“That’ll be our next stop.”
A burly man hastened over to them.
“Good afternoon, detectives. I’m Jackson Parker. How may I serve you?”
The manager was dressed in a suit of fine summer wool, a sombre shade of azure. The tie was a paler blue with a diamond stick pinned in the centre. He wore his thinning hair short, held into place with a sandalwood scented gel. Everything perfect, except for the watermarks on his suede shoes.
Gibson stared down at his own soggy shoes and grinned sheepishly.
“May we speak in private?”
“By all means, my apologies. This way.” He pointed to the office that the young lady had left only minutes earlier.
It was a substantial room befitting a director of a national bank. The walls were decorated with various diplomas and certification from the most reputable academic institutions in the country—McGill and Queen’s University. The files, layered in messy piles on the desktop, were strangely at odds with its gleaming surface. Nestled among the papers was a wedding picture in a gilded frame. The lady was willow-wand thin with a shallow, pale face and dull eyes. Compared to the rugged square chin of her husband and his deep ocean green eyes, the couple were quite a contrast to each other; in appearance anyway. Who knew about their thoughts?
Gibson pulled his gaze from the picture and blushed when he realized the manager was regarding him closely.
A roguish smirk passed over Jackson’s lips momentarily, and then it took flight. It was superseded by the grave expression most people expect from a banker. “That’s my wife. Of twenty years. Are you married, detective?”
“Indeed, but not as long as that.”
Scottie shook her head.
“Well, have a seat.” Jackson pointed to the chairs in front of his desk.
“We have some bad news to report.”
“Really? I can’t imagine.”
“It’s about Dianne Meadows,” Gibson said.
“It’s her day off.”
“I’m very sorry, but Mrs. Meadows is dead.”
“What? Are you sure?” He sought the room for somewhere to fasten his eyes on. They landed on the wedding photo.
“Yes, we are.”
“Was it a car accident or something? Surely, not a heart attack. She’s way too young for that.”
“She was murdered.”
“Oh, my God! How? Who?” Jackson sputtered over his questions and rubbed at his chin. “I can’t believe it.” He pushed back into his seat and wiped his brow.
Before Gibson could utter anything more Jackson asked, “How is Kevin bearing the news?”
“It’s what you would predict. He’s in shock.”
“And Virginia? Oh, dear!”
“She’s not taking it well. It’s very hard on her. Losing her mom.”
“What can I do?” Jackson asked. He surveyed the detectives.
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Meadows?” Gibson asked, choosing to ignore the question.
“Dianne worked until about six yesterday. She was the last person out beside me, of course. I was here quite late working on a project.” Jackson peered at his gold watch. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have a meeting across town to get to.”
“All right, just a few more questions,” Gibson said. “We understand she was the loans manager. What can you tell us about her work? Any client problems?”
“Absolutely not,” Jackson said. “All above board. She was much loved and respected by everyone. Her clients. Her fellow colleagues. There’s nothing to see here. Nothing.”
“We would like to speak to each member of staff,” Gibson said as he stood up. “Just briefly. If you could arrange that?”
“To be sure, use my office. It’s more private.” With that, Jackson headed to the receptionist and after a moment returned.
“It’s all arranged. I must be on my way now. It’s a terrible tragedy.”
“Much appreciated.”
Jackson picked up his various folders, jammed them into a briefcase and left. The detectives talked to each employee in turn. Nobody had encountered Dianne after work on Thursday. One young woman had been invited to the baby shower but hadn’t been able to make it. She gave them the name and number of the hostess.
Everybody seemed to like Dianne, although apparently she was a very reserved person. Agreeing to go to the shower was a bit out of character for her, as she typically avoided crowds. But there were no negative comments made about this soft-spoken lady. Nothing untoward. Dianne was just a normal everyday working mom.
As soon as they stepped outside, Scottie said, “Let’s grab that sandwich now.” The clouds had dispersed. The puddles in the parking lot had evaporated by the heat of the sun. It had turned into a lovely sunny afternoon. They got into the vehicle. Scottie started up the engine.
A sharp rap on the glass startled Gibson. It was a young lady from the bank. He rolled the window down. She stood there, her fingers tugging at the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes were filled with anguish. He waited for her to say something.
“I think Dianne was having troubles at home.” She spoke in a subdued voice, glancing back at the doors.
“What kind of problems?”
“You know. Family.” She swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” She moved away and fled back inside before Gibson could ask anything else.
Chapter 7
A faint breeze coming off the ocean blew along Beacon Avenue where Scottie, once again, hunted for a place to park. Gibson kept his window open and breathed in the fresh salt air. She pulled in front of a pizza joint and shut off the engine.
“This is the closest I can get. Not much closer than we were a minute ago.”
“No problem. Can I buy you a beer and a slice instead of a sandwich?” He peeked at his watch. “It’s nearly time to go home.”
“You said it.”
The restaurant wasn’t very busy at all. A group of women, laughing and gossiping, were crowded together in a corner stall. Two lovebirds were in another, holding hands and sipping white wine as they gazed into each other’s eyes. The waiter came with a menu straight away and rambled off the specials. They ordered and sat back to consider the day.
“So, what was that girl’s name that just spoke to us outside?” Gibson asked.
“Was it Chelsea?” Scottie pulled out her trusty notebook and scanned the pages. “Yup. Chelsea Stone. She’s the head teller.”
“She knew about the shower and handed us the contact number. But she didn’t go?”
“That’s right. She couldn’t make it.” Scottie peered at the waiter who dropped off two mugs of beer and a pizza. “Thanks.”
“What do you think she meant about trouble at Dianne’s home? Was she privy to the domestic violence going on there?”
“We haven’t any confirmation of domestic violence in the home. Dianne could be one of those accident-prone people.” Scottie rolled her eyes.
“It seems like a logical conclusion to me.”
“Perhaps so, Gibson. Only, we can’t just be spouting out accusations without any proof.”
“I’ll get Na to check out the hospital records. And we should have another chat with Chelsea. It’s possible Dianne confided things to her. You know, someone to share your sorrows with.”
“Okay. That’s reasonable.”
“Wow. Now I’m reasonable.”
Scottie poked him on the shoulder. “You have been prickly lately. I didn’t want to say, but is there a problem with Katherine or the baby or...”
“No. Nothing like that.” Gibson patted his pocket and felt the letter. “I’ll tell you later.”
They finished up their snack and walked to the waterfront. A truck parked along the boulevard close to the rock outcrops had a diver’s emblem, a red and white flag, painted on its side panel. There were several men standing around with wet suits pulled down to their waist. The detectives walked under the yellow tape and approached the crime scene. Gibson did
n’t know these guys and produced his badge. They shook hands and introduced themselves.
“Where are Gunner and Na?”
“They left hours ago.”
“Have you uncovered anything yet?”
“No. Nothing. But there are two divers still in the water.” He contemplated the gigantic instrument on his wrist. “They’ll be up in ten minutes. Tops.”
“We’ll wait.”
“It’ll be the final dive for the day. Do you want us back tomorrow, if the last guys come back empty?”
“We’ll see.” Gibson shrugged. The detectives walked out onto the rocks and scanned the area. “Na would have called if they discovered anything here?”
“Sure he would.”
They wandered around aimlessly, staring down into dark crevices. There were pools of water with tiny crabs trapped in the hollows carved out by the constant motion of the ocean. Some contained starfishes waiting for the tide to liberate them. Gibson looked out into the small cove. He knew an artificial reef made of hollow concrete spheres surrounded the pier and attracted divers from all around. Only today the area was roped off as part of the crime scene, and the divers had been turned away.
Gibson felt the sting of a cool wind on his cheek. The breeze had rallied in the last few hours, blowing down Haro Strait, bringing a chill to the salty air. A few boats at anchor bobbed in the waves, tugging on their lifelines. The choppy water broke around the rocks in the shallows. As the tide rolled in, they disappeared beneath the surface. Closer to shore, Gibson noticed the two divers as they emerged from the sea, an object in the hand of the diver nearest to him. Had they recovered something?
The men clambered over the rocky shoreline and headed to the truck. The detectives followed them as quickly as they could, hoping for the best. The man in charge turned around when Gibson approached.
“Did you find something?” Gibson asked.
“Just a bunch of junk. No knife.” He held up the bag for the detectives to see.
“Okay, thanks for all your help.”
“Should we come back tomorrow?”
“No. It was a long shot.”
As the divers packed up their equipment, the detectives wandered along the beach at the high tide mark to discuss what to do next.
“We need the murder weapon,” Scottie said.
“Definitely.”
They walked for a good stretch along the rocky shoreline before turning back, all the while scanning the ground in hopes of finding something. Before the sinking sun disappeared behind the distant hills, its final rays of light lingered in the sky. A quick flash caught Gibson’s eye. He found himself looking down at a knife jammed tightly into a crevice.
“Holy shit,” Gibson said. “Did we just find the murder weapon?” He put on some latex gloves and pulled the object from its hiding place. It was a single-edged knife with a groove on its thin blade. The handle had no wear on the varnish, practically brand new. And, it was smeared with a dried patch of brown.
“It has to be. That’s blood,” Scottie said. “Let’s pray there are prints, as well.
Chapter 8
At first, Ryder had run through the side streets and looped back to the hostel that was housed in a building beside the skate park. Everything he owned was in his backpack in a locker in the back room. Did he dare walk right in and collect it? He decided to wait it out and sat on the uppermost ridge of the cement rink instead.
The lights that usually shone on the park had shut off an hour ago. He was just another shadow against the grey backdrop. It wasn’t the first time he had sat there and contemplated life. And it wasn’t the first time he wished he had a cigarette to occupy his hands. But money was limited, and if he begged for a smoke now, he would expose himself unnecessarily. Better to stay hidden until he could figure out what to do next.
As a result he sat there, crunched into as small a figure as he could, to observe the entrance of the hostel, striking his hands nervously on his thighs. So far there hadn’t been a great deal to see. No flurry of activity. No police came. But time was quickly running out. The doors would shut at midnight until seven the following day. He watched as the last of the daytime staff left the building. With only one attendant on the night shift, he made his move.
As nonchalantly as he could, Ryder strolled into the building past the admission window. A quick peep over told him that Stud was still in the back brewing a pot of coffee to keep himself awake into the small hours of the morning. He hurried to the washout area and cleaned up as fast as he could. He twirled the lock and retrieved his pack. Nobody had spotted him yet, so he crept down the hallway to make his escape. That’s when his luck ran out.
“Hey, Ryder. Not staying the night?” Stud shouted at him.
Damn. Ryder threw him a wave and sped out the door back to his observation post on the upper side of the rink. He had been on the street for a few weeks now and was used to the push and pull of the old-timers. It was the newer, younger crowd that he dreaded. They were into drugs, and scuffles were the norm. Usually he could deflect them. But when he couldn’t, his trusty knife was his ally. The speed weasels almost peed themselves at the sight of the razor-sharp blade and would scowl and flee. Only after the struggle with Dianne, all he had left now were his bare hands to defend himself, and that wasn’t enough. Ryder lay his head on his backpack and stared up at the stars. Before long his eyes grew heavy, and he fell asleep.
Ryder woke up with a start, but didn’t move a muscle. Was it a threat? He held his breath, but the only sound he heard was the twittering of birds. No stealthy footsteps scraping up the steep incline for a surprise attack. As he sat up, the first ray of light flashed in his eyes, intensified by its path across the smooth ocean water. The sunlight warmed his cold body with just his jacket to shelter him from the dew that had formed in the early hours.
Even as Ryder pulled his knees up to his chest into a tight ball, he realized the jacket would have to go. He rifled through his pack to see how much cash he had left. A coin slipped from his fingers and rolled down the embankment of the skate rink, spiralling into a perfect landing at the bottom. He fetched the coin and split. As Ryder walked away, he tore off his jacket and searched for a bin in which to discard it. But something cautioned him to dispose of it farther afield, so he kept walking toward the town centre. It wasn’t long before he found a dumpster at a construction site and pitched it into the rubble, never to be seen again.
Ryder felt a bit disoriented from lack of food, and probably from fear as well. He stepped into a fast-food restaurant and grabbed a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. It seemed prudent to keep moving, so he ate while he walked and thought about his quandary. Ryder felt better after getting some food in his growling belly, seeing as he hadn’t eaten for almost a day. At that point, it dawned on him that if the knife wasn’t recovered, he would be free and clear from the whole mess. He headed down to the bay, deciding to hang out on the pier or in some spot where he would be unnoticed. When he got there, a dive team was already in search of the weapon. Ryder spent the day, coming and going from the crime scene, trying to remain invisible. It was late in the day when they retrieved the knife. Not from the water but from the shore. He was screwed.
Ryder took off to find himself a place to hide.
Chapter 9
The empty building made Gibson’s footsteps echo as he climbed up the marble steps to his office. His uncluttered desk wouldn’t remain that way for long. It was only a matter of time before the paperwork stacked up as their investigation went on. He pulled out the letter that had found a home in his pocket since its arrival and slipped the note from its envelope. The embossed paper had a rich feel under his fingertips. The handwriting was bold with strong vertical lines. Gibson perused the letter before his team showed up. It posed a dilemma that he didn’t need right now—with the new homicide case and a baby on its way. If nothing else, a phone call was in order. What would he tell Katherine? A gentle knock on the door broke his concentration.
> “Hey.” Scottie sat down and placed a folder on the edge of the desk.
Gibson put the letter into his pocket.
“What’s that?” Scottie regarded him with suspicion.
“Nothing.”
“I printed out all I could find about the rash of robberies. I only included muggings at knifepoint.” She pushed the folder across the desk.
A thumping noise of boots resonated in the hall as the two constables made a mad dash up the steps. Gunner leaned on the door frame waiting for Na to catch up. The thin scar on the side of his face stood out pale against his flushed skin. His nut-brown hair was cut shorter than usual, although the long bangs still covered his brow. He grinned that lopsided sneer that Gibson was becoming endeared to. Na came to a halt beside Gunner, his shoes squeaking on the polished floors. He wore jeans and a tee shirt today instead of his pressed pants and open-neck shirt. His weekend outfit, work or no work.
“Gentleman. Have a seat,” Gibson said. “How did it go yesterday? Find any witnesses?”
“We went to see the divers first as you requested, but—” Na started.
“Sorry, I should have called you. We found a knife later on in the afternoon. It was stuck in a crevice above the high-water mark,” Gibson said. “It’s at the laboratory. We’ll see what happens next. I think it’s the murder weapon. I’m hoping it is.”
“All right. We were pretty busy canvassing the neighbourhood. There are three condo buildings along the waterfront near the crime scene. Gunner and I split up so we could get to each apartment.” He smirked at his partner. “Luckily for us, this town has plenty of seniors. So most people were home.”
“And?” Gibson leaned back in his chair. There was no making this go any faster.
“The people in the back of the building didn’t witness anything at all. Most of them with a view at the front had gone to bed by nine.” Na shrugged. “We tracked down two people who gave us some information. Maybe it will help. A man on the first floor said he heard a commotion around nine-thirty. His window overlooks the rock outcrops, but unfortunately there isn’t much light that way, so he didn’t actually see anything. He grumbled about how the old biddies had complained about light shining in their windows. Consequently, the council removed several lamps and switched to lower wattage with the rest. He said the witches should get drapes. So that was that.”
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 37
