Anything that might explain why five people were brutally murdered."
Casey frowned. "I don't know. She was my best friend, you know." She hung her head and stared at the marble tile on the floor. She didn't cry or get weepy. More introspective. "I guess we all have to die sometime, right?"
"That's one way to look at it. But your friend was taken way too young."
"Tell me about it." She paused for a long moment. "She didn't deserve that.”
"None of them did.”
Casey hesitated another moment. "Look, I really don't want to talk about this right now."
"I understand. It's a difficult time. But the more information we have, the better. The longer this case goes unsolved, the harder it will be to solve. You want to see justice for your friend, don't you?"
She scoffed. "Is there such a thing as justice? What does that even mean? Nothing's going to bring Ivy back. You can talk about serving justice all you want, but it really doesn't change anything.”
"If we take bad people off the street, maybe we save somebody else's life.”
Casey looked around to see if her mother was nearby.
Sounds from the kitchen still filtered into the foyer.
Casey walked past us to the door and pulled it open. For a second, I thought she was gonna kick us out. Then she stepped onto the porch.
JD and I stared at her for a moment.
Casey gave us a nod to step outside, looking at us like we were fools for standing still.
In a tank top and shorts, she didn’t seem bothered by the cold at first.
We followed and stepped onto the porch. Casey glanced at the video doorbell. An instant later, the blue indicator ring flashed on. Her mother was watching from her cell phone.
Casey huffed, annoyed, and put her hand over the lens. After a moment, she strolled down the walkway, then across the lawn to the driveway, out of view.
We followed.
"She thinks I'm a child. I'm not a child.”
"I'm sure she's just being protective," I said.
"I'll be 18 next month.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
"Tell me what's on your mind.”
Casey glanced around, making sure no one was in the area. "What I’m about to tell you has to remain a secret. Promise?"