Cooper shook his head.
“That’s okay. Elimination is as important as finding things. Right?”
“I suppose.”
“What about Mr. Tatlow? Did you find anything there?”
“No. There was never an investigation, but I went to the hospital and rifled through a ton of paperwork. I didn’t have a date to start with. But there aren’t that many infant deaths, so I found the file fairly quickly. His wife died in childbirth. No funny business.”
“Well, it was a long shot. I’m just looking for people connections.” Gibson wasn’t sure how any of it would have fitted in, but he had been surprised before. He looked around the office. “I see you guys are prepared to rock and roll now. Great set up.”
“Yes. We are. Because of you,” Eckhart said, her voice warm with appreciation. She smiled at Gibson.
“No problem. I—” His phone chirped. He checked the screen and held up a finger. Oh good. “Hi, David. I’m with Inspector Eckhart and DC Cooper. I’m putting you on speaker.” Gibson fumbled with the buttons. A buzz sounded, and they could hear David breathing down the line. Gibson arranged the cell on the desk and hunched forward.
“Okay. Thanks for calling,” Gibson said. “On the afternoon of the fireworks, I understand you and Jackie stopped at Jacobs Landing.”
“Yeah, we did.”
“And you sat in the car while Jackie went inside.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you watching who was coming and going?”
“Sure, I guess I was. But I’m not from around here so I didn’t really know anyone,” David answered.
“Okay. Tell me what you can,” Gibson said.
“The first person I saw was this old man. He had the creepiest eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it. They were pure black and freaky looking. He went in the store right after Jackie did. Later I found out that was Mr. Tatlow. Apparently, he’s well known around here, lives by the beach. Then, after a few minutes, an old woman in a straw hat left the store and headed down the lane. Mr. Tatlow came out of the store right behind her and went down the lane as well. There were a few other people that I can’t remember much about. But then a nice turquoise pickup pulled into the parking lot. Of course, I know now that was Anatoe. Then Jackie returned and we left.”
“That’s it? A few more details would be helpful,” Gibson said.
“What? Did you want me to write up a report or something? Nobody rushed out with a bloody knife,” David yelled, emitting a scornful sound.
No one spoke.
“Oh, that was lousy of me. I don’t know why I said that. But how many times can I go through this?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re all feeling tense,” Gibson answered. He kept forgetting that David’s boss had been murdered last year. Give him a break. “If you think of anything else. No matter how trivial it seems, call me.”
“Sure. Sorry. I really am.”
“Thanks for your help.”
David hung up without retorting. The speakerphone droned for a time before he punched a button and silence gripped the room.
“Let’s have lunch.”
“You guys did well,” Gibson said and extended the DC a fist pump.
“Thanks.” Cooper collapsed into the leather seat, intertwining his fingers behind his neck and gazed at the ceiling with a plucky grin smeared around his features.
“I’m taking you to the Skyline,” Eckhart announced. When they walked out of the office, Daisy was on the phone so they chopped her a salute.
A sweltering heat pushed in when Gibson swung the door open. “Whoa. It’s hardly past noon.”
They plunged into the blaze of brightness. The Iris skies had dulled to a paler rendering of blue. Even the birds were subdued. They headed out of town. Gibson relaxed, unfolding his legs in front, always ready to stretch out his tall frame. Eckhart raised the volume of the radio to one notch below annoying. The roads spread in all angles, from the escarpment to the lake and overflowing into the next town. The suburban sprawl bumped into the vineyards that had sprung up over the last decade. Once they struck the Queen Elizabeth Highway, it was easy sailing to Niagara Falls. Eckhart meandered through the boulevards when they hit town, but parked in a no-parking zone nonetheless, her normal MO. They hastened to the relative cool of the glass and steel lobby and jetted to the top of the tower in a box of white marble walls and a grey tile floor. As Gibson stepped out of the elevator, he collided into the last person he expected to see—Arthur Brockelman. He stroked his crooked snout, recalling in that instant the tussle with Katherine’s ex-husband.
The bloke stared hard at him, his eyes taking on a lethal edge. His hands bunched into fists at his side, ready for a tumble. After only a moment’s pause, he snarled, “Gibson.”
“Brockelman.” Gibson pressed his lips together. They remained in limbo, Eckhart wavering in the background.
Arthur’s young companion twiddled her hair in an absent-minded fashion. A slight smile trembled on her mouth, not sure whether this was a friendly encounter or not. Arthur caught her arm, compressing it as if he was making lemonade. With a little manhandling, he navigated her over the elevator’s threshold. Before the doors glided shut, he gave Gibson the finger.
“What the hell,” Eckhart cried out.
“Don’t fret about it. It’s not important,” Gibson answered even as his insides churned. Arthur’s emotional abuse toward Katherine had been cruel and unforgiving. He had cut her off from her friends and family. The bullying had continued unabated until she miscarried. Gibson clutched his fists, wishing he had taken another swing at the bastard.
* * *
They were seated by a young hostess in a cap sleeve blouse and brightly coloured frilly skirt. Tinted windows filtered the sun’s intensity, giving the space a warm glow. The panorama view unfolded in high definition. The movement of the revolving dining room was imperceptible. They relaxed in billowy cushions. Gibson glanced two hundred metres below to tiny people snapping selfies and minuscule vehicles roving the streets. He imagined the prime attraction was the renowned Canadian Horseshoe Falls, which spilled tons of water from lake to lake. He never got sick of seeing the fast-flowing river charge past the rocky peak and topple onto the boulders below. Like a train barrelling through the prairie lowlands, there was no speed limit. The mist created by the force sprayed loftier than the steep dive of the water had. Although Gibson couldn’t hear the roar from the top of the tower, he knew it was deafening.
Contentment—a feeling of connection to life—overwhelmed him. Something he had misplaced over the last few months. He rolled his neck back and forth and savoured the moment. Bodies of water always brought him peace.
They ordered lunch from an equally young waitress with the same cap sleeve blouse and a vividly coloured skirt. Eckhart twirled her glass of water making the ice cubes clink, breaking the stillness.
“So, what do you think?” Gibson asked as he watched the falls tumble on a never-ending journey.
“About what?” She inclined her head toward her shoulder and peeked sideways.
Gibson discounted her blatantly coquettish manner.
“Elsie.” He gazed at the falls when it rotated back into view. “Did the gossiping get her killed in some way? Did she confront someone weeks before? Maybe months ago.”
“And what? The killer waited?” Eckhart asked.
“Perhaps. For the perfect stage.”
“What could she have said that would make a person go to such extremes?” Eckhart waggled her head in incredulity.
“Maybe she found out someone’s nasty secret. Or heaven forbid.” The notion smacked him in the face. “Was she blackmailing someone?”
“For what?”
Gibson’s weak smile stretched his lip down over his teeth. He was considering the madness of the human race—greed, wealth, power.
“So, whose ring is it?” Eckhart demanded. “Was that a fluke? Was it lost some other time?”
“I’m not sure. We may never bre
ak the case. Be prepared for that. You appreciate how it is. We have one print, a partial at that. No match. No straight path to follow.”
“I know. Shit. My first case of the Task Force,” Eckhart replied. She tugged at the barrette holding her hair into a bun. Her long locks gushed over her shoulders in a free fall. As the view rotated to the west, the late afternoon light slanted through the window and advanced across the tables. It lit her amber hair into a sheaf of gold.
“It happens.” Gibson reached over and laid his palm over hers to reassure. No electricity. No jolt. Eckhart jerked her hand back and broke her gaze. A sour and vile taste slipped into Gibson’s mouth. He craved to spew the shame away, but realized he had to accept it. He lowered his head and caressed his temple. All he sought was to hear Katherine’s gentle voice, her innocence. Was he as rotten as Arthur was? He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He thought about the brunette in the pub the other day—Cecilia Sinclair. It was his little fling with her that had ended his first marriage. He had debated, at the time, whether to confess to his wife. Women say they want to know, and then when you tell them they go berserk. But he didn’t get a chance to tell her because Cecilia had phoned the house. She had something to tell him. After all these years, he knew what it was. Cecilia had been pregnant with his child. Just like his good buddy had told him. Should he tell Katherine what he had done here? Would she give him a second chance or throw him out of the house? Yeah, he was a rogue.
“Good lunch.” His tone dispassionate.
“We should fly. I’ll just pop into the ladies’ room.” Eckhart examined her manicured nails and flipped him a droll smirk. Gibson rose promptly and drew out her chair. He headed for the cashier and settled the bill, ready to get moving. She returned, swinging her handbag as she walked through the din, making heads turn at her beauty. They rode the crowded elevator down in silence, their hands converging briefly. He pressed into the wall. The pavement was hot enough to fry just about anything. His skin glistened with the insufferable temperature, every piece of his clothing getting damp instantly. Eckhart seemed unaffected. A spray from the falls cooled him as he hustled to the truck.
“What next?” She fired up the engine and set the air conditioning to full blast.
“Well.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s early, but—”
“Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“No. Red-eye Sunday.”
“Oh.”
“We should have a final run to Lawsons Lane in the morning,” Gibson said. Was the answer there? He had a suspicion it was somehow. He had had that feeling all along. If he could only find it. “Last chance for me to look around.”
“Okay. I guess it can’t hurt,” Eckhart replied. She felt they had exhausted all leads, and her case was sunk.
The ride to town was brisk, the growl of the engine pumping out five hundred horsepower with efficiency. Gibson viewed the scenery passing by, not altering much. A long black road rolled out in front, waves of roasted air distorting the perspective. The Expedition didn’t falter when they reached the gradient of the high-level bridge—the Garden City Skyway. Six lanes of traffic zoomed over the canal. Gibson glanced in both directions. The waterway stretched for miles. He settled into the leather seat and thought of his family.
* * *
The concrete and wood building accented with a stone facade stood ominously in the offensively bright and cheery sunlight. Jackie and Savannah linked arms as they mounted the steps toward a massive oak door. The wrought iron handle and strapping were as dark as their mood. Savannah leaned into her friend, body quivering and her legs willing to buckle. They crept down the aisle slowly. The aroma of church myrrh incensed the air, wafting over and through the throng of people sitting in metal folding chairs, all lined up in tight formation. Most of them looked uncomfortable, but was it the hard chairs or the fact that Elsie had been murdered that made their waxy faces dour? Their black attire and stilted whispers filled the capacious room.
A mahogany coffin, front and centre, loomed as a dark mass below a wooden crucifix nailed to the wall. Dramatic tributes of gladioli, lilies, chrysanthemums and carnations fought for territory at the front. The abundance of flowers should have been a comfort to Todd, knowing that his wife was well-loved, but he didn’t notice anything except the narrow box cloaked in dusty pink roses. He sat in the front row, his gaze flitting from the coffin to the scarred floors and back. His shallow breathing rasped at each intake and stuttered at each exhale. Jackie ushered her friend forward, to the section reserved for family and close acquaintances. When they got there, Savannah looked briefly at the still figure in the mahogany box and wilted into the chair next to her brother-in-law.
“Are you okay?” Jackie asked. She struggled not to cough into the quietude of the cathedral as her voice stuck somewhere halfway down her throat.
Savannah answered with a slight nod and a sharp snort of breath. Jackie sat restlessly beside her friend, adjusting the pleats of her skirt and pressing on her thighs with damp palms. Gregory came into the church on his own and sat behind them.
The preacher delivered a Dylan Thomas poem. Motionlessness embraced Elsie’s friends. A shaft of sunlight bore through the stained glass from the arched windows above, attempting to dispel the grief. Burning candles set upon gold-threaded silk cloth on the altar flickered in response. But it was darkness that held the mourners. The preacher’s remarks shifted into a lullaby finally allowing the throng to relax. The sorrow scattered, leaving behind only affection for the departed. Jackie seized her companion’s hand, shedding her warmth onto the frigid fingers. Jackie closed her eyes and envisioned her existence. Sadness washed over her like frothy waves on a storm-battered coast. A sultry breeze fluttered in through the open door, abating the hotness on her face, offering a fragrance of promise. An angelic hymn floated from the wooden beams to conclude the service. Todd shed no tears. He rose and approached the coffin, stroking the smooth wood as if he sensed Elsie’s skin beneath his caress. Savannah wept, the lines on her cheeks testimony to her loss. The whoosh of clothing rarely worn and the shuffling of stiff shoes aroused Jackie from her reverie as people got up from their chairs.
The chatter began. The jangle of wine filled glasses and crystal whiskey tumblers announced the real ceremony. The line-up at the bar snaked around the corner and down the hallway. Men loosened ties that smothered their moist necks, and women pulled at cotton fabric adhering to their sticky legs. Children ran outside and played.
Jackie remained next to Savannah while a chain of condolences bombarded her friend’s already faltering resolve. Gregory stood close by, to be there for her but not to impede. The loud exhalation of breath and an occasional moan from Todd was noticed by most. A cursory glance toward Todd confirmed his despair was increasing. A vibration in Jackie’s handbag caught her attention. The pulsations throbbed in her palm as she retrieved her cell. She glanced at the text from her mother. ‘Dad is home’. Things were moving in a desirable direction. Reggie came over and stood beside Gregory—more support. Not a bead of perspiration spoiled his smooth and dry skin. His suit had a sheen of expensive, a red pinstripe subtly cutting through the black. Jackie smiled and strode outside. She had the airline website in her favourites and booked a flight for that night. Then she called her mom who answered after several rings.
“Sorry, dear. Just getting dad settled.” Her tone sounded lighter, freer.
“Dad will be okay now, right?” Jackie asked.
“Yes. The procedure worked. He’ll be fine,” she answered.
“Mom. That’s a relief.”
“Yes, it is. How was the funeral? I didn’t want to miss it, but I...”
“It was good,” Jackie said. “But I’m flying home tonight. I have my own family to take care of. After what Savannah and Todd are going through, I feel like I shouldn’t waste a moment. I love you guys.”
“I know you do. We love you too,” her mom replied.
“I’m on my way now. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Okay, dear.”
Jackie pushed the hang-up button with purpose before she glanced up.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Take care.” Reggie locked onto her emerald eyes and sighed. The one that got away.
Jackie skipped into the hubbub and dragged Savannah into a corner.
“I’m going home now.”
“To Victoria?”
“Yes.”
The friends hugged, hanging on for several minutes. Jackie climbed into the Lincoln and with a squeal of tires left the parking lot to her parents’ house. She rushed inside to see her dad nestled in his favourite spot, a glass clutched in his hand. Jackie froze. Dad chuckled.
“It’s tomato juice, honey,” he said.
“You bum.” Her laughter was a gurgling stream.
“How are you getting to the airport?” her mom shouted down the stairs.
“Shuttle bus.”
Soon after, Jackie was leaning back in her seat, headed to the airport. She texted David.
“On my way home. Love you.”
Two seconds later, her cell vibrated.
“Same.”
* * *
Gibson remained on the balcony watching the last rays of the day slip below the skyline and the shadows steal the night. Dusk brought a refreshing coolness. He looked at the screen on his cell for the hundredth time. No reply. All his calls home had gone to voicemail.
Gibson dropped onto the bed, sinking into its promise of slumber. He was overwrought by the weight of his behaviour. Memories flooded his psyche as his heart thumped with a yearning. He brushed his fingers along the edges of the duvet. The pillow captured his throbbing head. He lay unmoving and caved in to the invitation. After only a couple of fitful hours, he was awakened by a horn honking in the distance and the slamming of a door. The time trickled by, his mind a whirlwind of relentless images until he tumbled back to his nightmare.
Chapter 18
He’s racing for the bus and topples; a wisp of black smoke smothers his face. Someone is shaking him.
The shuddering of his cell still clasped in his fist awakened him. Startled, Gibson sat up promptly, slinging out his arm. The phone eluded his grasp and thudded along the floor in a spiral. He heard a bang as it deflected off some object, maybe the desk. Gibson vaulted off the bed, presuming it had come to rest somewhere between the bathroom and an armchair. His foot caught the edge and kicked it across the suite toward the glass door. He just about knocked the lamp off the bedside table fumbling with the switch. Finally, he snatched it and answered, “Gibson,” uncertain who was on the other end; not confident it was even functioning after its gymnastic workout.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 31
