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.
“Did you hear or see anything surprising?”
“No.”
“Were you the only one there?”
“There were a few cars out front, but nobody I knew.”
“Not in the store either?”
“No, but I did overhear a quarrel between Todd and Elsie as I was leaving.”
“Oh.”
“I was getting a pop out of the machine. You know the old-fashioned cooler where you slide out the bottle. It’s at the entrance. I was strolling down the aisle to the counter. Elsie was perched on her stool as usual when Todd stalked through from the back. He stopped when he saw me. I paid and fled. Neither one of them like me much. The door hadn’t closed behind me completely when Todd started yelling. That’s all I know. I didn’t hear what the argument was about.”
“That’s fine. And then you went to Grandma’s house from there?”
“That’s right.”
“You mentioned earlier that you got a beer from Felton’s house.”
“Yup.”
“Anything else?” Gibson asked.
Anatoe stared into smoky eyes, his own eye twitching, and hesitated. “Someone else recognized me besides David, right?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, it was me on the landing, but it’s not what you think. I wanted Elsie to know that I liked her sister. She wouldn’t listen to me, so I went back to the party.” He extended his palms out wide in front. “Honestly, I didn’t do any—”
“You’d already had words with Elsie earlier,” Gibson said.
“I wanted to sit with Savannah. Ask her out.” Anatoe looked fixedly at a pothole in the asphalt.
“Is it mutual?”
“No.” He rocked his head.
“So you approached Elsie repeatedly.”
“Yeah, it was stupid,” Anatoe admitted.
“But you didn’t see or hear anyone else?” Gibson pressed on.
“No.” He shuffled around. “I got to get back to work.”
Gibson glanced at the burgundy truck. Anatoe tracked his gaze, his jaw shifting upwards.
“You do good work.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
Gibson glanced at his watch as he hopped into the truck.
“What now?” Eckhart asked.
“How about another visit to Mr. Tatlow?”
“Seriously?”
“It’s all part of the puzzle. We keep plugging at it, and something will give. Trust me,” he replied.
“Anatoe sounds like a lovesick puppy.” She laughed.
The engine sang as Eckhart cruised up Niagara Street, down Lakeshore and over the canal to Lawsons Lane. She pulled the Expedition into Mr. Tatlow’s gravelled driveway.
“It looks deserted.”
“We can only try,” Gibson said. He rang the bell, waited, rang again. “We’re out of luck. Rats.” He scanned the yard and saw some broken branches in the underbrush on the water side. “Do you think that leads to the beach? It must. Let’s check it out.”
Gibson pushed aside a limb, exposing a well-maintained path. He hiked to the top of the dune with Eckhart stumbling up behind him. The sun shone on the lake below, an expanse of blue with clouds reflecting on the sparkling water. They scuttled to the bottom and spilled out onto the shore, looking down on the spot where Elsie had been murdered.
“My-oh-my, does this mean anything?”
Eckhart shrugged.
“Mr. Tatlow’s name has come up a few times now.” Gibson wondered if the man’s tragic tale had affected his judgement. He had been unduly fixated on Eckhart the past week as well. His pit-bull manner had shrivelled into a pussycat.
They sprinted up the bank.
“I say call it a day. Tomorrow could be huge.”
“Yes, the print. It will tell all,” Gibson said.
Eckhart swung into town. “Same time, same place.”
Gibson brandished his hand backwards and entered the motel. His fascination with Eckhart was ebbing, her influence on him diminishing. He wanted to boot himself in the ass, but he went to bed early instead.
Chapter 15
White clouds, a hint of grey on the fringes, bumped into each other, gathering height in the sky. Gibson leaned against the café wall, letting the sunlight that was streaming through breaks in the darkening mass warm his skin. Seagulls were specks of silver far from the lake, free spirits gliding amid the shrinking blue. Maybe a shift in weather was coming. Gibson pressed his fingers into his tired eyes. A toot sounded from across the road. A revving of an engine nearby persisted. Finally, he released his hands and scanned the street. Eckhart had parked the Expedition in front of a fire hydrant. It vibrated on the spot. Gibson jogged over.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find a space. Were you asleep standing up?”
Eckhart tapped along to a song on her steering wheel while she drove. “Frenchy called.” Her speech was giddy.
“Well?”
Another titter. “She has everything ready to go.”
Gibson let out a sigh.
Eckhart pulled into the parking lot and rushed to the entrance. He followed closely, trotting down the corridor. Frenchy held the lab door open. “Get in here.” She hopped on her toes. “This is just so exciting.”
The DCs snuck into the room and stood in the wings.
“I got the print lifted. It was a little touch and go there for a while. But I found something that worked well,” Frenchy explained.
“What substance?” Cooper asked, his eyes alight.
“Hungarian Red.”
“Whoa, neat.”
“The solution is exceedingly responsive to blood residue. It can recover nearly invisible latent fingerprints. Just spray on the reagent and let it dry,” Frenchy continued.
The gang nodded in amazement.
“Raising the print was the risky
part. I applied a gelatin lifter and drew a superb copy. Sorry it took so long, but—”
“At least we have a print to work with now. Could have all gone wrong if we’d rushed it,” Gibson reassured her. “It’s the only evidence we have.”
“Our techie is ready too. Don’t need Toronto now. Isn’t that great?”
They stood in a huddle over the computer, waiting. The whirling of the hard drive was almost a purr as it spun. Gibson could feel the warmth coming off the fan. The monitor went black, and then words scrolled across the screen.
‘No Match.’
“What?” Eckhart exclaimed. “That can’t be. Run it again.” She tugged at her locks, pushing bangs from her face. “Shit. Is it even running properly?” She shot an accusatory glare at the technician.
He hoisted his palms in defense. “It’s working. There’s no match.” His voice was unsteady. He cleared his throat. “I could repeat it.”
“Do it!” Eckhart demanded.
He punched in a round of numbers and stood upright. Gibson drew a step backward, cautiously observing the drama. The ramifications were shattering for Eckhart’s theory. No fingerprint match with Gregory, no case. The DCs remained quiet, not wishing to further aggravate their boss. She was leaning into the screen, tapping on the plastic case with her long nails. Gibson could sense the vibrations emanating from her overheated body. The flush on her face had kicked up to a rouge colour. The techie bit at his fingers, willing the print to show itself. The whirring stopped. The monitor went black. The scrolling drifted across.
‘No Match.’
“What the hell?” Eckhart fell into a chair. She locked eyes with Gibson. He nodded once. “Ah, crap. We have to set him free. Right?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Gregory?” Frenchy ventured.
“Yeah. We needed the print to be Gregory’s if we wanted to proceed any further with him.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
The technician shuffled into his corner after bearing the brunt of the blame. Frenchy moved to a microscope, twirling a knob, recalibrating the instrument.
“We’ll get back to work,” Cooper said as he slipped away with Jones following close behind.
“Let’s go to your office and figure out our next move,” Gibson suggested.
They headed down the hallway. Eckhart sat in her chair, shuffling objects around on the top of her desk. Gibson took a seat in front, plunking himself into the supple leather. The smell of newness was set free as he settled his weight into its softness. He felt like a nap. With Gregory’s release, the alternatives were daunting. He considered the repercussions of murder. Always more than one casualty. The loved ones left behind hurt, passing through the stages of mourning, to hate and even revenge.
“Todd?” It was as if she had read his mind. “I can’t accept that.”
“We have other suspects too.”
“Who? Anatoe? Mr. Tatlow?”
“And Felton,” Gibson said.
“He can barely walk.”
“True, but we can’t rule out anyone now.” Gibson got up and stood by the window, gazing at the blackened clouds. He moved back. “We’ll begin with Todd,” he said after merely a second’s hesitation.
“Oh, boy.”
A muffled ring sounded. Eckhart glanced about the office. The squawk came from the corner. “It’s the landline.” She jumped out of her chair and yanked open the middle drawer of a filing cabinet. Another chirp.
“Eckhart.” She tugged at the tangled debris of cord and returned to her desk. “Yes, sir.” She planted her elbow on top and leaned into the phone, nodding in acknowledgement. “We’ll stick around.” The line went dead.
“That was the superintendent. He’s on his way.”
“I need a coffee.” Gibson stifled a yawn with his hand.
“Maybe the vending machines are functioning now. I heard some guys in the cafeteria.”
“I’ll go see.” He surged to his feet and walked down the hallway. Cooper was on his hands and knees in the reception area. “What are you doing?”
Cooper looked up and thumped his skull on the side of the counter. “Ouch.” He squatted back on his heels and smoothed the spot, a smirk passing over his features. “Connecting cables for the printer. Everything should work today.”
“Great. What’s Jones doing?”
“He went to get us a coffee. A team arrived to set up the cafeteria a few hours ago.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“So, Gregory’s out. What should we be doing?” Cooper stood up.
“You have the most important task. Maintaining the files,” Gibson answered.
The constable screwed up his snout.
“There wouldn’t be any convictions without chronological records. The Crown Attorney will cherish you.” Gibson flashed him a quirky smile.
“What’s up?” Jones asked as he sauntered in, putting two cups and several muffins on the desktop.
“Going for a coffee. Rodney is coming over,” Gibson answered.
When he returned, both DCs were on the floor tearing at the wires. He stepped into the office. Eckhart was on the phone. She held up a finger. Gibson sat and sipped on his latte.
“It’s Brandon.” She handed over the phone.
“Hello. Eckhart told you the news.” Gibson listened and responded, “Yes, we’ll call them right now.” He tossed the cell back. “Better get Gregory’s release okayed.”
She made a few more calls. A slapping of boots down the hallway alerted them to the superintendent. He swung into the room and plopped into a chair. It squealed with the onslaught. He tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. “So, we finally run the print and Gregory’s out. No hit at all.”
The two detectives shook their heads. Eckhart squirmed.
“What do we have?” he asked.
She offered him what they had. Nothing but suppositions and rumours. No concrete evidence.
“So, what now? We wait for someone to confess?” the superintendent said.
“We pound the pavement,” Gibson replied.
“How much longer are you here?”
Gibson realized it was coming. Should he commit? He fidgeted uncomfortably. “Till the end of the weekend.” Eckhart leaned in her chair and stared out the window.
“Better get at it.”
At the door, the superintendent looked back. “Thanks for your assistance.” He marched out.
“Ready?” Gibson pitched his paper cup into the garbage pail.
“Yup.” She left hers on the desk still half-full.
* * *
The drive to Lawsons Lane was uneventful. Eckhart refrained from drumming on the steering wheel. Gibson sprawled out and stared out the side window. The tires hummed over the grate on the bridge. He appreciated the mesmerizing sound. No ships in either direction, but in the far-off distance, a trail of black smoke drifted from Lock Two in the south. She veered left at the final intersection.
“Take us to the beach access first.”
Eckhart flipped him a quizzical expression, lines appearing between her eyebrows. She drew to the grassy shoulder at the end of the lane and clicked off the ignition. They remained for several minutes. He looked at the landing, not disclosing his thoughts. The Expedition creaked as the motor cooled down. Finally, he glanced at Eckhart and said, “We don’t have a handle on the motive yet. What about opportunity?”
Eckhart smoothed her hair from her forehead and faced him. She forced her lips together, sick of going over and over the same material. “We know Anatoe was there. And Mr. Tatlow.” She paused. “What are you thinking?”
“There was one other individual there?”
“Who?”
“David,” Gibson said.
“Oh, I suppose.”
“He told us he was.”
“Yeah.” Eckhart tucked her legs up and wiggled around until she confronted him full on.
“So, if we accept Anatoe went back to the house and Mr
. Tatlow left…” Gibson said, pausing for effect. “Did David return to the party? Or did he follow Elsie down the steps? Did he have time?”
Eckhart gasped. “Whoa. But here comes the why again.”
“Why? If we could answer that…” Gibson trailed off and shifted in his seat. “No. Let’s stick with Todd for the time being. We should find out what kind of person Elsie was. Todd cheated on her. And where was he during the fireworks? There’s more to understand.” He swivelled back. They locked eyes. Her deep pools of blue still haunting him, but losing ground.
Eckhart fired up the truck, made a one-eighty and headed to the top of the lane. The store looked desolate and uncared for. Gibson went down the path with his thoughts in a muddle. Eckhart’s springy step was gone as well. Todd’s vehicle sat in the driveway, a film of dirt glued to the windshield. Todd answered the door dressed in rumpled polyester pants and a pale blue shirt. He crept down the corridor to the living room with his slippers flopping, flinging dust bunnies along the baseboards. The pallor of his skin had altered somewhat, two pecks of pink showed on his cheeks. He hurled himself onto the couch and sunk into the cushions. “The funeral is in a few days.” He held back the tears, lashes stuck together from crying. His gesture swept the room.
“What’s this all for?”
Gibson sat in a chair by the unlit fireplace. Eckhart settled into a spot adjacent to Todd. The clicking of her fingernails echoed throughout the space.
“Did you murder Elsie?” Gibson saw no other course. The abruptness made Todd thrust back into the seat.
“What? No. I thought they arrested Gregory.”
“We’ve released him,” Gibson said. “Did you—”
“How could you suggest that?” he cut in. A solitary tear rolled from his inflamed eyes and slid down to his chin. He swept at it absently. There was an ache to his stillness, his hands clenching into fists. No sound left his trembling lips, just the heaving of his chest as he fought for air.
Gibson locked his smoky greys onto Todd’s lifeless eyes. Eckhart cringed. Here it comes. She clamped her mouth as Gibson spewed the nasty.
“We met Josephine. JoJo, if you like.”
Todd’s ears rang hollow. The room dimmed. He descended into its fervor. It spat him out, hurling him into the outstretched arms of his betrayal. His lie exposed. He blinked. More tears traced down his colourless face, the two spots of pink having fled.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 28
