The Deep End Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE CASEY HOLLAND MYSTERIES

  “The modest but resourceful Casey is a perfect heroine for our times, a combination of thought and action.” —Lou Allin, Crime Writers of Canada

  “A traditional mystery complicated by the characters’ desires to keep secrets and the self-serving manipulations of others. It’s a good read with urban grit and a spicy climax.” —Hamilton Spectator

  “A mystery that fits the bill.” —National Post

  For my intelligent and incredibly wise son, Alex, whose constant support and excellent cooking skills gave me invaluable writing time.

  ONE

  “CODE WHITE IN UNIT ONE common area!” a woman shouted through Mac Jorgenson’s two-way radio.

  Oh, crap. As Casey looked at Mac, her already warm face grew hotter. It looked like her first volunteer shift in juvie was going to be eventful.

  Mac put his thermos down and picked up the radio. “Copy that. On my way.” He reached for the suit jacket draped over his chair, then apparently thought better of it. While more voices acknowledged the call over the radio, he said, “Did you have a chance to memorize the codes?”

  “Yes.” Casey followed him out of his office. “Code white means staff need assistance.” And Unit One was the girls’ unit.

  “Good. On day shifts, I have enough staff to assist, but evenings are another matter.”

  For a two-hundred-thirty-pound man in his late fifties, Fraserview Youth Custody Center’s director moved surprisingly fast. He and Casey ran down the corridor, fluorescent tubes flickering above them. Although orientation had taken place only a few days ago, she couldn’t remember what was behind every door.

  The farther they went, the hotter she became. She should have remembered not to wear anything too warm. Worse, the stench of overcooked broccoli threatened to curdle her stomach. She remembered that the kitchen was just beyond the girls’ unit.

  An Asian man charged into the unit. His navy cargo pants and light blue shirt identified him as a youth supervisor.

  “That’s Winson Chen,” Mac said, slowing down and breathing hard. “He’s in charge of Unit Two.”

  As they neared the girls’ unit, Casey heard shouting inside. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’ll let you know.” Mac pushed the door open as someone yelled, “Get her!”

  Winson and a female supervisor were trying to separate two brawling teenagers. Some girls clustered together were watching the action with amusement. A strawberry blonde stood next to the unit’s entrance, checking her nails and glancing at the fight with a bored expression. As the door closed, she peered through the small, thick pane of glass.

  The brawlers grunted and cursed, ignoring the supervisors’ orders to break it up. A tall girl with light brown skin yanked her opponent’s dark blond dreadlocks. Dreadlock girl howled. Casey stayed near Mac, prepared to jump in if asked. He knew about her skills and some of the things she’d been through at work. Dreadlock girl stomped on the tall girl’s foot. Tall girl swore and recoiled, losing her balance.

  Winson caught her before she fell. “That’s enough, Mercedes.”

  “Let go!” She tried to twist away from him.

  “First, you calm down, all right?”

  “Sí, sí !” Her shoulders slackened. When Winson released her, Mercedes straightened up and ran her fingers through her black curls.

  The unit’s supervisor, a petite, muscular woman, let go of Dreadlock girl. Scowling, she retrieved a tissue from her pocket and placed it over her bleeding hand.

  “What happened?” Mac asked the supervisor.

  She started to answer when Dreadlock girl blurted, “Mercedes stole my money and I want it back!”

  “Liar!” Mercedes shouted.

  “They both need some down time, Mac,” the supervisor said, dabbing her hand. Her subdued tone didn’t match her harsh expression any better than her flaming cheeks matched her bleached, spiky hair. The woman inspected the front of her navy pullover, presumably checking for blood.

  “How much is missing, Roxanne?” Mac asked Dreadlock girl.

  “A twenty-dollar bill.”

  Casey caught the furtive looks the girls exchanged.

  “Why wasn’t the money in the lockbox?” Winson asked the girls’ supervisor.

  The supervisor didn’t acknowledge him, but looked at Mac instead. “Roxanne neglected to tell me she had it.”

  Mac turned to Roxanne. “Where did you get the money?”

  The anger swirling around Roxanne was so strong that Casey half expected an electrical charge to zip around the room. “I got it from Mercedes, only she took it back.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You two will wait in the Special Unit until we’ve found the money,” Mac said. “But first, I’d like everyone to meet our newest volunteer, who I trust will stick with us despite this inauspicious start. Casey’s a criminology student and an experienced security officer.”

  And that was all Mac would say. Casey had been cautioned not to share her last name or any contact info with residents. Casey flashed a smile and hoped she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. The girls’ stares were wary. Winson gave her a brief nod.

  “You’ll work with Mia tonight,” Mac said to Casey.

  “Welcome aboard.” Mia barely looked at Casey as she continued to dab her wound.

  “Thanks.”

  “Winson, could you escort the ladies out, please?” Mac asked.

  “Why should I go?” Roxanne shot back. “I was the one ripped off!”

  “You also broke the rule about fighting,” Mac replied.

  “She made me!” Roxanne pointed at her enemy. As Winson started to lead them out of the unit, Roxanne added, “You’ll get yours, bitch.”

  Mercedes muttered something in Spanish.

  “Stop it,” Winson said to her. “No one’s going to poop on anyone’s head. And you two know the rules about swearing and disrespect. Do you want to lose all privileges for the next week?”

  “How do you know what I said?” Mercedes asked, but the door closed before Casey heard a response.

  “Were you scratched or bitten?” Mac asked Mia.

  “Gouged is more like it.”

  “Do you need medical help?”

  “Just a bandage.”

  “I’ll get it. Casey, let me show you the first aid room.”

  Back in the corridor, Casey gagged again on the broccoli stench. Her sweater clung to her sweaty back.

  “I guess you now realize that I wasn’t exaggerating about the frequent violence in here,” Mac said, wiping his brow. “Juvie is a stressful, negative place filled with kids who have serious issues. Most have never lived a structured life. Some take to it. Others don’t.”

  Casey had felt the oppression the moment she stepped into the building. “The only thing that really surprises me is the heat in this place.”

  “The furnace is always in overdrive, but since this old building will be demolished soon, the powers that be won’t spend a penny to fix it.”

  “I heard the new center is opening in six months. You must look forward to moving.”

  “I’m too close to retirement to move anywhere. When the wrecking ball hits these walls, I’ll be boarding the nearest cruise ship.” Mac removed a large key ring from the belt around his ample waist. “The one perk to working here is that no one pays close attention to us. Fraserview’s simply a holding pen for the overflow of kids waiting to be transferred to Burnaby Youth Custody Services, or the new facility once it opens. Since none of the twenty-five residents are supposed to be here for more than a few days and the government’s on yet another cutback binge, we lack sufficient staffing and programs. Mind you, lack of program funding has been a problem for all facilities for year
s.” He unlocked the door. “I cope by managing things a little differently, trying to keep the atmosphere as relaxed as possible. As you’ve just seen, I often fail spectacularly.”

  “I don’t think the failure’s yours.”

  “The buck stops with me.” Mac switched on the lights. More fluorescent tubes flickered as if reluctant to get to work. “When people confuse a relaxed environment with a lax one, there can be a backlash.”

  Was he alluding to staff as well as residents?

  “Still, I firmly believe in an open-door policy for everyone,” Mac added, “which is why I don’t keep my office locked. Of course, my computer’s password protected and the filing cabinets are always locked. After all, why tempt people?”

  Casey wandered past a spotless sink, labeled cupboards, and a narrow bed. “Is there anything specific I should do in the girls’ unit?”

  “See if anyone wants to chat while Mia and I search for the money.”

  Mac had said that many residents simply want someone to listen to them. One or two girls might confide in her if they decided she was trustworthy.

  “After your orientation, another girl was brought in, and she too is now under psychiatric care,” Mac added as he started out of the room. “That makes three out of the eight girls, so I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to tread lightly. Teenaged girls with legal and family problems, among other things, are hypersensitive.”

  “So I’ve learned.”

  “Right. You’ve encountered difficult teens through your work, correct?”

  “Yeah, and I think I mentioned that I’m also the legal guardian of a thirteen-year-old girl. Drama isn’t new to me.” The truth was, Summer had been a gigantic pain in the ass lately.

  “Oh, yes, I remember.” Mac locked the door. “Should none of the girls wants to talk, feel free to search the common room for the money. If you aren’t comfortable with that, don’t worry. We’ll do it. Oh, and one more word of advice: don’t watch the girls too closely.” Mac jiggled the door handle, as if checking to ensure the door was locked. “Once they realize we’re serious about the search, it’s quite possible the money will magically reappear.”

  Across the corridor, a woman pushed a cleaning cart out of a room. Her gray poodle perm matched the color of her polo shirt. The woman stopped to adjust the black cardigan partially hanging off the cart.

  “Phyllis, this is our new volunteer, Casey.”

  The woman peered at her through large glasses with light blue frames. She looked to be in her late sixties, early seventies.

  “Hi,” Casey said. “I’m surprised you need a sweater in this place.”

  “I mop the pool room,” Phyllis answered in a British accent. “It leaks. Cold in the basement too. It floods.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of work.”

  Phyllis nodded to Mac. “She’ll do.” And then she moved on.

  “For Phyllis, that’s a glowing endorsement,” Mac remarked.

  On their way back to Unit One, Casey said, “This place seems too large for one cleaner. Does she have help?”

  “There’s a fellow working in the other wing, plus more cleaning staff during the day. Phyllis prefers the slower pace of evenings, and no one makes her clean the basement. Her younger colleague does that.”

  Casey had spent only a short time in the other wing of this L-shaped structure, but she knew it contained Unit Three, which was the second boys’ unit, as well as a classroom and an admissions area for new arrivals. At orientation, a boy was brought in, handcuffed and shackled. His personal effects were taken, a government-stamped towel and clothing issued, disinfecting shampoo handed out. It had been depressing to watch.

  Casey followed Mac inside Unit One, where Mia was saying, “I repeat, no one goes to their rooms, opens their lockers, or leaves the common area until I say so.” She pointed at Casey. “The volunteer will ensure you comply. Understood?”

  Casey cringed. She’d just been labeled an enforcer. She glanced at the strawberry blonde, who was now sitting at the table nearest the door. She stared at the tabletop, still uninterested in what was happening. The girls seemed oblivious to her as well.

  “If we don’t find the money,” Mia went on, “we’ll be forced to resort to full body searches. Smoking privileges will also be canceled for a week.”

  Mac looked at Casey. “Shout if you need us.” He followed Mia down the narrow hall to the back of the unit.

  A group of four girls whispered to one another as they studied Casey.

  “You’re kind of old to be in school, aren’t ya?” one of them said, as they ambled closer.

  “Probably. I’m thirty-two.”

  “My mom’s that old,” another remarked. “You have cool violet eyes. Are they contacts?”

  “They’re real.”

  “Those curls don’t look natural,” a third girl noted.

  “They’re not. It’s a loose perm.”

  “You should get rid of that shitty paper-bag color,” the first girl said, “or put highlights in.” She glanced at the music video playing on the TV. “Oh my god, I love this song!” The girl grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume. When her friends joined her on the sofa, all four began singing.

  Casey turned to the strawberry blonde, who stood and again looked out the small window in the door. Was she seeking a chance to escape, or waiting for someone? Visiting hours were underway. The girl could be expecting a visitor, except visitors weren’t allowed in the units.

  While Casey pretended not to watch the girls, she strolled around the room, wondering how many arguments these yellow-painted brick walls had absorbed over the decades. Pink and black anti-bullying posters hung next to the door. Other drawings brightened the adjoining wall: distinctive red-and-black Haida Gwaii art, vivid watercolors, and pen-and-ink drawings of flags, flowers, and places. The corner of each picture contained the artist’s name, country of origin, or ethnic background. At least twenty countries were represented.

  The song ended and the volume went back down. Casey could almost feel some of the girls watching her, probably trying to figure out why anyone would come to Fraserview voluntarily. The strawberry blonde was still looking out the window.

  “Hi,” Casey said, approaching her. “I noticed that there’s a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on that table in the corner. Do you like puzzles?”

  The girl kept her gaze on the corridor. “No.”

  “Are you waiting for a visitor?”

  “No.”

  Since she clearly wasn’t interested in conversation, Casey wandered toward the supervisor’s office. Windows in the upper half of the wall provided a full view of the common area. Aside from the computer, phone, and in-basket, only two files sat on the desk.

  Casey started back across the common room. She spotted a twenty-dollar bill on the floor, partially hidden under the back of the sofa. The cluster of girls sat squeezed together, gawking at a nearly naked rapper swaggering across the TV screen.

  The strawberry blonde yanked the door open and stepped into the corridor. “Justin!”

  Oh, hell. Was she going to take off? Casey hurried after her and saw flushed, sweaty boys in gym shorts coming down the hall. Winson brought up the rear.

  “Justin!” the girl called out. “I need to talk to you!”

  A slim boy with large brown eyes glanced at her, then looked at the floor. Wait a sec. The kid looked familiar. Wasn’t that? . . . It couldn’t be. But he sure looked like Amy Sparrow’s grandson. Amy kept his photo on her desk at work. Amy’s grandson was named Justin. Casey had met him a couple of times at staff picnics, but the last one was four years ago.

  “Hey, Sparrow,” a kid said. “Your girlfriend wants it bad.”

  Oh, crap. Casey watched Justin hurry inside his unit.

  “That’s enough. Everyone hit the showers,” Winson said. “Back inside, Tanya.” He looked at Casey. “They’re not supposed to leave their unit without permission.”

  Casey nodded and held the do
or open for Tanya, who stomped inside.

  Did Amy know Justin was in juvie? She hadn’t mentioned him in a while, but Amy Sparrow didn’t talk about family that often. She was a true professional, the administrative rock who kept the security department on track.

  With so many employees having their hours cut over recent weeks, Amy had barely been around since Christmas. Maybe that was a good thing. The confidentiality agreement Casey had signed meant she couldn’t reveal who was inside Fraserview. Amy adored Justin. If he was in trouble, she would want to know. Yet, who would be the one to tell her?

  TWO

  CASEY SAT IN FRONT OF Stan Cordaseto’s desk and tried not to cringe at his neon orange shirt and plaid jacket. The older Mainland’s security supervisor got, the more hideous his clothing choices became. His wife had given up the battle to coordinate his wardrobe ages ago. Despite the distraction, Casey had managed to get the gist of her new assignment.

  “I’m not clear why GenMart’s loss prevention officer recommended you to her manager,” Stan said.

  “Kendal Winters is an old friend who knows I live near the store.”

  She’d also partied with Kendal on New Year’s Eve. Kendal had told her about the young shoplifters targeting GenMart Department Store, then escaping on Mainland Public Transport buses. Kendal’s proposal to have GenMart work with MPT security had intrigued Casey; however, she knew there were protocols to follow. Casey noticed the way Stan was rubbing his trim gray beard. She’d worked with him long enough to know that the gesture meant something wasn’t right.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “Marie was up for the next assignment.”

  Casey had spotted Marie Crenshaw down by the ladies’ locker room a little while ago. She was probably still milling about, attempting to gather stronger employee support for unionization.

  “I’m giving you this one because of your location and availability.” Stan slid a folder toward Casey.

  “Thanks. Are the police okay with us doing surveillance?”

  “Seeing as how the investigating officers believe these kids are part of a larger crime ring, yeah, they are. In fact, they want us to note which stops the kids exit at and which direction they go.”