“It’s all right.”
“I’m the man of the house.” A deep, gravelly remark overrode the babbling voices.
“Felton. Put that cigarette out,” Margaret yelled.
Savannah halted mid-stomp.
“Stop, Mom,” Gregory pleaded.
The screen creaked as Felton poked his way outside. He froze at the sight of Savannah, pointing a finger at her. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“Leave her alone,” Gregory said. He rushed out and stood beside Savannah, draping his arm over her shoulder and steered her to the swing. The long-rusted chains squeaked as they swung back and forth.
“Take it easy, Felton. I have great news for you guys.”
“What?” He hacked, and then spat over the railing.
Savannah flinched.
Margaret wavered in the doorway. Her annoyance plainly displayed in the pinched expression. Her eyebrows formed a continuous row across her forehead. She stepped outside and plunked into her chair, propping her swollen legs on the ottoman.
“What’s this all about, Reggie?”
“Yeah. Get on with it.” Felton lit up another fag, blasting out the smoke with vigour toward Savannah. He collapsed next to his wife.
“Okay. This isn’t definite, but I studied the transcripts from Gregory’s trial and discovered an egregious mistake—”
“What?” Margaret shouted.
Reggie held up his palm. “Let me finish. The prosecutor utilized two different shops to analyze DNA from Gregory and the victim.” He winked at the lovebirds. “It’s probable there was a muddle at the lab.”
Gregory grinned. He knew.
“Your son presented me a specimen last week for a retest. I had it run through rapid DNA technology at the Centre of Forensic Sciences.”
Margaret squealed.
“The upshot is that the DNA from the rape incident is not Gregory’s.” Reggie stayed his palm repeatedly. “Settle down. They don’t recognize rapid DNA results in the courts. However, we further dispatched a sample for routine inspection through the RCMP laboratory. That requires at least forty days.” He flapped his hand back and forth to stop Margaret from interrupting. “But we’re confident when we receive those, they will establish Gregory’s innocence.”
Felton sputtered again. The gob missed the rail and landed on the deck. Savannah scrunched her nose.
“We’ll sue the bastards,” Margaret declared. An arrogant laugh spewed from her greasy lips.
“Forget it, Mom. I’m thrilled just to be exonerated,” Gregory said. He dropped his chin to his chest and bawled. “All those years lost.”
Savannah planted a palm over her mouth, a single tear eased down her cheek.
Chapter 19
“What the hell?” Eckhart slammed on her brakes inches from the bumper of the Ford F1. The burgundy pickup had cut the corner sharply into the one lane driveway.
“That’s Anatoe. Let’s see where he’s been.” Gibson hopped out of the Expedition and strolled over to the old truck. Eckhart sauntered up from behind and propped her elbows on the hood.
“Hey, do you mind?” Anatoe yelled.
“Sorry.” Eckhart jumped away from the truck, holding her hands up.
“What now?” Anatoe rested into his seat and scowled at Gibson.
“Where’s the Chevy?” Gibson looked into the brown eyes, hoping they would be as soulful as his mom’s one day.
“I sold it.”
“Where’ve you been?”
“In Grimsby. A guy there bought it.”
“I see. Took you two days?”
“What’s it to you? Am I under arrest?”
“Not at all,” Gibson replied.
“Hey, look. I didn’t kill Elsie,” he said. “I had a few days off and hung out with my buddies. That’s all. Even Todd got time off.”
“What’s that?” Gibson asked and leaned on the window frame.
“I saw Todd at a coffee shop—”
“In Grimsby?” Gibson interrupted.
“Yeah.”
“Who was he with?”
“Josephine,” Anatoe replied, pressing his thin lips into a line, not wanting to be the snitch.
“Okay.” Gibson drummed twice on the door with his palm and pushed off. He swung toward the house and saw Grandma staring in their direction. Was that a warning to keep his secret to himself? Gibson hesitated. Should he tell Anatoe the truth? That he was Anatoe’s father. No. He had no right to interfere with the guy’s life.
“Take care, Anatoe. Say hi to your mom.”
He hopped into the Expedition with Eckhart following suit. Anatoe guided his pickup past their vehicle and remained at the entrance, watching as they veered into the street and out of sight. Gibson thought maybe Cecilia might tell Anatoe if he asked her the right question.
“Todd is implicated in something. Isn’t he?”
“We need to bring him in for questioning to get to the bottom of this,” Gibson said.
“So it wasn’t a one-night stand. He’s having an affair. And maybe wanted it to be more? Get rid of the wife?” Eckhart asked.
“It’s definitely a strong possibility,” he replied.
“Do you think Elsie knew about the affair and was threatening him?”
“We don’t know anything at this point. Let’s start by finding Todd and getting him to the station downtown.”
“Okay.” Eckhart turned to him and almost whacked the guardrail at Jacobs Landing. They hurried down the path for the second time that day, but nobody answered the door.
“Maybe he’s still in Grimsby. And where is Savannah?” Gibson asked. He pulled out his cell and dialed the DC.
“Cooper. I want surveillance at Todd’s place. And bring Jones with you. Stay there until he shows up. I don’t care if it takes all day and all night. Just make sure you bring him in. He’s not under arrest, but he is under suspicion for murdering his wife. I need answers,” Gibson said. He hung up and crammed the phone into his back pocket.
“Whoa. Really. You’re really thinking it could be Todd?”
Gibson shrugged.
“What did Cooper say to that?”
“He was surprised, but will get on it.”
“I bet.”
“Today’s Saturday. Will the college be open?”
“It’s always open,” Eckhart replied.
“Let’s go.”
“But, I thought—”
“We don’t know anything for certain. Follow all the leads,” Gibson reiterated.
“Right.” Eckhart thrust the gears into reverse and backed out. At the stop sign, she took a left and sped down Lakeshore Road, past several wineries and fruit stands. Just after the cemetery, she turned and followed the street, swerving with the dogleg. Gibson stared out the window to the vast orchards eating up the land. The college loomed ahead, all glass and metal—that seemed to be a theme in this town. A remorseless sun gleamed off the mirrored panels, exacerbating the already fiery rays. The parking lot was packed so she bounced over the curb at the front of the building and stopped.
“That’ll do,” Eckhart said.
Stone stairs swept steeply up. Students loitered on their coolness with their backpacks sprawling every which way. There was plenty of laughter and kissing in the corners. The ornate doors opened smoothly with a steady surge of bodies in and out. Inside the grand entrance, a black arrow clearly marked the path to the office. The receptionist was a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair swept up with rhinestone clasps. A colourful scarf covered the wrinkles forming on her neck.
Gibson leaned on the counter, provided a lopsided smile and took out his badge. Eckhart flashed her ID as well.
“Officers. How may I serve you?” she asked. Her grin was practiced, but nevertheless sincere.
“We’re interested in reviewing a teacher’s file. A retired teacher,” Gibson said.
“You have a warrant?” She looked at him over her black-rimmed glasses. Her smile intensified, pushing creases
from the edge of her lips. Gibson screwed up his face.