“Hi there. May we join you?” Gibson was already getting comfortable in a well-worn chair opposite him.
“Sure.” AJ gave a half-hearted shrug, glanced over at Scottie and continued drinking his coffee.
With the sandwiches and lattes on order, she lingered at the counter and questioned the owner. Did he know Jason? From the maintenance shed. The supervisor. Was he a frequent customer? No. The owner recognized his regulars—Jason wasn’t one of them. The owner’s wife stirred beside him, nodding in agreement. Scottie moved to the table and grabbed a chair next to AJ.
“We were hoping to catch up with you,” Gibson said.
“Oh,” AJ replied. His muscles went rigid.
“So the crew was at the safety meeting, I understand. Anyone pop out? To the washroom? Grab a cigarette?”
“Maybe.” AJ scratched the back of his neck and snorted an uneasy laugh. He cast down his eyes.
“What about you?” Gibson studied him.
“Well, I took off for a smoke.”
“When?”
“Five-fifty. Or thereabouts.” He pulled at his lips.
Scottie made notations in her journal as AJ spoke.
“See anybody?”
“A homeless guy was rooting through the garbage bin. That happens most mornings.”
“What’s his name?”
He lifted his shoulders.
“What was he wearing?”
“Homeless clothes, I guess.” AJ stopped, realizing what he had just said. So derogatory. “His boots looked new, come to think of it.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No. He had on a hoodie.”
Gibson let that info drift into the ‘may be important later’ file. He had something significant that needed to be cleared up.
“Did you notice anything else while you were hanging around outside?” A sardonic grin flitted across Gibson’s mouth. “Did you do anything besides have a puff, AJ?” He stared at him with narrowed eyes.
AJ swallowed, the lump prominent as it rolled down. He peered down at his boots. When he looked up, Gibson was scowling.
“There was a bat.”
Gibson shot a candid glimpse at Scottie, then shifted back to AJ.
“And?”
“I picked it up. That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you report this before?” Gibson demanded.
“Nobody asked. It slipped my mind. How would I know you cared?” Spots of colour appeared on his cheeks.
“That explains your prints.” Gibson raised his eyebrows, thinking that was three different reasons.
“I just told you I picked the bat up. I didn’t kill the guy. Jeez.” AJ jerked back in his seat.
Gibson tried to rattle him more.
“Did Tony step out of the meeting at all?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see him.”
“Tony wasn’t in charge?” Gibson asked in disbelief. He shifted in his seat.
“No. Keith. You know, the assistant supervisor.”
Gibson turned toward Scottie. Did someone in the meeting commit the crime? He opened his mouth but didn’t speak. No. It was an outside chance only. He didn’t think there would have been enough time. But they could have seen something. He studied AJ’s bruised face.
“What happened to you?” He pointed at the blue creeping out from under the bandage.
“Nothing.”
Gibson steeled his grey gaze.
“I got hit over the head.”
“What? You got into a fight?”
“No. I got hit on the head from behind. Coming back to the shop. I went out for a smoke.”
“Somebody ambushed you?”
“Yeah.” He touched the plaster on his cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Gibson threw up his hands.
The welder just pulled his usual shrug.
“Any idea why someone would do that? Did you see something?”
“Not that I know.” AJ twisted his mouth sideways.
Gibson shot another quick glance at Scottie. She was clicking her fingers against the tabletop.
“Anything else you would like to add?” Gibson was in a bad mood now with things going on and nobody talking. His thoughts wandered over the possibilities. Was it the murderer who had tried to harm AJ? Why? Was AJ unwittingly a witness? Maybe the homeless guy wasn’t a homeless guy but the killer. It seemed likely that AJ had seen something he either forgot or thought meant nothing. Or he didn’t want to tell. His mind spun.
He was about to ask another question when AJ dropped a bomb—someone’s dirty little secret.
“Did you know Tim is Tony’s nephew?”
“That’s interesting,” Gibson said. His thoughts were racing again. If Tony did step outside for something…Did Tony smoke? Did he see somebody? Tim? That would be sweet.
AJ looked around the room and remained quiet. He was somewhat flustered.
“If you think of anything else, call me,” Gibson said. He pulled out a card and handed it to AJ. “Anything, whether it seems important or not.”
AJ took it and shoved it into his shirt pocket.
Gibson thrust his chair aside and headed out. Scottie followed suit. The wind howled around the building and hooked the door as he pulled it open. It crashed into the wall twice before he could secure the catch. They dropped their heads against the squall and sprinted to the truck.
“Well, he sure had us running in circles,” Scottie said. “Do you think there is a connection?”
“There is.” Gibson barked back, his temper getting the better of him.
Scottie buttoned up.
“Why don’t you go over to Best Of Coffee?” Gibson offered, toning down his rhetoric.
“I’ve had ample coffee thanks.”
“Find out if Jason was there on Monday. I’m going over to have a chat with Andrew.”
Scottie looked at him but didn’t challenge his motives. She leaped out and grabbed her coat from the rear cab.
“Meet you at the shed in an hour.”
* * *
Gibson took the main drag to the university. As he passed the arena, he glanced over to the marquee and let out a small yelp. Two men were standing rather close. He first recognized Nick who was shuffling his feet in the dirt and nodding his head. His brother-in-law was leaning on the wall, talking a mile a minute. Not a care in the world.
Gibson sped up. He parked his truck next to a Mustang, hauled out his cell and stabbed at the speed dial button assigned to Andrew. On the third ring he answered.
“Hi. Are you in your office?” Gibson asked. “I’m in the parking lot at the university.”
There was a lengthy silence. “I’m on my way,” he finally said, his voice squeaky. He disconnected the call.
Gibson lowered the phone slowly, struggling to figure out how to approach this problem. He put the cell in his upper jacket pocket and remained still for a few minutes, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He got out and looked at the thickening cloud cover. It seemed winter was on its way. He took the elevator to the top floor and strode down the light mustard-coloured corridor to the office.
Andrew was unwinding in his leather armchair. He appeared breathless from the dash across the campus and up the several sets of stairs. He pointed to a lone seat in front of his desk. Gibson sat down on a straight-backed chair.
“Don’t want students to hang around too long.” Andrew chuckled.
Gibson issued a noise of acknowledgement and unzipped his jacket. The room was overheated or he was. Because of what he had to do next? He wasn’t sure. In the end he decided to be forthright.
“Is Nick more than an acquaintance?”
“You saw us.” Not a question, more a fact spoken out loud. Andrew shrunk into the seat. His gaunt face was the same colour as the hallway, a sickly yellow. He clasped and unclasped his hands as if he needed consoling. Finally, he grabbed a hold of his courage and looked at Gibson, a rigid grimace overtaking his mouth.
Gibson nodded.
“You’ll want to know everything,” Andrew said.
“Are you all right?” Gibson’s eyes showed a concern that had no strings attached.
Andrew stared at the window. The glass was dappled with bright spots left behind by the rain. He pressed one hand over his lips to hold back a cry. He began with agonizing slowness, letting out a groan from behind his palm.
“I’m gay.” He spit it out.
Gibson was momentarily stunned into silence. This was a secret that could lead to humiliation or worse, persecution by his fellow workers. Not for him to judge. He tried to make eye contact, but Andrew twisted his vision to the floor.
“Nick and I started out as friends and then…” He pushed away from the desk and hit his knee. “Damn. I should have mentioned my involvement. What was I thinking?”
Andrew placed his hands into prayer under his chin and slumped his head. His world had gone black.
“With staff. Oh my god. What have I done?” Andrew knew that everything that he had worked for could lie in ruins. His eyes dampened with regret. And maybe fear for his future.
“It’s okay.” Gibson almost regretted confronting him. This tryst probably didn’t have anything to do with his investigation. And even if it did, could he take the next step? It was something that he wasn’t willing to think about now.
“You’re not alone.”
Andrew looked up with hope in his eyes.
“I read your blog about shattered people. I understand your pain. When I was a kid. When my brother died.” His grey eyes clouded with a mist from behind. “I wasn’t there for him.” Gibson lost his thought in time. He barely heard the ring. The buzzing in his ears had grown into a crescendo. His cell vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out.
“Gibson.”
Andrew heard shouting from the other side.
“A jacket? Be right there.” He rose unexpectedly, knocking his chair over in confusion. A flush travelled from his neck to his cheeks.
“I have to go.”
Chapter 22
Scottie had walked over to Best Of Coffee. It was a busy café, much more so than the Ottiva. That meant more staff, more schedule changes to sort through and less personal interaction with the customers. There was an array of tables, chairs and booths scattered throughout the room. A rough wooden shelf at the front window had tall stools lined up along its length to take up the slack in the peak hours. For the amount of people in the place at the moment, being between coffee breaks, it seemed peak hour was the norm. There was a lot of action going on— students texting and snapchatting, geeks in the corner tapping on their laptops and moms dragging youngsters away from fingering the floor displays. The line to the cashier was daunting, a hotchpotch of bodies swaying and rocking. It started at the cash registers, passed the glass food cooler and stretched to the door with several individuals standing outside.
Scottie scanned the people behind the high counter. Who was rushing around the most? Who looked in charge at a rate of pay just pennies above the rest of the team? A dark-haired girl in her thirties stood out. She was darting from one workstation to the next, barking out requests, tidying up spills and looking completely frazzled. It took mere seconds for Scottie to capture her attention with a quick wave in her direction. The girl would always be on the alert for any warning sign of trouble. Nip it in the bud.
“Could I have a word with you?” Scottie flashed her badge.
“Sure,” the girl said. She unconsciously bit the side of her lip in consternation. “Is there an issue?”
“No. Just need to ask a few questions,” Scottie assured her, giving a moderate version of her famous grin.
The girl motioned Scottie behind the counter through the staff door to a little lunchroom. She plunked down on a rickety steel folding chair, perching so near to the edge of the seat it almost collapsed beneath her.
Scottie sat opposite, wary of her weight on the flimsy seat.
“Do you know Jason from UVic, the maintenance foreman?”
“He comes in here a lot.” She released a pent-up breath, relief overcoming her features. Okay, nothing to do with the café or her job.
“Was he here this past Monday morning?” Scottie asked, pleased that the girl had recognized Jason by name.
“Possibly. I was working that day. But each day merges into another though.” She plunked a pencil from a jar and tapped it on edge.
“Can you think about it? Anything unusual about that morning that would give you a clearer picture.” Scottie scrutinized the oval face as she waited for her to consider the not so remote past.
The girl glanced at the clock hanging above the microwave, rocking in the chair as she thought about it. She tossed the pencil on the table.
“Sorry. What’s this about?” she asked. Then, abruptly, she brought her palms to her mouth and exclaimed, “Oh. It’s about the murder.” Her eyes misted up as she stared at Scottie and murmured, “Is Jason okay?” She stopped. A perplexed expression came over her face. “Is he involved?”
“No. No. Just routine.” Scottie evaded the question but realized the papers had picked up the story but not the victim’s identity. “Could you find out who else worked that morning? See if anyone remembers serving Jason.” Scottie handed over her card and pushed the chair backward.
“Sure,” the girl said as she placed the card into her apron pocket. She jumped to her feet, wrenching her ankle and collapsed against the table. Scottie grabbed her arm to cut short her fall. A blush seared through her freckled skin. She recovered and retreated, keeping her eyes averted. Scottie followed her to the front and flipped a little wave as she swung to the exit. The girl gazed at the door long after she had disappeared.
Scottie headed back to the maintenance shed. She wanted answers from Tony. No more fooling around. What was really going on during that meeting? Not so cut and dry. People wandering in and out. If she had to pry it out of him… She was particularly looking forward to spilling the beans about her knowledge of him and Tim. It was a delicious thought. When did she get so vindictive? She sighed deeply and carried on. As Scottie walked by the garage doors, she saw Jason bolt to the stairwell. Was the foreman avoiding her? Probably. But she was looking for the supervisor so she strode across the graveled yard to the workshop. She snatched the handle just as Tony was stepping outside. Scottie tripped back to avoid running him over. Her immense mass towered over his fat, unkempt physique. A clash would have stung. The supervisor braked sharply and flung his fists up.
“Watch it.”
“Tim’s your nephew.” The words rushed from her mouth before she could stop herself. Her fuse simmered and fizzled like a firecracker. She bit her tongue and winced at her unprofessional manner. Then she flashed the Cheshire grin in atonement.
“So what!” Tony retorted, his hackles standing on end.
Besides hiring your relations, nothing, thought Scottie. Then changing subjects, a modicum of geniality sweetening her approach.
“Well, we’ve learned that your safety meeting was…shall we say slack.” Getting no reaction, she continued, “People coming and going as they pleased.” She said it with honey on her tongue although the loathsome fat swine made her seethe.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said. Spit spewed from his mouth.
“Sure you do. We know that AJ left for a puff.” She barked it out. That didn’t last long. Back to vinegar.
“AJ was hardly gone a minute.” Tony gnawed the inside of his cheek, the taste of blood filling his mouth. His gaze flicked to the other building.
“Oh. So you noticed and didn’t tell us?” Scottie asked. “Besides, you weren’t even in charge of the meeting. Maybe you skipped out.”
A protracted silence followed before Tony spoke, fire in his eyes and on his tongue. “I didn’t leave.” He scratched the bald spot looking for the hair that had taken flight years ago. “Nobody else did either.”
Scottie felt the vibration emanating from Tony
’s shaking limbs.
“Any washroom breaks?”
“No.” Tony turned brusquely and raced across the courtyard. “You got it wrong,” he shouted over his shoulder. He swung the door open and escaped up the stairs.
Scottie groaned and kneaded her forehead, trying to forestall a headache pulsating at her temple. She had meant to ask about AJ getting hit over the head.
A hammering sound coming from the workshop brought her back to the present. She was surprised when she entered the building to see the welder bent over at the farthest workbench. He must have slipped in by the rear door while she was pre-occupied with the supervisor. Was the door left unlocked? Did he have a key? Did everybody have access? Scottie moved in closer and watched as AJ beat the red-hot surface of the bracket, willing it into shape.
Patiently she stuck around for a gap in the clanging, to catch his attention. As she remained planted in one spot, her mind whirled with unanswered questions. She plucked out the journal to jot down reminders. The maintenance trucks. Who drove them after hours? What else? She tapped her pen on the book thinking of other issues. She glanced around the workshop, biding her time and feeling brain dead. A frigid gust of wind from an open window sent a paper bag scurrying by. She followed the abandoned brown sack as it tumbled across the cold cement floor. It hit the wall and stopped below the line of mostly empty hooks.
A shiny moss-green puffy parka caught her eye sitting all alone on the last rung. She stared at a spray of miniature spots that dotted the front of the jacket. A perplexed look washed over her face until what she saw kicked into her rational mind. This wasn’t dirt. Her instincts told her it was something more. She yanked out latex gloves from her pocket and slapped them on. A whiff of copper struck her nostrils as she fingered the parka—the scent of blood. She couldn’t know if it was from an injured finger or spatter from the murder weapon. She tugged on the collar. On the inside, faded initials were marked with a black Sharpie, TRS.
MURDER ON VANCOUVER ISLAND: Hatred, prejudice, or a heinous crime without motive? Page 12
