“Yes,” Gregory answered. He swallowed hard, sucking his lips inward.
Gibson drew out his cell and called Frenchy. “We’re at Felton and Margaret’s place. We discovered some bloodied clothes. Could you get here ASAP?”
“On my way.” She hung up.
“I’ll alert Brandon,” Gibson said and perched on the bed to wait for the forensics.
Eckhart steered Gregory past his mom.
“You can’t do this,” Margaret hissed, spit flying from her twisted mouth as they pushed out the door.
Gregory remained on the rear bench of the Expedition, slumped so low he sank from sight. Frenchy tore into the driveway forty-five minutes later. Eckhart leaned against the hood of her vehicle and signaled to the house. With a case fastened to her side, Frenchy vaulted up the steps. She gave a quick rap on the door and strode right in.
Felton blew smoke rings across the room. Margaret sat fixed, a scowl tracing lines along her face. Frenchy cracked a modest grin and called out down the hallway.
“Gibson?”
“I’m back here.”
She followed the sound. “Tidy.”
“Yeah.”
“You seem kinda put out. What’s up?” she asked.
He shrugged with one shoulder and pointed to the closet. “In there.”
“You bet.”
“Catch you later.”
Margaret shrieked at them as Eckhart backed out of the driveway. Felton hobbled to the porch and lit another cigarette. Gibson was worried. What motive did Gregory have to kill Elsie? Nothing came to mind. His partner sure thought he was guilty. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. In the back, Gregory had retreated into a blackness he knew well.
* * *
The RCMP depot was next to the Parole Board at the rear of City Hall. All the church-goers had fled home for lunch, leaving bunches of parking spots. However, Eckhart had phoned ahead and the steel barrier to the lot was unlocked. Over the door, the stone lintel was engraved ‘Police Headquarters’. They marched into the station unfettered.
A big old clock hung on the wall behind the desk sergeant at the front reception. The second hand swept smoothly around and around, ticking away the lives of the people in the building. The sergeant greeted them with a gruff smile. A leather-bound book lay on the counter in front of him. He recorded their arrival taking note of the person in custody and the detectives’ badge numbers. He wrote with a flourish, proud to be doing things the old-fashioned way still.
The large room was an open-plan space with two rows of battered oak desks facing each other. A few of them were currently occupied by uniforms that were busy typing or on phones. The sergeant motioned for an officer to take Gregory into custody. With hands still cuffed, he dragged his feet down the long hallway, not glancing back even once. Eckhart chatted up the sergeant, leaning into the counter with her hip. Gibson rested on the bench against the wall and dialed the superintendent. Despite Rodney’s office being located upstairs, it was Sunday, so he would be somewhere else having fun. After giving Rodney an update, Gibson hung up the phone. He struggled to get comfortable on the hard, wooden surface.
“Inspector.”
Gibson looked up.
“Hi, Brandon.”
“I take it you uncovered something.”
Gibson gave the parole officer the details.
“It’s sketchy. Gregory could have gotten blood on himself by leaning over Elsie to check her pulse, to see if she was still alive.”
Gibson nodded in agreement.
“No. He did it. Gregory has a propensity for violence. And he fled the scene of a crime like a guilty person,” Eckhart said, her voice rising with each accusation.
Nevertheless, Gibson recognized that more evidence would be needed—his fingerprint on the rock would do.
“And the ring,” Eckhart added.
“Can I speak to him?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah. Tell him to get a lawyer,” Gibson said.
“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”
They shook hands. Brandon strode down to the holding area with a police officer. The detectives left. Nothing more for them to do here.
Eckhart danced down the sidewalk, humming a secret tune. Gibson walked casually along, too many conflicting notions on his mind. He stubbed his toe on an irregular section of concrete. “Shit, that hurts.”
Her sweet, joyful laughter echoed off the niches and gables in the glut of churches.
“Late lunch?”
“Sure,” Gibson replied.
They walked down the street to the Mansion.
“I feel positive. My first case solved. How about some free time for tomorrow? We have to wait for the processing anyway,” Eckhart said. Her lips puckered, hinting at something more.
“I agree. I have something to do.” His eyes brightened. A spin in a kayak sounded promising. He wasn’t as sure about Gregory though, but he pushed that thought aside for another day.
Chapter 13
“It’s all your fault,” Margaret howled. The sound warped down the line like a boom of thunder.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Savannah screeched back.
“They’re your friends.”
“Who?”
“David and Jackie.”
“So?”
“So, they said it was Gregory who killed Elsie. Now he’s been arrested.” Margaret slammed down the phone.
Savannah moaned and slithered down the wall, rubbing at her face, tears forming. Whom could she call? She wiped the moisture from her cheeks.
Todd’s footfalls made no sound at all. He stood over her crumpled form.
“What the hell?” Her watery eyes widened.
“What’s the matter?”
“You scared me.”
“What are you doing on the floor?”
“Gregory’s been arrested.”
“Oh, my God.” Todd sniffed deeply, an edge of his lip trembling. He collapsed into the nearest armchair. “Why would he...?”
“It can’t be true.” Tears welled up anew. “I don’t believe it.”
“He was there.” His voice became icy.
“Todd.” Her chin thrust high, an unblinking gaze resting on his face. He couldn’t make eye contact.
“I’m sorry. I realize you like Gregory.” He put folded hands on the table. “But if—”
“Let’s leave it for now.” Savannah stood up and set the kettle on for tea.
* * *
Gibson took an Uber to Henley Island. He had been a spectator at the Royal Henley Regatta long ago, but now he wanted to test the waters for himself. He wandered over to the clubhouse. Racks of rowing shells hung off the outer wall. He glanced through the wide shop door. The crews had packed rows of shelves with oars, floating devises and jackets to the roof peak. A few people milled around looking busy.
“Can I help you?” An energized lad darted over.
“Sure. Where are the kayak rentals?”
“Just follow the path. There’s a shack by the dock.” He pointed to the left.
Gibson skipped diagonally over a grassy field shaded by huge trees. Visitors were picnicking on rough wooden benches, the kids playing tag. Two teenagers were attempting to fly a kite with no wind. He followed the track down stone steps to the water.
Martindale Pond shimmered in the sunlight. Several teams were skimming across the pond in eight-man boats, practicing for the upcoming events. Luckily for boaters, the reservoir created during the development of the original Welland Canal had been abandoned for their enjoyment.
Gibson set himself up with a kayak and shoved off to explore. He dipped the paddles from side to side and traveled east. Following the shoreline, he observed interesting canal ruins and a dam. He swung the boat west to Richardson Creek and stayed for a snack, leaning against the backrest, letting his face catch the full beam of the sun. From there, he paddled to the south toward Twelve Mile Creek. It was more dangerous in this section with currents churning up the w
ater. After five hours, he was confident he had discovered the entire area and headed back to the old dock.
Gibson stopped in Port Dalhousie at Harry’s Diner. Fish and chips, a beer and a view of Lake Ontario was a good way to end a perfect day. After dinner, a friendly Uber driver took him to his motel. It was getting late, and suddenly he wondered what Katherine was up to. Why hadn’t she phoned? He picked up his cell and stabbed at the speed dial for home.
“Hello.” She was panting.
“Are you okay?”
“I had to rush for the phone.”
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Heather had a showing at a gallery in Vancouver.”
“Honestly? Good for her. She makes beautiful watercolours,” Gibson said. “Did you go?”
“Yeah, we stayed downtown. I had a manicure and pedicure. Naturally, after that, I roamed the stores for new shoes.” She laughed. “A lady knows what she likes. Right?”
“That’s great. We have some progress here, but I’ll be a few days further.” Gibson thought to himself, don’t make it a whopping lie. “Maybe a week.” He sucked in his breath and waited.
“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 quiver
ed. 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 and 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.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 27
