Page List


Font:  

“Did anyone see you that morning?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Gibson tapped the pad with his pen. “It’s going to be a problem for you.”

Jeff gave him a last defiant glare and slammed the door shut.

Chapter 27

Gibson walked through the empty detective agency and opened the door to his office. He sat at his desk, shuffling through some papers. It may have been another sun-drenched day but his disposition was anything but sunny. The previous day hadn’t brought any clarity to the investigation. Everything had bogged down since Tim had been cleared of suspicion. He began reworking the evidence painstakingly, taking great care over each minor factor. He flipped through his notebook, page by page. Something would show up, some trivial detail that would clinch the case. He had honed in on one individual and sought to make the facts fit because of his own biases. When would he quit beating himself up over that?

Reading all morning in the quiet room had caused his muscles to cramp. Gibson stood up to stretch, stepping over to the window. The sun was at its zenith. Rays glittered on the ocean below, some light reaching the bottomless depths, some reflecting off the crystal water. Golden energy filled the sky with an intrinsic luminosity. Blue skies prevailed. He glanced down to the pavement and watched a group of bikers cycling to the park. He issued a short, mirthless laugh and turned from the view.

With a strategy for the afternoon, Gibson stopped at the Ottiva for lunch first. He enjoyed a latte and a chicken salad. The sandwich was prepared with bread baked that morning. He had smelled the comforting aroma upon entering the café, making his mouth water in anticipation. The nose had not failed him. The meal was exceptional. He finished up and left the restaurant. He was in a better mood. Gibson got back into his truck and made his way to Cordova Bay. The street followed the shoreline for a few kilometres so he lowered his window to the salty air—wonderfully refreshing.

At the maintenance shed he found out that Nick had called in sick. Gibson needed Kim’s last name. He parked beside the massive hedge that fronted the house and strolled along the curved sidewalk to the entrance. It was a tidy yard with all the leaves raked, grass cut low for the winter and the evergreen trimmed. He paused on the porch and listened for sounds inside before he knocked. It was several minutes before he detected footsteps coming, and the door lurched wide.

“Hi. Not feeling well.”

Nick glared at him and swung away. He gestured with a backward wave of his hand for Gibson to follow. The living room wasn’t as spruce as it had been at his initial visit. It seemed bleak and dismal. Several dirty mugs and plates were littering the side tables. Newspapers were strewn on the floor. Nick plunked himself into a recliner.

“Where’s Susan?” Gibson asked.

“She left to visit her mom,” he said. His shoulders slumped and his eyes constricted with a mournful gaze. “And the kids.”

“What’s going on?”

“She suspects something.”

“That you killed Robbie?”

“No!” Nick yelled as he bolted out of his chair. He paced up and down at the bay window, fists clenched by his side. His cheeks flushed scarlet and roasted hot. He peered sideways at Gibson and sat down, eyes cast to the ground.

Gibson picked an armchair opposite him, leaned forward and completed the thought for him. “Your cheating.”

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Gibson reached into his upper pocket, plucked out the Facebook photo and extended it to him.

“Is that you?”

“No.” Nick thrust the image away.

“You and Robbie argued.”

“No!”

Gibson pressed on.

“A lover’s quarrel?” If that had led to murder was what he was pondering—maybe even a lover’s triangle somewhere in there.

“Are you insane?” Nick shrieked, vaulting out of his chair again. “Nothing is going on.”

“Something’s going on.” He watched Nick’s pale skin turn from a ghastly white to a shade of ghost.

Gibson knew he wasn’t getting any more out of him today so he left the man to brood and slipped out. He hopped into his truck and decided to drive the back route to Brentwood Bay. It was a quick route that only the locals knew. He crossed the highway and took Keating over to Clarke. The blacktop road dropped to the harbour where a small ferry carried passengers and vehicles across the inlet to Mills Bay. David lived about halfway down the slope. He parked on the boulevard opposite the two-storey dwelling. It had brick cladding on the front with white siding and louvered shutters by the small windows. The brown asphalt roof had several angles with a dormer facing south. Five deciduous saplings planted on the lawn would grow into large trees one day and conceal the house from the street and the sun in the summer.

He glanced down the side of the house. There weren’t any vehicles visible, but there might be one in the garage at the bottom of the drive. He couldn’t tell because the walls there had no windows. It was doubtful that Jackie was home. Maybe he should have phoned first. He walked along the sidewalk to a porch. The lady, bundled in several layers of clothing, was raking up the last of the pin oak leaves next door. She flipped her palm up in a cordial wave. Gibson gestured back. An ornamental knocker on the frame looked unused so he buzzed the bell and waited. The door was painted the charcoal of a winter’s sky, same as the shutters. It swung open with a rustle of air. An olive-skinned lady peered at him. She looked casual in a yellow and blue Fair Isle sweater with tight jeans and multi-coloured woollen socks on her petite feet.

“Hi. DI Gibson.” He flashed his badge.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“When we spoke on the phone the other day, you told me David left for work at six-thirty. I just want to confirm that time.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Jackie said. “Like I told you, it’s always the same time.”

“Did you actually see him leave that morning?”

“I slept in. So no, but our neighbour notices when he leaves.”

“What do you mean?”

“David’s jeep is noisy. I’m positive he wakes up most of the district at dawn.”

“The lady raking next door?”

“Yes.”

Gibson thanked her and stepped outside. He walked over to the fence and watched the lady pile leaves into gigantic heaps. She grabbed a load and wrestled it into a plastic bag. When she spun around, she noticed him standing there.

“Hi. May I ask you a few things?” He showed his badge.

“How can I help?” Her skin was blotchy from the cold damp air.

“Tell me about the Jeep.”

“Why? Are you going to arrest David for not having a muffler?” Small dimples formed on her ch

eeks when she smiled.

“Last Monday, did you see him leave for work?” He wasn’t sure what she meant.

“Like clockwork. He’s my alarm clock. First the jeep shutters and rattles because it doesn’t start right away. Then it fires up with a roar. David pumps the gas a few times and off he goes. Under my bedroom window.” She paused and pointed behind her. “Six-thirty on the dot, for six years.”

“No doubt about last Monday.”

“Not at all. He left at six-thirty.”

Gibson returned to his truck to consider his next move. He was writing this information in his journal when his cell buzzed. It was Katherine.

“I passed with honours.”

He could sense her breathlessness as she talked. He had a desire to see her. He could feel joy pass through him like an ocean wave washing on the shore.

“I’ll be home in a minute.”

There was a hiss down the line. Katherine was gone. He fired up the engine and was about to pull from the curb when his phone sounded.

“Gibson.”

It was Scottie. He turned off the ignition.

“I’ve been with Liam,” she said. “The dog walker.”

Gibson grunted.

“He stepped off the sidewalk at a crosswalk and a truck almost ran him over.”

“Lucky he wasn’t hit.”

“No kidding. But he stumbled on the pavement and broke his arm. The driver took off. But he figured the guy hadn’t seen him because there aren’t many street lights. He usually wore reflective clothing and a flasher on his dog’s collar but he was in a hurry that morning. It happened so fast that he didn’t get a good look at the truck.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I took him to the maintenance yard. He didn’t recognize the truck as one of them. You know the truck he saw Monday morning.”


Tags: Kathy Garthwaite DI William Gibson Mystery