“No big deal. I miss you, but I have more interviews. So I’m pretty busy. Love you.”
A life-size smooch zoomed down the phone line. Gibson laid his head on the pillow and drifted off, his soul torn.
* * *
Eckhart headed toward town, shifted south to Glendale Avenue and out toward the countryside. After she passed the sanatorium, the road swayed with the contours of the valley. Within a half an hour, Dead Man’s Curve made itself known. It was a perilous part of the original freeway. The switchback swerved sharply to the left before its precipitous decline, forcing a diligent driver to slow down. Those that didn’t pay heed flirted with danger. She geared down to execute the ridge. From the bottom, it was clear sailing to the sleepy township of Fonthill. The crossroads had a gas station, general store, greasy spoon restaurant and a deli; all with jam-packed parking lots. She went east. A couple more bends and she drew into an extensive paved entrance. The residence rose a hundred metres from the road isolated by a fringe of maples. The two-storey yellow brick building had several chimneys poking out of a blue metal roof. A broad wooden porch wrapped around to the side with a double set of steps leading to a cabana. The door lurched open before she exited the truck.
“Hi, Mom. I thought I would stop for a short visit. How are you doing?” Eckhart asked.
“Fine, dear. Come sit down.”
Eckhart followed her mother through a foyer with a high ceiling, a chandelier hanging in the vast opening, to the family room that looked out onto the infinity pool. A breeze pushed tiny waves across the crystal water. Spray from the waterfall attracted a pair of sparrows. They flapped their wings in the fountain, and then bolted into the bushes.
“What are you up to?”
“I just made my first collar as inspector. So I got the day off. Isn’t that great?”
“Tell me more about that inspector from Vancouver.”
“Victoria, Mom. Yeah, he’s real nice,” Eckhart replied. She opened and closed her mouth as if she had more to say.
“But?”
“He’s married.” She paused and added, “but I don’t think he’s happy.”
“Well, be careful. You know what happened last time,” her mom said.
“Yeah. I gotta go.” She glanced at her watch.
Eckhart headed to the front door, her mom trailing behind. Why did she bother coming here with her problems? She should have known better. Maybe Mom was right. Leave the man alone. She hopped into the truck and sped out the sweeping drive to her private club—Royal St. Kitts. She had been a member since she was twelve. As a junior, she had free-range access, weekly lessons and cheap golf. In return, she had picked up stray balls for the pro shop. The hackers hit everywhere—in the ditches, over the net and down the road. A few landed on the roof overhang. Now, she was a full-fledged associate and could easily lose herself on the course. The feel of the manicured fairway under her cleated shoes was comforting. She loved the swoosh of the club as it struck the sweet spot, shooting the ball into space. The hours slipped by pleasantly, helping her put matters in perspective. This was no time to question the hurried arrest, but she knew Gibson wasn’t as sure about it as she was. Or was she sure? She took out her 4-Hybrid and gave the ball a whack. It landed on the green. She forgot all about Gregory, the arrest and Gibson. After a nice dinner, she retired to bed early, exhausted from the day.
* * *
The fluorescent light flickered on grey walls smeared with despair, graffiti etched into the chipped enamel paint. Gregory sat on the lumpy bed, lumpier pillow and itchy blanket. The air inside was peculiar—fear, hate, sweat and leftover bad breath. His mind raced while his body quivered. Anguish crept over him. Down the corridor, a phone rang endlessly. Short spurts of laughter floated to his solitary chamber. In between was absolute silence. He wasn’t certain which was better. He picked up on the gabble of raised voices, indiscernible words, before soft footfalls resounded on the cracked tile and halted. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a fellow turned out in a white linen suit, a Panama hat perched on wavy black hair. Gregory’s eyes expanded.
“Reggie.”
Reginald Pennington III snagged a chair from the far wall and lugged it over to the cell. “I understand you might need some help from a lawyer.” He listed inward, slipping words of encouragement in the space between the cold steel bars. Reggie spoke in a whisper while Gregory leaned in to hear the proposal.
Chapter 14
Clouds hovered across the glacier-blue heavens. Birds wheeled in wide, lazy circles seeking thermals to stay aloft. As Eckhart sped toward the station, Gibson watched their ballet until the winged silhouettes blended into the far away sky. Their blithe freedom intensified his forlorn spirit.
“How are Cooper and Jones doing?” His voice was flat and drained.
“They’re practically finished. We also hired an assistant to deal with phone calls, the mail and office stuff. She starts this week.” Mischief lurked on her lips. To hell with her mother’s warning.
“Good.” He sank into his seat, staring off at the ever-shifting canvas of white billows in the lofty breeze.
They headed straight to the lab, swinging by the DCs who were busy setting up in the foyer, dragging cables to the office equipment. Wires blanketed the floor. The swish of the door on the tile made Frenchy look up. She dropped her eyes to the microscope, adjusting the control lever.
“It’s Elsie’s blood on Gregory’s shirt.”
Eckhart smiled.
“It merely determines that Gregory was there. Nothing further. Unless the print on the rock is his,” Gibson said.
“Not quite there with the print, but I’m working hard on it,” Frenchy replied, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. “Tomorrow at the latest.”
“I got it.” A raised voice called out from behind the partition. The technician popped up.
“Really?” Gibson turned to Frenchy.
“Oh, I meant I know what the problem is now,” the technician said. His blush made his ears go pink at the tips. “There was a Trojan virus hiding in the software. I should have caught it beforehand. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I know they’re difficult to spot,” Gibson reassured him.
“I’m cleaning everything from the computer, and then I’ll do a reload. It won’t be much longer.” He disappeared behind the screen.
“That all sounds good to me,” Gibson replied.
He turned to Eckhart. “What do you think?”
“Should we take a run out to Jacobs Landing and give Todd and Savannah the latest news about Gregory?” she asked.
“You’re right. I suppose we should.”
* * *
They headed out and made it to Lawsons Lane within the hour. Todd answered the door. His dishevelled appearance had improved, normalcy dangling so tantalizingly close, but his lips still quivered. Colourful, shiny brochures were dispersed across the kitchen table.
“We’re making plans for the funeral.” Savannah shuffled the papers around, and then shoved them all aside. “A celebration. Something simple.”
Todd nodded in agreement.
“Margaret called and said Gregory—” Savannah began. She cuffed her mouth shut with the back of her hand.
“Oh. Gregory hasn’t been arrested. At this point, he’s only detained on his parole until we get some concrete proof,” Gibson clarified.
A flicker of a smile crossed Savannah’s features. She had hope that Gregory would be exonerated.
“Did anything unusual happen that day?” Gibson asked. He still wasn’t convinced that Gregory had done anything other than find the body. They had no evidence against anyone yet. It was their job to keep looking. He glanced at Eckhart and saw her velvety lips harden against her teeth.
“Like what?” Todd asked.
“A quarrel with a customer? I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I was doing inventory in the storeroom most of the afternoon. Elsie was in the store on her own. I heard some shrieking, so I peeked in a
nd saw her and Jackie talking. Girl stuff, I guess. Then there was a crash down one of the aisles. I was going to see what was going on, but my phone rang and I had to take it. It was a supplier. I was on the line for at least fifteen minutes. Everything was quiet by then so I went back to the inventory.”
“I was at school,” Savannah said flatly, kicking herself for not being any help.
Gibson didn’t want to bring up the girlfriend in the middle of their funeral arrangements. He didn’t have to fret about Eckhart saying anything because she believed Gregory was guilty. He would ask Todd later, after the print ID was completed.
“Didn’t mean to disturb you today. We’ll keep you posted,” Gibson said.
“Thanks.”
Savannah walked them to the front door and watched until the Expedition spun out of sight.
* * *
“We should find out what Jackie and Elsie were talking about at the store,” Gibson said.
Eckhart pinched her face and rolled her eyes, but left it alone.
He dialed the Cunningham’s—Jackie’s mom and dad. After speaking on the phone for a few minutes, he hung up.
“They went back to BC. We’ll call them later. Let’s have another chat with Anatoe.” He didn’t think Anatoe had anything to do with the murder, but maybe Anatoe knew more than he thought he did. Gibson also had a personal motive that he was keeping to himself. He wanted another look at the guy just to make sure he was right about something unrelated to the investigation.
“I guess,” Eckhart agreed, although a little begrudgingly.
“Where’s his garage?”
“On Niagara Street, near downtown.”
It turned out to be nearer the highway, next to a drug store. The two-storey building was aged, with red, weathered brick and a flat roof. The curtains in the top floor windows were grey and limp—Anatoe’s living quarters. The ivy growing up the north side was the only greenery within ten metres of the structure. A few gnarled oak trees at the rear had endured the blacktop paving, although the leading branches were going dark and dying. The Sinclair Motors sign was nicely burnished and declared, ‘We Fix Your Old Stuff’. Outside the garage door rested an older truck. In truth, it was a 1952 Ford F1, burgundy, shiny, and in mint condition. The turquoise Chevy pickup was hoisted in the air, even the underside looked immaculate.
A pair of legs with scuffed work boots on large feet stuck out from under a car in the first bay. Gibson stepped up, but before he could speak, Anatoe called out. “Give me a minute.”
“It’s Inspector Gibson.”
The clanging ceased, and Anatoe wiggled himself out of the confined space. He scampered up, leaning backwards momentarily to stretch. A wrench dangled by his side in callused greasy palms.
“What’s up?”
“Did you go to the store at Jacobs Landing on Canada Day?” Gibson asked.
“I thought Gregory was already picked up?”
“He was. But we’re still asking questions.”
“Yeah, I was at the store.” He scratched at his temple, leaving an oil streak on his cheek.