“Sunday.”
“Ah, shit. Have you got a number for him?”
Na flipped through his notebook and gave his boss the info. Gibson also took the name and berth number of the yacht.
“Great job, you guys. Catch you Monday unless something comes up.”
“Thanks. I have a soccer game to get to,” Gunner said and flexed his arms.
After they left, Gibson gathered the stack of files he had compiled for his partner. He walked down the hallway to her office and placed them on the desk. After checking his watch, he realized visiting hours at the hospital had started. He stepped outside to a warm day. The sun had burned off the last of the mist and dispelled the dreariness. When he arrived at the hospital, it surprised him the parking lot was empty. He strolled into the lobby and greeted the receptionist. She threw a little half-wave his way.
Scottie was sitting on the edge of the bed with her broken leg stuck out in front. The white plaster was covered in signatures. She scratched at the itchy skin inside the lip of the cast with a plastic fork.
“How are you doing?” Gibson asked.
“I’ll be fine. Back to work before you know it.”
It was just as Gibson thought.
“Any news about anything?” Scottie asked, stifling a yawn.
“It’s slow going. But Na and Gunner saw Kevin leave the ferry terminal a few hours into his shift.”
“Really? Where did he go?”
“To the marina. Maybe playing poker. So, I wasn’t off the mark about how easy it was for Kevin to disappear for a while without anybody taking notice,” Gibson said.
“I feel so useless sitting here.”
“Get some rest. I’ll see you later. I have things to do,” Gibson said. He looked back as he left the room. Scottie had leaned back into a pillow and closed her eyes.
Gibson sat in his truck and pulled out his cell phone. It was the second call he had made to George. There was no answer and no voice mail to leave a message. He chose the main road north, passing Sidney on the way to Canoe Cove. The last turn before the terminal veered right. He turned onto a narrow roadway that led to the docks. There was a sign that showed a pub down a dirt lane. A stand of trees hid it from sight. He had heard it served good food and beer on tap. It would be the perfect spot for a belated luncheon.
Another twenty metres along, the road opened up to the harbour. A big parking lot with numbered stalls ran next to the water, separated by a low railing. He found a spot marked for visitors and stepped out onto a rutted tarmac. The smell of bottom paint and barnacles assaulted his nostrils. It was a working marina. He could hear the sound of power tools and the screeching of gulls high above. The scarred wooden docks creaked as the swell rocked against the pilings.
Gibson fumbled with his notebook to recall the name of the boat and the berth number. He strolled to the end and found Dock G. Aluminum boathouses crowded near the ramp, housing the most expensive yachts. A brisk breeze had kicked up, causing the dock to jar with an erratic movement. Even with his experience on the ocean, it was difficult to walk a true course. The boats tugged on their moorings as the wind strengthened. A rogue wave crashed full-on and sent a spray of saltwater into the air.
‘Sea You Later’. Gibson stopped in front of a twenty-metre yacht. He peeked at his notebook once more. This was it then. He moved toward the stern of the boat and knocked on the hull. Someone shouted at him, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He just waited.
A young girl came out of the cabin. The mop in her hand dripped a soapy liquid on the deck. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the owner.” Gibson flashed his badge so he would get some response.
“Sorry, I’m the hired help. Mr. Hopkins isn’t here.”
“Do you—”
“I don’t know anything else,” she interrupted and shrugged. “I guess you could ask at the office.”
“What can I do for you?” The shout rent the air.
Startled, Gibson stumbled forward. He reached out and managed to grab a stanchion, saving himself from tumbling into the brink.
“Sorry, didn’t intend to frighten you.”
The detective turned around to face a giant of a man with loose jowls and thinning hair. His eyes flashed with a friendly spark. His smile was wide and genuine.
“Are you Mr. Hopkins?”
“No, I’m his buddy,” he said. “Hopkins will be back the day after tomorrow.”
“Were you on the boat last Thursday?” Gibson asked. He released his hold of the metal rod and got back his sea legs.
“Oh, I see. The poker game.” He chuckled. “Are we in trouble for having a wee bit of fun?”
“I don’t care about the game. Only who was there that night.”
“Hopkins was on board last week. Certainly not me. So I don’t know who else was there on that particular night.”
“Have you got a number for Hopkins?”
“Won’t do you any good. He’s somewhere up the coast on a friend’s sailboat. I believe they were headed to Desolation Sound. The cell service that far north is almost non-existent. But they should be docked around noon. Their slip is over there.” He pointed across the water to the next float.
“Could you tell him I need to speak to him?” Gibson gave him a card.
“Sure thing.”
Gibson walked back to his truck and drove to the pub. He ordered a beer and slumped in his seat, fuming. Sunday was two days off. He thought he had it in the bag, but he was no closer to pinning down what Kevin had been up to last Thursday. He wanted to wrap this up quickly. The gods had other plans for him.
Chapter 26
It was a waiting game. Waiting for forensics, for alibis to be broken, or evidence to appear.
Gibson wound up his lunch and drove into Sidney. He parked by the pier and took a walk along the path. A park bench tucked behind some tall ornamental grasses was a good spot to sit and watch the waves roll in. The rhythmic motion of the water was soothing. Across the strait, a narrow slip of sand stretched past the northern tip of an island. A flashing signal at the end marked the danger. Farther in the distance, the majestic peak of Mt. Baker glistened in the sun.
Gibson leaned back in his seat to think. He needed to find out more about the victim to figure out the killer’s motive. Kevin wasn’t saying much. He wouldn’t be telling them he had a girlfriend and wanted to get rid of his wife so he could start a new family. But Gibson thought that’s exactly what had happened. Who would know about a girl on the side? His family, neighbours, co-workers? A fellow like Kevin might brag about his affair at work. That was a definite possibility. Only, Kevin’s co-workers were not very forthcoming. He should go back and crack some heads. Someone must know something. George might know. Gibson dialled his number. Again, he didn’t get an answer. Did the guy have call display? Was he avoiding the detective because he knew the truth?
Gibson phoned the BC Ferry Corporation. His call bounced from one directory to another. He punched repeatedly on the ‘O’ key, hoping to get connected to an individual. All he heard was ‘Sorry that is an incorrect entry.’ He stopped trying to beat the system and listened to the options—select one if... a real person answered. He asked for Liz in Human Resources. Na had given him the name. Five minutes later the lady was on the line and gave him the address he sought.
“All right, George,” Gibson mumbled to himself. He strode back to the truck and headed across the highway to North Saanich. The country roads were narrow and tree-lined. He took a lane that ran toward the west side of the peninsula. Several signs warned of deer crossing. He slowed down and remained vigilant to any movement in the shrubbery off the shoulder. Number two-thirty-two was perched on the hillside. He rode up the paved drive and ended in front of a two-story home with an attached garage. The curtains were all drawn. It seemed like nobody was home.
Gibson walked up the steps of the veranda and rang the bell. He could hear it echoing throughout the house. While he waited, h
e peeked in a window by the doorway. It was tough to see inside, but he didn’t believe anyone was hiding in there. He pressed the buzzer once more. After a few moments, he gave up and strolled to his truck. He looked up at the first-floor windows, but all was still—no fluttering of curtains or moving shadows.
Gibson started up the engine and left. It took ten minutes to get to Sidney. He parked on a side street and walked over to the bank. The entrance door was locked. He glanced at his watch and saw it was still relatively early. That’s what they call banker’s hours, he thought. He tapped on the glass to draw someone’s attention. A teller turned and spoke to a person hidden from his view. The bank manager rounded the corner and scurried over. He flicked open the lock and ushered the detective in.
“Come in. I was going to call you,” Jackson said.
He led Gibson to his office.
“Have a seat.” Jackson gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Any progress?”
“We’re following several leads. I wanted to speak to Chelsea again,” Gibson said. “I didn’t see her at the counter.”
“Chelsea?” His brows furrowed.
“Just some follow-up questions. Dianne was her friend, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. But I believe Chelsea has gone on holidays for a few weeks.” He pressed a button on the desk phone. “Could you come to my office, please?”
The receptionist rapped on the door frame. He had a blue suit on today. It was expensive looking, like the one he had worn on the previous occasion. He gave a fleeting glance toward the detective and shuffled uneasily. “Yes, sir. How may I be of help?”
“Hudson. Is Chelsea on holidays?”
“It was a family emergency. She said two weeks. But it could be longer if things got complicated.” His smile never faltered. “I believe she went to Venezuela.”
“Thank you.” Jackson waved his hand to dismiss the man. He turned back to the detective. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“Did you have time to look through Dianne’s client list? Were there irregularities with any loans?” Gibson asked.
“No, no. Everything was legitimate. No problems at all.”
“Have you met her husband?”
“Kevin. Yes. He attended several functions with Dianne.”
“What was their relationship like?”
“Oh, my. I’m not sure I qualify to answer that. I noticed nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No bickering or—” Gibson pressed.
“Nothing of the sort. They seemed a loving couple,” Jackson interrupted.
“Did Dianne miss any days of work?”
“Never. She even came on weekends sometimes.”
“I see.” Gibson leaned forward. “How did she account for the bruises on her arms?”
“What? I don’t understand what you mean,” Jackson said. “I never saw any bruises. Oh. That explains why she always wore long sleeves. I didn’t know.”
A rap on the door made him stop.
“Come in,” Jackson shouted.
“Here are those papers you asked for.” The young girl placed the folder on the desk and turned to leave.
“You’re a doll.” He winked at her.
“I think that’s it for today. Thanks for your time.” Gibson stood up.
“Before you go.” Jackson leaned forward. “On a personal note, I wanted to say I am interested in the project your son is working on. Very worthwhile undertaking. Please come by on Saturday to discuss a donation. Bring Katherine and Anatoe.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Gibson reached over the desk and shook his hand.
He left the bank feeling as if he was missing something. Could Chelsea be the girlfriend? Kevin obviously knew the employees through his wife. His thoughts bounced back and forth. The sky had darkened, making it seem later in the day than it was. He gazed up to the clouds bunched into a large mass. They had taken on a deep grey hue. A light rain started with small drops and soon turned into a downpour. The detective ran to his truck and jumped in. He switched on the ignition so he could listen to a little music.
It wasn’t only this case getting to him. He seemed to have lost his edge. There was a curious heaviness in his heart. He squinted into the rear-view mirror. The eyes that stared back were lifeless. Gibson wondered when he had surrendered his spark. Everything was so humdrum. Not something he could say to Katherine. She was in her glory. He needed to examine his own commitment. Where was this journey leading him? Should he turn in his badge for a different life? This one was becoming disagreeable to him.
Gibson started the engine and left for home. He stopped at a corner store and bought a bouquet of roses. The rain had slackened to a drizzle by the time he pulled into the driveway. He looked across the street toward the bay. The water was choppy with small whitecaps breaking on the shore. If the wind settled down overnight, he might get his kayak out at dawn. There was nothing to do except wait for someone to make a mistake.
* * *
The shrill of an alarm woke up the desk sergeant at the RCMP detachment in Sidney. A burly constable rushed into the foyer from the back.
“What the hell is going on?” The sergeant came round the counter to see outside.
“It’s coming from the construction site next door,” the constable said.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Move it.”
The constable bounded down the steps and across the parking lot.
“Hey, you over there,” he cried. “Police. Stop!”
Three kids looked up. Their brazen attitude had them ignoring the alarm, but a cop was another thing. They fled like whippets through the rubble. In five seconds, they’d hurled themselves over the two-metre fence. The darkness swallowed them up as they scampered down the street. Their footsteps blended into the sound of traffic.
The constable hung onto the metal barrier trying to catch his breath. The alarm stopped.
“You’re getting old.” The sergeant laughed and went back to his post.
“Should I write it up?”
“Did they take anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You better make a report anyway. Got anything else to do?”
“Not really.”
“In triplicate,” he yelled down the hallway.
“Yeah, yeah.” The constable scowled.
Chapter 27
A flotilla of boats swept by, their sails fluttering in the gentle breeze. Close behind, a ski boat moved fast down the inlet. The foamy wake left in its path spread to the shoreline. Gibson steered his kayak into the wave. The water crested the bow, sending a fine mist into the air. To the west, the hills shimmered in the bright midday sunlight. Each stroke of the paddle glided him forward and eased his weary body. There was nothing to think about except the here and now.
Being alone on the water was daunting to some people. For Gibson, it gave him a sense of belonging. He explored the many tiny coves and let the hours drift by. The sun moved across the sky, dipped behind the first of the hills and cast a large shadow over the Saanich Inlet.
Gibson neared the dock and pulled his kayak out of the water. After securing it to the rack, he headed up the ramp. He walked across the street and to his house.
“Hello. I’m back.”
Katherine yelled from the bedroom. “In here.”
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t decide what to do with my hair.” She stared at him through the reflection in the mirror.
“You’ll look great whatever you do.” He kissed her neck and went through to the en suite bathroom. “Won’t take me long to get ready.”
“Are we picking up Anatoe?” Katherine asked.
“No. He’ll meet us there.”
* * *
The most direct route to North Saanich was by West Saanich Road. At the northernmost point, the road veered to the right and proceeded east. The tall fir trees shut out much of the remaining daylight. At that location, there were no streetl
ights to banish the dimness.
Gibson turned left when he saw the ornate wrought iron gates. The driveway meandered through a woodlot and then opened up to a vista of the sea. The house stood two-stories high with a widow’s walk running the length of the roof. The white siding was stark against the backdrop of trees. At the entrance, water cascaded over the edges of a fountain into a marble pool. Victorian lampposts lined a flagstone path to a massive oak door with a lion’s head knocker. The same ornate wrought iron embellished the hinges and doorplate.
“It should be a big cheque,” Gibson said.
“Be nice.” Katherine nudged him.
He pulled up to Anatoe’s pickup parked in front of the three-car garage.
“Welcome.” Jackson stood in the open doorway and waved them in.
“What a beautiful home,” Katherine gushed.
Jackson grinned and led them through a hallway toward the back of the house. The dark wood wainscoting was enhanced by ivory-coloured walls. Gibson surveyed each room as they went by. The living room had leather couches facing each other in front of a massive hearth. The teak end tables had large antique lamps with crystal balls hanging from the shades. Luxurious Persian rugs were spread across wide plank hardwood floors. There was a rather messy laundry room. Farther on, the kitchen opened up to a grand room. The tinted glass doors to the sprawling terrace were pushed wide open, making the outdoors feel part of the indoor space. Across a big expanse of lawn, the ocean sparkled with the last beams of sunlight.
Anatoe greeted them when they entered the room.
“This is my wife, Lori,” Jackson said. Mrs. Parker, standing behind the breakfast bar, tilted her chin. She had blonde hair over pale grey eyes that matched her tailored suit. A two-carat diamond ring was the only jewellery that adorned her fingers. But a diamond of equal size hung from a gold chain at the plunging neckline of her blouse.
Katherine took a seat by the opening. A surge of wind tousled her long brown hair. She pushed an errant strand behind her ear and turned away. Gibson sat in a wing chair, one of a pair by the fireplace. His son sat in the other. Lori fussed in the kitchen for several minutes before setting trays of finger food on the coffee table. She sat in a lovechair by a window, pulling on her pant legs to save the crease.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 44
