Mandy Gill’s death had changed all that.

Felicia stifled a yawn and covered her mouth. ‘My God,’ she said. ‘What time is it, ten?’

‘Close enough; it’s just before nine. You gonna make it there, Bella?’

She gave him a look of daggers. ‘You know I hate it when you call me that.’

‘Mamacita?’ When she didn’t see the humour in it, he changed the subject. ‘You learn anything else from the statement with Gibson?’

She nodded. ‘Sure. He’s angry and he’s an idiot.’

Striker smiled at that. Felicia got this way whenever she was tired and irritable. He changed the subject again. ‘We got three possible hits on the Beamer,’ he started. ‘The first one is Juliet-Juliet-Mike, One-Seven-Nine.’

Felicia punched the numbers into the computer, into the Vehicle Query, and searched the plate through the police and motor vehicle databases. ‘Beamer,’ she said. ‘An X5. Comes back to a woman named Elin Forslund.’

‘What’s her record?’

Felicia looked through the PRIME information, then shook her head. ‘Clean as they come, including her driving record. No criminal history whatsoever. Works as an consultant at a video game company. Dream-Makers. As for the vehicle information, it says here the plate is invalid. Insurance expired yesterday. She’s got only a temporary operator’s permit now.’ She looked at Striker. ‘You see one of those in the video?’

‘No, but they’re not always the easiest to spot.’

She nodded. ‘Fine. We’ll keep this one a limited possibility. What’s the next plate?’

‘Juliet-Mike-Delta, Seven-Seven-Nine.’

She ran that plate. Got some hits back. ‘Okay. Registered owner and listed driver’s licence come back to one Clayford Ozymandias Kennedy.’

‘Holy shit – The Third?’ Striker asked.

Felicia smiled. ‘No kidding. Nice parents – what, were they trying to get him beat up at school, or something?’ She read on. ‘Okay, he’s fifty years old. Works as an investment broker, by the looks of things. Works for ING Direct. One speeding ticket. No criminal history whatsoever.’

Striker nodded. ‘Where’s he live?’

‘Downtown core.’

That was the direction the vehicle had been heading in. ‘Contact number?’

‘Cell only.’

Striker took it and made the call. Two minutes later, he had his answer. Clayford Kennedy was currently in Kelowna at an investor conference. He’d been there all day long, with his vehicle, and he had proof of this. Striker hung up.

‘Scratch him off the list for now,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to confirm the details later.’

Felicia made a note of the name, then looked up. ‘And the last plate?’ she asked.

Striker smiled. ‘This one intrigues me. Juliet-Alpha-Papa, Nine-Seven-Nine.’

Felicia typed in the information, then sent the request. When the responses came back, she read them out slowly: ‘Okay, we got some hits here. Primary driver licence on file belongs to a man named Erich Ostermann. Forty-eight years old. Lives out west towards the university grounds. Point Grey, I think.

Striker read the screen, too. ‘Look at the address.’

She did. ‘Belmont Drive. So what? Like I said, that’s way out by the university grounds.’

‘No, not his home address. Look where he works.’

She skimmed through the list of addresses on the main screen. ‘There’s a few of them,’ she said. ‘This guy works in many places: 512 Granville Street . . . 2601 Lougheed Highway . . . 330 Heatley Avenue—’ She hesitated. ‘Why does that address sound familiar?’

‘Because we’ve been there before. It’s the address of the Mental Health Center.’

‘Strathcona,’ she said and looked east. ‘That’s just down the road from here.’

Striker nodded. ‘Looks like Mr Ostermann is Doctor Ostermann.’

Felicia read through the file and clarified, ‘He’s a psychiatrist.’

Striker looked at the list of places where Dr Erich Ostermann worked. One stuck out to him. ‘Riverglen Mental Health Facility,’ he said sternly. ‘Mandy Gill was a patient there for a brief period of time. She also spent time at the Strathcona Center.’

He put the car into Drive and pulled out on to the road. They headed for Heatley Avenue.

Eighteen

When Striker and Felicia arrived on scene, they found that the Strathcona Mental Health Center was closed for the night, and the emergency number listed on the front door was actually the number for Car 87 – the officer-and-counsellor paired unit of the Vancouver Police Department’s Mental Health Team.

It was a dead end for now.

Striker looked at his watch, saw that it was now nine twenty, and shrugged. ‘We could always go see Dr Ostermann at his home. You up for a trip out west?’

Felicia nodded, but her posture spoke otherwise.

Striker bribed her. ‘I’ll buy you another eggnog latte on the way – as rich and creamy as you like it.’

‘A double-shot,’ she added. ‘I’m gonna need it.’

Striker smiled at her; she was a trooper. They got back into the car, and Striker headed west.

The Ostermann house was located just to the east of the Endowment Lands, on one of the most expensive – and widely unknown – jewels of the city, Belmont Avenue. Striker had been to the area once on a million-dollar fraud call. That was ten years ago. He doubted that the road had changed any. Just multimillion-dollar homes for multimillion-dollar families.

As they turned off Burrard Street and drove along the forever busy grind of West 4th Avenue, Felicia brought up as many PRIME pages as she could, and read through the known police history of Dr Erich Ostermann.

‘He’s listed in the database a ton,’ she said. ‘But always under the entity of doctor. He’s related to a gazillion mental health files – everywhere from Riverglen, way out in Coquitlam, to the Strathcona Medical Health Center in the Downtown East Side.’

Striker zigzagged around an Audi sedan turning left on Arbutus and gunned it to get through the yellow light. He turned his eyes from the traffic to Felicia. ‘Go over his driving record again.’

Felicia brought up his driver licence history and said, ‘Wow. This guy’s a road criminal. Got over twenty tickets for everything from speeding to running stop signs. It’s a wonder they haven’t suspended his licence yet.’

‘I guess being a psychiatrist has its privileges.’ Striker thought this over. ‘So Erich Ostermann is the good doctor in the medical clinic, but a road warrior when he’s in his vehicle. Kind of a Jekyll and Hyde guy. Interesting detail. Says something about his character, I’m sure.’

Felicia was less impressed. ‘It also says something else, unfortunately – that him blowing that stop sign was probably just the regular driving pattern for him. He does it all the time and probably wasn’t evading anything.’

‘Maybe. And yet, there is a connection between Mandy Gill and Riverglen. It’s a lead still worth investigating.’ He glanced at Felicia, then floored it to the twenty-two hundred block of West 4th Avenue. He drove into the oncoming lane of traffic and parked the cruiser in an open stall, facing the wrong way.

Felicia put a hand over her heart. ‘Jesus, Jacob, are you trying to kill us?’

‘If I wanted to be suicidal, I’d just propose to you.’

She gave him the ice look, and he just smiled back. He then pointed to the Pharmasave drug store next to them. ‘Important stop.’

‘Why? What are we doing here?’

Striker just smiled at her.

‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘I need my meds checked.’

The Pharmasave drug store, located on the corner of 4th Avenue and Vine Street, was one of the few pharmacies in the area that was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, all year round. More importantly, it was one of the few places where Mandy Gill had ordered her medication from – even though it was a twenty-minute bus ride from her Strathcona apartment.