STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  Suddenly the chase was on.

  The radio crackled once more, and then a call rang out up ahead.

  “Police. Stop.” That was Scottie.

  Gibson and Na ran toward the sound, raspy breathing slowing their progress as the path narrowed to a sharp incline. The radio crackled and hissed.

  “Everyone stay in position,” Scottie said, as she accelerated her pace to a full run.

  Gibson knew she wouldn’t even be breaking a sweat yet. The beating of her boots resonated down the hill, but grew fainter as the echo was swallowed up by the woods. Gibson could hear the beating of his heart as he pushed onward.

  * * *

  Scottie ran as fast as her legs would permit, leaving Gunner in the dust. Broken sprigs whipped across her face as she crashed through the undergrowth. Thorny bushes clawed at her and entangled her clothing. A spiky branch snatched her jacket, and she stumbled to a halt. She fought to pull herself loose, ripping her jacket in a desperate move to get up. As she barreled through the forest, her bare arms took the brunt of the slices and gashes from the unforgiving scrub. She felt her lungs screaming for air, and her heart thumping as hard as she had ever felt. Every once in a while, she would detect him, and then Ryder would vanish from sight. She knew she was losing ground; she could no longer perceive him thrashing as he rushed to get away. The gap was getting more substantial.

  Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted—the first sound of the nocturnal animals waking up. A rabbit bolted across the way. She stopped to listen and saw a deer path barely visible in the darkening light. It would cut through to an upper route, but would it be in the right direction?

  * * *

  Ryder ran through the undergrowth. He was small and quick and flew under the branches and spines that would tug and tear at everything that made contact. This forest was his friend. He had explored its paths and ways as a kid. The shout to stop made him sprint faster. He heard the yells of the others and let his fear drive him forward. His heart beat frantically, and his breath came in small spurts as he shot out of sight. He knew their guns and other gear would weigh them down. But once in a while, the lady appeared close behind. His worn runners slowed him down, so he crunched lower to pick up speed. Soon he felt her presence fade into the background. He walked slower, breaking once in a while to take heed. The sounds were in the distance.

  * * *

  Scottie jostled her way along the narrow trail and popped out at the crest of a ridge. She heard the crunch of something undefined. She turned toward the sound. Ryder stepped out from the shadows, just ten metres away. They locked eyes. Ryder jumped off the ledge and tumbled away.

  Scottie hesitated for only a moment and followed him over the cliff. She landed on her back with a hard thud. The snap vibrated up her leg and thundered in her ears.

  In the intense silence, the scream made Gibson’s blood turn cold.

  Ryder paused, but just for a second. Then he disappeared.

  Chapter 21

  “He escaped.” Gibson didn’t have the energy to explain any further.

  “You mean to tell me that one small boy got the better of ten police officers?” Rex shouted down the phone.

  Was there a question in there or was he rubbing it in? The police chief certainly wasn’t impressed with the outcome of the search. Gibson sank back into his chair, wishing he had broken something and was sitting in the hospital at this very moment. He supposed he had better tell Rex about that. Only the chief wasn’t finished with berating him. Gibson tapped the pencil against the desk in frustration, waiting for a lull in the conversation, so he could tell him the really bad news.

  Gunner stuck his head round the door. Gibson wasn’t in the mood for a chitchat and scowled at him, just as he had done with Na ten minutes earlier. The constable didn’t need any more convincing to move away. Gibson turned his attention back to the phone. There were things to settle with the police chief first.

  “Does Scottie have any other ideas where Ryder might hide out now?” Rex asked. “Seeing as he probably won’t go back to the park.”

  That was a dig that Gibson didn’t need or want. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly before speaking.

  “Scottie’s in the hospital. She fell and broke her leg. They operated early this morning.” He pulled the phone away from his ear anticipating the roar that came down the line.

  “What the hell? What are you guys doing?” Rex yelled. “You better get your shit together, Gibson.” He hung up.

  “She’ll be all right,” Gibson said to the hum of the broken connection.

  All right, then. That went smoothly enough. He lowered his head to his chest and rubbed his temple. Now might be a good time to find the father. Maybe that’s where Ryder would flee to next. He couldn’t think of the guy’s name. Scottie had the folder somewhere. He got up and walked down the hallway to her office.

  Early morning light filtered through the leaves and cast a greenish tinge in the room. The envelope was lying on the desk where she had flung it the day before. Gibson sat in her chair and pulled the file out. He flipped through the pages until he found the name. ‘Guy’. It seemed like a misprint, only he recognized it was a French name. Gibson hoped the man hadn’t moved back to Quebec. He stared out the window, trying to figure out how to locate this man. The eastern view toward downtown was nice—very different from his waterfront vista.

  He rubbed at his overworked thigh muscles. His body was as tired and sore as his mind was. He couldn’t think of the last time he had gone for a hike. Uphill at that. He wondered how the others were doing. They were a good deal younger than him. He needed to start exercising more. The thought of that made him even more achy. Gibson wandered back to his office and popped a couple of pain relievers. The search party had been a major failure, especially since Scottie had been hurt. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. The rest of his team would be in soon.

  “Are you all right, boss?” The fresh smell of coffee floated into the room. Gunner held up a big cup. “Latte for you. The way you like it.”

  Gibson motioned him to sit down. “Thanks.” He took a sip.

  From the hallway, the elevator creaked as it ground to a halt. Na stepped into the room and plunked into a chair. His eyes were red as if he hadn’t slept in a week. Gibson imagined they were all pretty tired out from last night’s chase.

  “Let’s move on from yesterday,” Gibson said.

  The constables nodded in agreement.

  “Did you have any luck with the crew scheduler from the ferries?”

  “The guy was very co-operative. I was totally surprised. Being a big company and all,” Na said.

  “What did he give you?”

  “We got the employee schedule for the maintenance department at the terminal.” He pulled out several pages from an envelope and handed them to Gibson. “This is the timetable for the whole month.”

  Someone, probably Na, had highlighted Kevin’s name, making it easy to see his schedule.

  “Last Thursday he worked with George Wright.”

  “Did you get this guy’s contact number?”

  “You bet.”

  “Good. What did he have to say?”

  “I didn’t get a hold of him yet. There was no answer.”

  “Okay.” Gibson ran his finger down the page. “George won’t be working again until tomorrow night. Looks like he’s paired with Kevin again.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Gunner asked.

  “Let’s stick to the plan. Surveillance tonight. If nothing comes of it, go back on Thursday night,” Gibson said. “When that shift is over have a chat with George regardless of whatever else happens. How does that sound?”

  “That’s great,” Gunner said.

  “Go home and get some rest this afternoon. It’ll be a long night for you guys.”

  “Thanks.” Na struggled to push himself up from the chair.

  “Those are some wobbly legs.”

  “Not used to hiking.”


  “We’re all in the same boat.”

  The DCs headed out.

  Gibson sat back in his seat. He could feel the pills taking hold. After a few moments, he leaned forward and punched Guy Simpson into the database.

  He got a hit. “Well, well. What have we here?” Gibson picked up the telephone and dialled Scottie’s friend at the RCMP. It took several minutes to reach Constable Grant’s desk.

  “Grant.” His husky voice had a friendly ring to it.

  “Hey. It’s Gibson. What can you tell me about Guy Simpson?”

  The constable laughed. “What’s he done now?’

  “Nothing that I know of. It’s Ryder’s dad. The boy with the knife.”

  “Right. I’ve had a few run-ins with him. Robbery. Never gives up. I saw his name somewhere lately.”

  “He was just released from Wilkinson jail a month ago,” Gibson said.

  “Hang on a sec. We get bulletins when any local jailbirds are back in the community. That’s probably where I saw his name.”

  Gibson heard a drawer slam and some rustling of papers.

  “There’s no address. He’s not on parole,” Grant said. “So he has no obligation to tell us anything.”

  “That’s a bummer.”

  “Why did you want to know?”

  “I was thinking Ryder might go to his dad’s place to hide,” Gibson said.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t any help at all. Call any time.”

  “Thanks.” Gibson hung up and put an ‘x’ through that task. There was no way to find out where Guy landed up after being released. He could even be on the streets. At least he understood why Paula had denied his existence. He was a real loser. She had sound grounds to fear for her son’s welfare with that bad influence. Not somebody to look up to for guidance. Gibson had to admit it wasn’t looking good for Ryder.

  Chapter 22

  It felt weird without Scottie hanging around. Even though they had their different way of looking at cases, more so lately, he missed her yang. It was almost time to visit her in the hospital, so he stuffed Ryder’s file back into the envelope. One of the pages slid off the desk. He stretched over to pluck it up and moaned. “Shit.” Every muscle in his body had seized up. He felt like somebody had handed him a righteous beating. The only thing lacking was the purple welts.

  He remembered Dianne’s bruised and battered body. How did that all fit in? It seemed logical, at least to him, that Kevin was the murderer. Only it was Ryder’s prints on the knife. Was there another explanation for that? There had to be more. Gibson’s mind flitted back and forth. He popped a couple more pills and stood up. Scottie’s office was darker now that the sun had moved around the building. Gibson flipped on a light and placed the envelope back where he had found it.

  As he turned to go, he stumbled and bumped the side of the desk. The monitor screen lit up and cast an eerie glow across the room. He was surprised Scottie hadn’t shut her computer down. It wasn’t like her to just up and leave. But he supposed everybody had been in a such a rush yesterday, it had been forgotten. He reached over to turn it off and observed the display. There was a video in frozen mode. Gibson pulled out the chair and sat down. It was the surveillance from the wine shop. The film was as grainy as Na had said. Gibson guessed Scottie must have been reviewing the film for herself. He regarded the date and time stamp. It read: 9.29 pm Thursday. She had already watched the whole thing. Gibson shut it down and popped the USB memory stick into his pocket before he left Scottie’s office.

  * * *

  The hospital was more than halfway to Sidney. Gibson cruised down the road feeling dispirited by last night’s round of events. As long as Scottie recovered completely, he wouldn’t have a problem putting it behind him. He turned left off the highway, and then right at the entrance.

  The receptionist flashed her teeth and directed him down the centre aisle. Scottie’s lodging was to the right, then a left, second door on the right. Gibson hesitated and strolled into the room with a light step. There was barely enough space for the single bed his partner was slumped in. The dozen or more flower arrangements took up the rest of the space, their scent failing to overpower the chemical smell. At the sight of a friendly face, Scottie made an effort to sit up.

  “Hey. Don’t bother.” He gestured around the room. “Lots of admirers.” He plunged into the lone chair, feeling stupid—he had forgotten to get her something.

  Scottie leaned back onto a stack of fluffy pillows. She seemed uncomfortable with her leg in a sling, held high in the air. Her face was pale with two dots of pink on her cheeks. A tube ran from a bag of liquid to a needle stuck in her arm. The beeping from a machine beside her sounded steady, reassuring.

  “That’s one hell of a contraption,” Gibson said. “You getting along okay?”

  “I guess.” Her voice was softer than usual. Probably from the drugs she was taking.

  “When are you getting out?”

  “Four days, maybe. Many weeks of walking with crutches.” Scottie shuddered. “Did you hear my scream?”

  “Yes.”

  “It hurts as much as it sounded.” She grimaced. “He got away. Damn it all. I tried.”

  “You went above and beyond.” He almost tapped her cast, then thought better of it. “We don’t know where he went.”

  “Ryder didn’t have his bomber jacket on. Just a white shirt. Maybe it was a tee shirt.”

  “We didn’t find his jacket anywhere around the camp site,” Gibson said. “Wonder where he ditched it?”

  “Hmm. What did Rex say?”

  “I think you know.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “We’ll find him.” It was an empty promise, but it made her smile.

  “Yeah. Sure.” Scottie closed her eyes.

  “I’ll let you rest now. I’ll come back later.”

  “Gunner was here earlier.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He told me the girl that was stabbed is in a room a few doors down on the right. She’s going to be okay.”

  “That’s good.” Gibson had read the report from the first officer at the scene. Apparently, the girl was dragged into an alley and stabbed three times. The attack had been brutal, and she had been badly injured.

  “Yeah, poor girl,” Scottie agreed. “Pass me that water, would you?”

  After she had a long sip, Gibson put the plastic cup back on the tray. He turned to say something else, but she had fallen asleep.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  Gibson left the room and walked down the hallway to find the girl. At the third door he saw her name in a placard fixed on its surface. ‘Carol Barton’. She was a slip of a girl, almost lost in the folds of the cotton bedding that covered her from tip to toe. She looked up when Gibson rapped on the door frame.

  “Hello. Are you a doctor?”

  “No. I’m a detective.”

  “Have you found who did this to my daughter?” A tall lady standing by the window turned toward Gibson.

  “No. I’m not on the case. Just checking in to see if Carol is doing okay.”

  “She’s doing well. I’m taking her home tomorrow,” Mrs. Barton said.

  “Good.” Gibson lingered in the doorway.

  “He was just a kid.” Carol’s eyes were wide and filled with tears.

  “I’m sure the police will get him,” Gibson said and turned to leave. Like he told her, it wasn’t his case. He could always ask the officer in charge if they had any suspects. Like Ryder.

  “He had a tattoo on his wrist. A symbol or cross.”

  “You take care now.”

  He walked down the hall and peeked into Scottie’s room. She was still out like a light. As he plodded back to his vehicle, his legs protested. He found some aspirin in the console and swallowed a few. He knew who the girl’s assailant wasn’t. No tattoos on Ryder.

  Chapter 23

  A drive to the office seemed almost insurmountable at this point, what with the rush hour in full swing. It would
have been easy to take off for the rest of the day. With Scottie in the infirmary and the DCs resting up for their stakeout, who would complain? But Gibson wasn’t that kind of person.

  Furthermore, there was the tension he was feeling about his plans for the evening. He had suggested inviting Anatoe for dinner and Katherine had agreed. It surprised him she hadn’t been haranguing him about it. The approach of motherhood was having a calming force on her moods. Even when faced with the revelation that Gibson had a son, it didn’t seem to bother her. He hoped this state of tranquility would prevail over the coming months. Besides, he thought it prudent to stay away from the preparations his wife would be making at home and get back to work. As a consequence, he sat in a long line of vehicles leading to town. As if on cue, his cell phone rang. He viewed the screen.

  “Hello.”

  “When are you coming home?” Her voice was quietly untroubled.

  “Ah. In a few hours.” He was uncertain if this was the calm before the storm or whether she had come to terms with the situation.

  “Pick up some wine. I’m making jambalaya.”

  “White, then?”

  “That would be nice. A Gewürztraminer?”

  “Okay. See you soon.” Katherine blew him a kiss and hung up.

  The traffic was practically at a standstill. He moved slowly in a stop-start fashion. As he rounded a bend in the road, he saw a blue light flashing up ahead. An accident. That explained the gridlock. There was a car rolled over onto its hood in the ditch. A truck faced the wrong way and blocked one lane. Gibson inched slowly forward. As soon as he passed by the scene, the highway opened up. He flew the remainder of the way into the city.

  * * *

  Gibson sat in his office, his feet propped up on his desk. They couldn’t decide anything more about Ryder until he showed up someplace. But he had other things to check out. He still considered Kevin a likely suspect. Gibson perused the phone records of the Meadows family. They revealed nothing unusual. Calling each other, keeping tabs on the kid. No clandestine meetings with lovers from either of them. Although he was sure Kevin was having an affair. He pushed through some paperwork so it wouldn’t bog him down. There was always too much red tape. Read this. Sign that.