Murder At Lake Ontario

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  Eckhart leaned in so she could read the message.

  “Cool.”

  Their food made it before long, and they ate in silence, enjoying the band. Gibson drummed on his thighs to the rhythm. At the windup of the first set, they headed outside to a cooler night air. The sun’s stifling rays had perished behind the escarpment in the west. They walked back to the station to see about a visit. Gibson rang the bell and held up his badge to the camera as he spoke to the dispatcher.

  “We would like to visit Todd Webber.”

  “No can do,” the officer responded.

  “Okay. Why’s that?”

  “Lights out at 2100.”

  Gibson glanced at his watch. The glare of the spotlights directed at the entrance made it challenging to see the glowing digits.

  “Right. In the morning then. Thanks.” He swung to Eckhart. “A hell of a day. Drop me off?”

  “Sure.”

  Gibson rolled down his window and let the coolness flood his fevered skin. He gazed up at the sky and saw a shooting star zip through the constellation Sagittarius. It hung low near the southern horizon with the Milky Way spread as an immense ribbon of luminosity in the background. He wondered if Katherine had seen the flash.

  “There you go,” Eckhart said as she pulled up to his motel.

  Gibson skipped down the passage to his suite. He flopped into an armchair and tossed his cell on the duvet. His hair was slick, and his face had a glossy sheen from the day-long oppressive heat. He wanted another shower to cool his thoughts. Thousands of droplets bombarded his skin as he stood under the refreshing water. The sensation consoled his mind as a weariness overcame his body. He collapsed into bed, tired as hell. A soft snore flooded the room as he let go of the day. Even the phone pressing into his ribs when he rolled over didn’t disturb his rest.

  Chapter 20

  Nighttime surrendered to the dawn. The soft light snuck through curtains left partially open, slanting onto the bed sheets and licked Gibson’s sunburnt face. He was buried in sleep. The sun broke clear of its boundary, and the rays tumbled into the suite. He drifted into consciousness and smoothed his tired eyes. He squeezed his cheek to the flattened pillow.

  His cell chirped. ‘Soon. Katherine.’ He drew in a breath and texted back. ‘Not soon enough.’

  Gibson showered again and put on the last clean shirt he had and his wedding band. Packing his bag took two seconds and he was out the exit. The fresh morning air was still. There would be no cooling breeze to break the sweltering fever that the amber sun promised for the day. He looked for the sparrow as he strolled down the sidewalk. The bird flirted with his hair as she bustled past. Gibson chuckled and continued to the café. He grabbed a coffee and waited on the patio for his ride. The Expedition stuck its snout into the street fifteen minutes later. He hopped in and threw Eckhart a quirky smile.

  “Is Frenchy in the office?”

  “Not yet.” She stared at his hand.

  “Should we go visit Todd first?” Gibson asked.

  “You bet,” Eckhart replied. She sped downtown in record time and parked in the same spot as the night before, twirling the keys in her fingers.

  “We should run Todd’s prints first. Do you concur?”

  “I do.”

  The desk sergeant directed them to an area at the rear of the building. “His lawyer’s here.”

  Loud voices stole down the corridor. They followed the sound to an interview room on the left where a frenzied conversation was going on.

  “Hello.” Gibson knocked on the door, and it swung open with a squeak.

  “This is a confidential conversation.”

  “No. Let them in. I want to know what’s going on,” Todd said and jumped out of his chair.

  “Don’t say anything,” a small man with neat hair said.

  “To hell with that. I didn’t kill my wife. Why would I?” Todd’s shrill voice ricocheted off the lead-coloured surfaces. He slumped back into his chair. A scuffle exploded into the room.

  “What’s happening here?” Savannah demanded as she ran to her brother-in-law.

  “Sorry, sir. I couldn’t stop her,” an officer said as he rushed up behind the frantic woman.

  “It’s okay. Let her be,” Gibson replied.

  The officer shuffled back to his duties at the front.

  “Everybody have a seat. Let’s get this straightened out.” Gibson’s cell vibrated in his back pocket. “Excuse me a moment.” He stepped into the hallway. The scrape of metal legs on linoleum followed him out as everyone settled in.

  “Gibson.”

  “It’s Frenchy. I received your message. I’m at the office.”

  “That’s great. Could you do Todd’s prints first? We’ll be standing by,” he said. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”

  “No problem.”

  Gibson disconnected and entered the stuffy box. His forehead took on a glossy shine almost at once. He scanned the faces at the table. Todd sagged heavily in a chair between his lawyer and Savannah. He looked a mess, but it was his raspy breathing that unsettled Gibson. His lawyer sat up straight with a briefcase and a straw hat by his hand. He shuffled the paperwork that he had laid before him on the tabletop. A fine tailored suit of grey matched his eyes, a lustrous patina of burnished metal. But the neon red in his striped tie clocked him a rebel. He tapped his polished black loafers on the crumbling tiles impatiently. Savannah sat on the brink of her seat, knotting her fists under her knees to control the desire to strike out at the enemy. The scowl on her pink mouth made her look ten years older. Eckhart sat quietly, but the glint in her blue eyes exposed her mischievous spirit.

  Gibson selected a seat by the recording equipment and considered his options.

  “Let’s do this off the record,” he finally said. He looked up to the top corner of the room and made sure the red button on the camera wasn’t on.

  “Off the record? Seriously,” Eckhart retorted.

  Gibson glanced at her as she opened her mouth and hissed in dispute. Her pink lips paled as she nibbled on a pencil. He arched his steel-grey eyes and locked onto her indignation. She flipped her hair and strummed her nails on the blemished wood. Todd leaned forward, but his lawyer seized his arm attempting to block his progress. He sought to tear away.

  “Be quiet,” his lawyer said and tightened his constraint.

  Gibson’s cell chirped, and he glimpsed at the screen.

  “It’ll be all right. Let him talk,” the detective said, throwing a nod of promise to the lawyer.

  There was a wild look about Todd. His slept-in clothing shouted a stench from the gutters. The pallor of his skin looked worse than the last corpse he had seen. Gibson clenched his teeth, thinking the last corpse he had seen was Elsie.

  “Why did you meet up with Josephine? Are you having an affair?” Gibson asked calmly, his pit-bull having a nap.

  “No. Nothing like that.” His lips smacked when he spoke. He planted his elbows on the table and pressed his fingers on his forehead. Beads of perspiration dribbled down his temples, reeking of fret. “I couldn’t stand it any further.”

  “Stand what?”

  The lawyer touched his client’s shoulder.

  “JoJo wouldn’t stop phoning. I told her it had been a mistake. I told you that earlier,” Todd said. Even his swollen eyes were pale.

  Gibson waited to hear more and Todd obliged.

  “I went there to make it perfectly clear to her that nothing was going on. To leave me alone. I love Elsie.” The sweat flowed liberally and intermingled with his tears. His body heaved with anguish, with a heartache that would never leave.

  Gibson almost felt sorry for the man, knowing that he had not been the perfect husband either. It wasn’t his job to judge.

  “We ran your prints already. They’re not yours. You’re free to go,” Gibson said, catching everyone off guard.

  Savannah let out a wail and swept Todd into a hug. Eckhart walked out of the room. In a snit? Gibson wasn’t c
ertain.

  “Sorry,” Gibson said.

  “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. Thank you,” Todd’s lawyer replied.

  The gentleman shook hands. Gibson left them to their sorrow.

  Eckhart was already out the station. He jogged after her. “Hang on.” She scorned him. “What’s wrong?” he called out. She banged the truck door and fired up the motor. He hopped into the passenger side.

  “That’s it.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve run out of suspects.” She glowered at him, awaiting the rebuke.

  “Sometimes—”

  “Yeah, I realize sometimes the case goes unsolved.” She mimicked him with a growl deep in her throat.

  His cell sounded again. ‘Not Felton.’

  Eckhart snatched his phone and glared at the screen. “Right.” She tossed it into his lap and reeled out of the parking lot. The Expedition rumbled down the street, taking corners with considerable velocity. Gibson pushed into his seat and kept his eyes and mouth sealed. She squealed the tires onto the tarmac and slapped the gear into park. He remained inert, waiting for the storm to ease. She glimpsed at him.

  “Sorry. I’m so frustrated with this case,” Eckhart said. “How ungrateful of me after all your help.”

  “I get it. We have one last shot. Then, we’ll write up a report,” he replied.

  “Okay.” Her whisper tinged with humiliation.

  Gibson barely noticed the heat as he headed to the building.

  “When’s your flight?” Eckhart asked, the ruffles calmed. She strolled beside him and unlocked the door with her key card.

  “The red-eye at midnight. Lots of time yet.” He gave a tiny quirk of a smile.

  “It won’t be long. I put Margaret’s prints in already.” Frenchy stood in front of the computer, waiting for the results to appear. The three of them took vigilance, holding their breath. The hard drive whirled. The monitor went dark. It lit up. A positive match.

  “What the hell!” Eckhart shrieked. “Are you kidding me?” She grabbed Gibson’s arm and jumped up and down. “Oh, my god. This is incredible.” She broke off and studied Frenchy. “Is this a false reading? A joke?”

  “No.” The lab technician shook her head, utterly bewildered herself.

  Gibson couldn’t express his bemusement.

  “But why? That’s crazy.”

  “Let’s go get her,” Gibson said.

  Eckhart babbled as she raced to the truck. She chattered all the way down Lakeshore Drive, over the canal and to Jacobs Landing. A long string of vehicles rocketed down the road from Niagara-on-the-Lake. At the first opportunity in traffic, she zoomed across the yellow line to Lawsons Lane. Gibson glanced at the store as they flew by. It seemed desolate, devoid of soul. Eckhart continued down the lane, dust spilling out in the aftermath of the tires, choking off vision behind them. Flocks of sparrows fled from the shrubs on the roadway, dodging the mayhem. She slowed down and sneaked up behind Felton’s vehicle. Gregory’s motorbike parked on the grass had fallen on its side. Before Gibson got out, he patted her hand. She looked over. Her eyes had changed to an icy blue.

  “It’s your play.”

  Eckhart nodded and hopped out of the truck. Gibson followed her to the steps, waiting on the bottom tread. Felton sat on the swing, blowing smoke through his nose.

  “What now?” He coughed twice, and then took another drag on his cigarette. “Margaret, you’ve got company,” he yelled. Felton hacked again, making fat tears roll down his face.

  “For Christ sakes, Felton. Spit it out,” Margaret rebuked.

  He shot a giant gob of phlegm toward the garden. It missed its mark and landed on the deck.

  “Jesus. Just more work for me,” Margaret grumbled. She stalked to the kitchen and came back with a mop, slamming the door behind her. “Disgusting. It’s like cleaning the bathroom after you.” She brushed at the wood with little progress. “Damn.” She flung the mop against the railing and plunked into the floral cushions.

  Eckhart waited for her opportunity to speak.

  “Margaret Cunningham you are—”

  “What am I?”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Elsie Webber,” Eckhart said and stepped forward. “Stand up.” Her voice thundered with authority. Gibson lifted his eyebrows at the force of her assertion.

  “Felton.” Margaret pressed into her chair.

  “What?” He spat out another hunk.

  “Get up.” Eckhart took one further stride forward.

  “This is ridiculous. Felton, call our lawyer,” Margaret demanded. She rose, dragging her hands along her skirt to flatten the creases.

  “Yeah, I will,” he said but remained seated as Eckhart clamped on the handcuffs and led Margaret to the Expedition. Gibson opened the rear door and eased her inside.

  “Go away.” Margaret jerked his hand off. She sat up straight, a grandiose pinch to her mouth and dead eyes fixed forward.

  Felton ground his smoke on the deck and lit another one as they pulled out of the driveway. Every once in a while, Margaret protested her predicament, but they couldn’t make out her words through the thick glass partition that divided the front and back space. When they reached the intersection, Gibson looked over to Jacobs Landing. There was a flurry of activity on the veranda. Gregory and Savannah were scrubbing vigorously at the windows to remove the filth, a soapy bucket of water between them. Their laughter streamed out and travelled down to the beach and across the lake. Gregory didn’t notice his mother in the police vehicle, having eyes only for Savannah.

  Eckhart reached for the switches on the dashboard. She glanced toward Gibson before flipping them on. His quirky smile gave the okay. The drive to the downtown station was speedy with the accompaniment of the siren and lights. She had phoned ahead to give instructions. Two officers waited at the entrance for the Expedition to arrive. Without any fuss, Margaret was taken into custody, the steel door clanging behind her ample body.

  Chapter 21

  Gibson phoned Cooper and told him the news. “Go visit your favourite judge. Get a warrant for Felton’s place. Everything. Not just the house.” He assigned a few more directives and signed off.

  “Lunch while we wait?” Eckhart asked.

  “Perfect.”

  They ambled down Church Street to the pub. A fresh breeze had sprung up and blew gusts of cool respite. They settled into their preferred spot and ordered. It wasn’t hectic so the refreshments came right away. Gibson chugged his beer, wiping the foam off his lips.

  “I was parched,” he said. “You did fine.”

  “It’s hard to believe. What the hell happened between Margaret and Elsie?” Eckhart asked.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll unearth the truth.” He pressed to his temple. An image had come and gone.

  They chatted while they dined. Gibson sat back in his chair and polished off his drink.

  “We should mosey on. Ready?”

  “Yup.”

  Gibson settled the bill, and they walked down the shady side of the street to the station. Margaret’s lawyer hadn’t arrived yet so Gibson rested on the bench in the foyer. He leaned against the hard wall painted a nondescript green, like slime, and passed the time with a game of solitaire on his cell. Eckhart leaned against the wall, too anxious to sit still.

  “How much does Felton know about all this? We should pull him in for a chat,” Gibson said, looking up at his partner.

  “You’re right.”

  Gibson punched the redial button. “Cooper. Could you bring Felton in? He’s not under arrest.” He hung up. “On the way.”

  Sultry air slinked in when the main door opened. A man dressed in a brown suit and elegant brown shoes stepped inside. His bushy brows bent over droopy eyelids like a basset hound, and his beaky nose was drippy. Fat lips bunched into a harsh frown down to his double chin. His teeth moved as if he was chewing cud. He peered at Gibson as he tottered to the counter. With a loud harrumph, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m
Philip Smith, Margaret Cunningham’s attorney. Where is she?”

  Gibson glanced up. The man clung with wrinkled hands to a briefcase that looked traumatized from years of scraping under courtroom benches. The officer at the desk led the way down the corridor. The elderly man moved unsteadily after him, his hard-soled wingtips making a disturbing clack on the linoleum. Gibson tossed his chin toward Eckhart. She stealthily shadowed the two figures to Margaret’s lockup. A metal chair just outside the door shouted her name. She sat down on the cold surface prepared to wait it out for the long haul. The officer pitched her a grin and headed back to his post. The lawyer snarled, a short fizz escaping his parted lips.

  Another sweltering rush of air whistled in. Two constables stepped into the station and crossed the lobby with their quarry sardined between them. Cooper turned and winked, hoisting his chin with a sniff. Jones took a wide stance at the counter and anchored his free hand on his hip. Felton gawked at Gibson with an outraged frown, his forehead furrowing into cavernous creases. After the constables clocked in their detainee, Gibson rose to accompany the parade down the corridor. He seized the steel handle of an interview room and yanked on the weighty door.

  They all piled inside the tiny square room painted a shiny gunmetal grey, designed to instill apprehension. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed when Gibson flipped the switch revealing four orange plastic chairs and a plywood table. Gibson gestured to the far side of the narrow table. Felton sat and placed his fists on his knees. His shoulders took on the configuration of the non-ergonomic chair, forcing his shoulders to sag forward. He looked ghostly in the bold light.

  “Thanks guys. I’ll take it from here,” Gibson said. The constables saluted as they scooted out, amused grins pasted on delighted faces.

  “We’ve arrested Margaret.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was there,” Felton said. “What for?”

  “For the murder of Elsie,” he answered, although the man already knew.

  “Why am I here?”

  “I have questions. Do you want a lawyer, Felton?” Gibson asked.

  “Why? I didn’t do anything.” He coughed.

  Gibson pushed the recorder on.