Gibson picked up the phone, and then replaced it in its cradle. It was too early to call anyone. He leaned back into his chair. Chelsea had told him the same thing, but she had been more explicit in the details. There had been a flurry of activity just before their departure from the Parkers’ house. Spotting Kevin among the bank employees had been a surprise. But it was probably normal to invite him. Wasn’t it? And what did Ryder say? What were his exact words, again? ‘I saw the guy.’ Was that it? Or was it ‘I saw Guy’? Did that make sense? Yes, if Guy had something to do with Dianne’s death. Gibson shook his head. No, no. That was stupid. Ryder knew what Guy looked like, so he couldn’t have been the person at the pier.
Gibson pulled out a drawer and grabbed a folder. He flipped the pages until he came to the list of bank employees. The only name that popped out at him was Jackson. He leaned back in his chair again and thought about the manager. That could make some sense. Dianne was having an affair with Jackson. Kevin found out and being the violent man that he was, he killed her. He needed to ask Ryder if he had ever met Dianne’s husband. If he didn’t know what Kevin looked like, could he have been the person on the pier? He really didn’t have a clue what Ryder had wanted to say, so he needed to just ask him.
Gibson dialled Paula. The phone rang ten times and went to voice mail. He left a message for her to call back right away. It was very important that he should speak with Ryder. He turned his head at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Scottie peeped around the doorway.
“Hi,” she chirped.
The inspector greeted her without smiling.
“May I come in?” Her voice was quieter, less sure.
Gibson stood up quickly. “Let’s get a coffee. I think the café must be open by now.”
Scottie opened her mouth to say something. The expression he gave stopped her. A heavy silence fell over them as they walked down the steps, out the building and across the street.
The coffee shop was abuzz with people. They found a small table in the corner and sat. The glare from the streetlamps lessened as the sky brightened. Then the lights blinked off in unison. Gibson stared out the window and watched as the parking lot filled with vehicles. Some people headed toward the coffee shop. Others strolled over to the dock area. He figured most were workers this early in the morning.
Scottie waited, sipped her latte and munched on a cinnamon roll.
“Ryder tried to tell me something last night, but I had to rush away.”
Scottie didn’t say anything.
“Let’s get Kevin picked up and put him in a lineup. See if Ryder recognizes him as the man on the sidewalk.”
“You bet,” Scottie said. “Should I get Na and Gunner on that?”
“Yes.”
They sat for a few more minutes before Gibson spoke again.
“Hudson said Dianne was having an affair.”
“Hudson?”
“From the bank.”
“The dandy?”
“Yeah.” Gibson grinned. “You have a way with words.” He gave her a run-down on his thoughts.
“So we really need to speak to this Hopkins fella,” Scottie said.
“That was my plan earlier. Now, I think it is even more important. He could make or break Kevin’s alibi.”
“Let’s go to Paula’s house first. I can’t get a hold of her or Ryder. There’s something—”
“Okay, let’s go.” Scottie sucked back the last of her drink and stood up. She clutched at her leg and winced.
“Still sore?”
“A little. The cane helps. I hated those crutches.”
The drive to Sidney took less than thirty minutes. Gibson pulled up to the house and knocked on the door. There was no answer.
“What do you think?”
“Call her,” Scottie said.
Gibson dialled the number. They could hear the phone ringing inside.
“Don’t you have her cell number?”
“Yeah, I do now. Let me try that.”
Paula didn’t answer even as he let it ring and ring.
“Should we go to the marina, and then we can come back?” Scottie said.
“Sure.”
Gibson drove to Canoe Cove and parked in a designated spot for visitors. Boats cruised out of the bay, headed for a sail or a day of fishing. Bright yellow water taxis zipped back and forth from the numerous tiny islands. The cry of seagulls faded in and out with the breeze. Not to be outdone, the sound of drills and buffers added to the mêlée as workers toiled in the dusty yard.
The detectives walked to the end where the larger vessels moored. Bare masts reached into the sky, their rigging rattling against the aluminum. The tallest of them towered metres over the rest at Dock F. Midway up the mast, a radar unit reflected the sunlight. They walked slowly down the ramp with Scottie lagging behind and approached the yacht. The size of it was pretty staggering. Billionaire row. Na almost got it right.
A short, stylish man with a bright white shirt, Bermuda shorts, and canvas sneakers leaned on the stainless-steel railing.
“Good morning, detectives,” he said.
“You must be Hopkins,” Gibson replied.
“Yes. I heard you’d been looking for me. Come aboard.”
They clambered up to the cockpit and sat down on thick vinyl cushions.
“It’s about our little poker game,” Hopkins said. His grin widened, with dimples. “Perfectly harmless.”
“I’m sure,” Gibson said. “Do you know Kevin Meadows from the ferry terminal?”
“I sure do.”
“You know his wife was murdered,” Gibson said.
“Yes. What a terrible thing. Poor guy.”
Gibson pulled out his notebook and gave Hopkins the date and time of the murder. “Was there a poker game that night?”
“That was a Thursday. Right?” Hopkins asked.
“Yes, it was.”
“We do have a regular game for Thursday evenings. It starts at six and can go on all night.”
“Was Kevin there on that night?”
“Let me think. Kevin is a regular. That was just before my trip up north.” Hopkins rubbed at his chin. “Yes, he was there, but I can’t give you a precise time. He usually shows up around ten and stays for a couple of hours. It’s his lunch hour. So he says.”
Gibson glanced sideways at Scottie.
“Could you be more precise on the time?”
“Sorry. That’s the best I can do,” Hopkins said.
“Is there anything that could jog your memory? Do you keep a record of winnings or anything like that?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“Thanks for your help.”
The detectives strolled back to the vehicle.
“That was a bust. Let’s go to that pub for a coffee. Or something to eat sounds good.”
They sat along the rear terrace and ordered hamburgers. Gibson’s cell rang just as he was going to phone Paula again.
“Gibson.”
“It’s Constable Grant.”
“What can I do for you, Grant?”
Scottie glanced up at the mention of her friend from the RCMP detachment.
“I thought you should know there was a hit and run last night.”
Gibson’s eyebrows shot upward. He waited for the rest.
“In front of Paula’s home. It’s Ryder.” The constable paused. “He’s in a coma.”
“Oh, shit. Thanks for calling.” Gibson hung up. He lowered his head and rubbed his temple.
“What?” Scottie asked.
“No wonder I couldn’t reach Paula. Ryder was struck by a car, and he’s in the hospital.”
“Is it bad?”
“Real bad.”
* * *
The hospital lot was full, so Scottie parked in the emergency area. She left her flashers on, hoping she wouldn’t get towed away. They walked through the crowded waiting room to the front entry. A different lady was at the receptionist counter. She direct
ed them down a long corridor to the intensive care unit.
Scottie stayed in the hallway. She sat in a chair and made some calls. Gibson tapped on the door before going in.
Ryder’s head lay heavily on the pillow. His face was pale against his wispy dark hair. A monitor beside him blipped steadily. The IV dripped fluid down a clear tube to his arm. The patient chart hanging at the base of the bed had scribbled marks down half the page.
Paula was sitting erect in a chair beside her son. Her eyes were closed.
There were two empty chairs in the corner. Gibson sat in one and quietly waited, unsure exactly what he could say to make things better. Probably nothing at all. He tried to imagine being in the same situation, but he couldn’t. Not even close. He wasn’t even sure if Ryder would make it. But then again, Ryder was young and resilient. Why was he being so negative? He watched Paula as her lips moved, as if in prayer and wished he knew how to find some meaning to it all.
“My baby. He hasn’t stirred since I got here.”
The broken silence startled the detective. He had questions. Should he ask now?
“Could you tell me what happened?” Gibson leaned forward.
“You know I left early last night before you guys. Ryder stayed to hang out with Anatoe. Well, you know all that part. It’s what happened next that you want to know.”
She stopped and bit her lip.
“I was sitting on the porch having a smoke. I do that a lot. Sometimes it’s just to relax. Other times, I wait until Ryder comes home. You know. From a movie or whatever boys do at his age. I never really worried about him. It was just a habit. I have to say, I did spend a lot of time on the porch over the last few weeks because… well he ran off, didn’t he? Then I really had something to worry about. Anyway, I saw someone hightailing it down the street. I knew it was Ryder straight away because one of the lights on his bike has a loose connection and it flickers. I put out my smoke and stood up to go inside. I knew he was safe at that point. Then I noticed a car following close behind him. Too close. I thought the person had plenty of room to pass. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing.” She let out a small sob. “And then the man just ran him over.”
Gibson listened to Paula pour out her heart.
“So you saw it was a man. Do you know who he was?”
Paula just shook her head.
The clacking of shoes drifted in from the hall. A phone rang shrilly for several moments before it was answered.
“What about the vehicle? What can you tell me?”
She shrugged.
“Was it dark or white...”
“I don’t know,” Paula raised her voice, then burst into tears.
Gibson sat quietly for another minute, but her sobs never relented. He stood up and quietly left the room.
Out in the hallway, Scottie stared at him. “Well. Did she see anything?”
“She says no, but I think she knows who it was.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
“Not sure,” Gibson said, and shrugged.
Chapter 34
Gibson was absolutely furious. The constables had been sent to find Kevin the night before, but he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t at work, at home, or at the poker game. Even Virginia was missing.
The inspector stared out the window and watched a cruise ship coming into the dock. He was so tired, his head was spinning. Katherine had refused to talk about anything. After a brief argument, he had landed up on the couch. Both his neck and shoulder hurt from the various awkward positions he found himself in as he tried to get comfortable. All he managed to do was toss and turn most of the night. So not only was his mind bent out of shape, but his body ached, as well.
Gibson turned toward the sound of boots hammering up the steps. Gunner struck the door frame with a thud.
“Sorry, boss. We got Kevin.”
“Where?”
“At the Sidney RCMP building. He’s in the drunk tank.” The constable laughed.
“Where are Scottie and Na?”
“They were prowling the town hunting for Kevin most the night. Na went home,” Gunner said.
“And Scottie?”
“She’s waiting for you in Sidney. I was sent here to get you.”
“All right. Good. Let’s go.”
Gunner drove at the speed limit, but he tended to jump off the line when the light turned from red to green. It made for an uncomfortable ride, something like his night on the couch. Gibson downed a couple of more painkillers and leaned back into the seat. They got to Sidney fairly quickly because the rush hour was headed in the opposite direction. Gunner parked the vehicle just as a sprinkle of rain began to fall. Gibson looked up to the sky. He saw some mean black clouds gathering in the east and headed straight for them. They entered the lobby before the downpour took hold. Grant greeted them at the counter.
“They’re in the last interview room.”
“Thanks.”
Gibson and Gunner hurried down the corridor. They could hear shouting coming from the back.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Kevin yelled. His boisterous voice thundered through the steel door. “I demand to be released.”
Suddenly the door swung open. Kevin stopped short of running into the inspector. “Get out of my way.” He raised a hand to push Gibson aside.
Gunner came up behind his boss and blocked the exit.
“I don’t think so,” Scottie shouted back and grabbed his shirt, almost toppling over with the effort. “Sit down or I’ll cuff you to the table.”
Kevin glared at the detectives. He realized he was overpowered and sat back down on the metal chair with a thud. “Assholes. You can’t do this,” he murmured.
Gunner was stationed outside the doorway for security. Gibson closed the door and grabbed a chair. After pushing on the recorder, he named the people in the room and asked Kevin if he wanted a lawyer.
“Why? I didn’t do anything. I have nothing to say.”
“Perhaps so, but I have a great deal to say to you. See if what I have to say fits into a big bag of trouble.” Gibson grinned. “Let’s begin with where were you on the night your wife was murdered. This time I want the truth.”
“I was at work. Like I already—”
“Sea You Later,” Gibson interrupted.
“What?” Kevin groaned. “Ah, shit.”
“That’s right. We know exactly where you were. After ten, anyway. Before ten is another matter.”
“I confess. I left work and went to a poker game. So what?” He sneered. His curled lip made his nose scrunch together into an ugly knob.
“Hopkins told us he couldn’t give a definite time when you arrived.”
“Some of the other guys will know,” Kevin whined.
“Well then, I think you’ll have to get somebody who can vouch for you. In the meantime, we’re going to hold you on suspicion of murder.”
“No. You can’t do that.” Kevin jumped out of his chair.
Scottie stood up again. Even with the cane by her side, her tall, ominous presence was no match for the gangly man. He sat down and gave her a dirty look.
Gibson leaned in toward Kevin. “You had the means and the opportunity. You took the knife from the shed where Dianne had hidden it, didn’t you? And it seems as if you come and go from your job unfettered.”
“I want a lawyer.” Sweat trickled off his forehead.
“Get him a lawyer. And get a blood sample and take his prints.” Gibson slammed his fist on the table.
Scottie stopped the recording.
“What about Virginia?” Kevin asked.
“Is there somewhere she could go?” Scottie asked.
“Yeah. Her grandma’s house.”
“All right. I’ll take care of it myself. Get up.”
“What now?”
“I have a nice suite just for you. Down the hallway. Not too far from your overnight accommodation.” Scottie laughed.
Chapter 35
“Let’s
get out of here,” Gibson said as he stomped out of the room. He had probably had enough for the day. It was getting claustrophobic in the stuffy station. Kevin had added a pungent smell to the interview room with his stale body odour.
“Where to?” Gunner asked.
“I need a coffee.” They strolled past an open doorway where two uniformed officers were chatting and joking. The waiting room was empty except for a lady sitting quietly with a small child on her lap. Several phones were ringing in the dispatch room. Gibson ignored everything and headed to the doorway.
“Hey,” Grant yelled.
Gibson turned toward the counter.
“Hang on a minute.” Grant held up a finger to indicate he wanted a moment with the detective.
Gibson released the door handle. The loud bang reverberated through the lobby. Too tired to do much else, he stood still and waited. Gunner leaned against the wall. Grant uttered a few more words into the phone and hung up.
“I just got a call about a domestic violence incident.” He paused. “You’re not gonna like this.”
“What?” Gibson asked.
“There’s a problem at the Parkers’. On Lands End Road.”
“At Jackson’s house?”
“Yeah. All I know is that someone has a gun,” Grant said.
At the mention of a weapon, the DC glanced up.
“I’m sending a couple of patrol cars out. I thought it might have something to do with your case.”
“Not sure what’s going on. We’ll head over there right away,” Gibson said.
They hopped into Gunner’s vehicle and headed out of town.
“Use your lights and siren,” Gibson said. Suddenly he had a very bad feeling about it all.
Gunner was happy to oblige and sped down the highway with blue lights flashing. A whoop, whoop sounded when someone got in his way. He didn’t need to ask which house because there were several marked cars blocking a driveway on the waterside.
Gibson flashed his badge at the officer standing guard. The gate was clear along one side so Gunner drove cautiously through the narrow gap. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. As they worked their way down the long winding driveway, Gibson’s cell rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and peeped at the screen. Not now, he thought. He swiped to ignore the call.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 48
