“Okay.” Gibson glanced at Eckhart. He cloaked his mouth to disguise the grin.
They followed Philip as he shuffled down the corridor to an interview room where his client had been cooling her heels. Margaret’s Brillo hair was greyer and flatter now. She fidgeted in her chair, her ample thighs sagging over the narrow plastic seat and her bare ankles swollen into knobs of fat. Philip sat next to her, his eyebrows looked like a fuzzy caterpillar stuck on his forehead. Eckhart took a seat by the door and stayed quiet. Gibson sat down and slapped the recorder on.
“Did you kill Elsie?”
Margaret clawed at the mole on her beak and worked her mouth, the trace of spittle at the corners growing larger.
“Go ahead, Margaret,” Philip said and brushed her scaly hand.
“It was an accident,” she replied. Her pudgy fingers gripped the rim of the table.
Gibson waited, his smoky eyes turning to steel.
“It was the final straw.” Margaret sat up straight, indignant at being quizzed about her actions. “She attacked us. Well, Felton for years.” She stopped and found her voice again. “First it was about Katie. Then Gregory was arrested. Elsie wouldn’t shut up.”
Her eyes burned holes into the wood surface of the table.
Philip altered his position. His neck wobbled.
“I was in the kitchen getting a beer for Felton at the fireworks. I saw Elsie walking to the beach access so I thought I would finally confront her. It needed doing. I took our pathway down to the beach. I asked her to stop gossiping about us. To leave us alone. Just that morning she had been going on about my family. She wouldn’t listen to me. She spun away and laughed. I seized her arm. I was only going to talk to her,” Margaret rambled endlessly. “She lashed out at me. She slipped.”
Gibson stared.
“It was an accident. Will you help me?” Margaret pleaded. Her face had gone beet red with the exertion. Her chin jiggled independently from the poison coming from her mouth.
“It wasn’t an accident. I can’t help you,” Gibson replied and turned off the recorder.
A sour stench of old age and fear pervaded Eckhart’s nostrils. The odour emanated from Margaret and penetrated the tiny space. Gibson stood up and called for an officer. Two uniforms came at once, rushing into the stale room.
“Get her out of here.”
The detectives escaped the room.
“What? Did she expect we were going to let her have a pass?” Eckhart asked. “Duh.”
“I have no idea about that but I do about something else,” Gibson said.
“Oh.”
“I think the ring is Gregory’s.”
“What? That’s no good. Is it?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What I mean to say is, I believe Gregory left his ring at home when he went to jail.”
“Okay,” Eckhart said, not quite following his thoughts.
“The ring wasn’t dirty or scarred in any way. Remember how shiny it was when Frenchy showed it to us at the lab.”
“So?”
“So I don’t think it was lost some other time, and I don’t think Gregory lost it either,” Gibson said.
“Where are you going with this?”
“I think Margaret had the ring cleaned and polished, and she had it with her when she killed Elsie. Probably in a pocket.”
“And she planned to give it to her son at the party. Sort of a coming home present,” Eckhart finished his sentence.
“Exactly. Why don’t you find out where Margaret had the ring cleaned? If I were you, I would go to the jewelry store at Grantham Plaza. That’s the closet one.”
“I think you could be right,” Eckhart replied. “I know the place.”
“Good.”
“We should leave soon. Get you to the airport,” Eckhart said, as she glanced at her watch.
“I’m ready.”
Eckhart cruised down the Queen Elizabeth Highway with the sun behind them, just about to plunge below the horizon. Soft music played on the radio. Eckhart hummed along with the songs, tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel. Gibson pressed into the backrest. He closed his eyes and sailed off. The Expedition hopped the curb.
“I guess we’re there.” He chuckled.
Eckhart slanted her head and threw him a sweet smile, a hint of affection.
Gibson acknowledged with a nod.
“Stay in touch.”
“You bet.”
He looked backward after she drew away, then scurried out of the heat into the terminal. It was a short wait before the plane took off for Victoria. He stared out the tiny window at the city lights below. In the western sky, sunlight lingered where Katherine waited. A new life would shortly be part of his family. Gibson fell asleep to the purr of the engines.
MURDER ON THE SAANICH PENINSULA
An evocative mystery with a jaw-dropping ending
Kathy Garthwaite
Chapter 1
Ryder Simpson stood mesmerized for several minutes. He dropped his head onto his chest and brushed his fingertips against his temple. The knife in his clenched fist grew heavier, the sticky handle causing his stomach to do a flip-flop. As he stared in disbelief at the gore, the air took on an ominous tension like static lightning. Three sharp blasts from a ship sounded in the distance, and snapped him back to reality. But even so, he hesitated, powerless to steady his nerves. He wasn’t sure what to do next, and then he tossed the weapon as far as he was able into the ocean.
He heard the rumble as a ferry moved astern out of its berth and lurched forward. The earth shuddered under his worn-out boots. The ship’s twin screws churned up the wash into frothy bubbles as it travelled toward Active Pass on its way to Vancouver. A long-reaching swell spread out toward the once peaceful town of Sidney, and the stilled figure on the craggy shore.
Panic struck, and Ryder ran like hell.
* * *
Paula sat in the wicker chair on the veranda and wondered where her boy had gone. She feared that it was things in her past that had forced him onto the streets. Would he ever return home? There were predators out there who prowled the town, seeking out the weak and vulnerable to manipulate for their own gain. She took a deep drag on her cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing the butt with the toe of her shoe. She heard the sound of footsteps fading away into the still night. After a final glance down the road, she left her post and headed inside, hoping a drink would assuage her pain.
* * *
Ruth Fletcher scurried along the ill-lit walkway. Light from the condos opposite provided faint illumination in the dusk. She felt secure in this neighbourhood, but remained vigilant while taking her evening stroll. As the light faded, shadows threatened to overtake the day and offer it to people with malicious intentions. Her boss had kept her late, and now she risked the perils of the night closing in on her. No matter, her Labrador retriever needed his walk. The frisky two-year-old dog tugged on his restraint, squirming to get loose. He swerved off the pavement, heading for an interesting smell and the young girl dropped the leash to the ground before the dog could tear her arm out of its socket. The retriever halted near the water’s edge. He sniffed and jumped around excitedly.
Ruth paused as her eyes adjusted to the murkiness, allowing everything to come into focus. By degrees, an outline took shape. She scrambled over the rocks and flashed the light from her cell phone onto an object, partly hidden among the bedrock outcrops—a lifeless body. Against the pallor of the lady’s skin, the blood splatter on the cotton dress was a rich ruby coloration. Ruth thrust a fist to her mouth to muffle the scream. Her heart thumped rapidly, making her feel faint. She had never seen a dead person before. As Ruth called 911, she backed away, her limbs trembling uncontrollably. Despite the coolness of the concrete, she sank to the sidewalk for support. Ruth gathered the dog close to her shivering frame as she waited for help.
Chapter 2
Inspector William Gibson had a rare evening alone. His wife was out with a frie
nd for dinner and a movie. He should have been enjoying himself, but his mind kept wandering from the words on the page. Gibson re-read the same sentence five times before he put the book face down on the coffee table. He plucked up the letter that had occupied his thoughts since its delivery that morning, but then the shrill ring of his cell phone startled him.
Policing on the southern tip of Vancouver Island overlapped between the local police force in the City of Victoria, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in the small towns and rural areas, and the Vancouver Island Integrated Major Crime Unit. Sometimes they worked in conjunction with each other, but when Gibson’s phone rang there was never any doubt that something major was in the wind. As commander of the Vancouver Island Integrated Major Crime Unit, VIIMCU, Gibson was compelled to answer. He looked at the phone and swiped the screen.
“Gibson.”
“Hello, Inspector. Bad news here. We’ve got a body near the Bevan Fishing Pier in Sidney,” the dispatcher said. “Do you know the place?”
“Yeah. It’s a street over from the main drag. Right?”
“That’s it. The crime scene unit is on its way.”
“What about Scottie?” he asked.
“Sergeant Ann Scott Cruickshank is en route, as well.”
“Okay, thanks.” Gibson hung up. His problem would have to wait. He thrust the letter into his upper pocket and let out an audible sigh.
Sidney was a small town on the north end of the Saanich Peninsula, thirty kilometres straight down the highway from his office in Victoria.
By the time he arrived at the crime scene, the area was swarming with police vehicles. He greeted the officers standing by the yellow tape, holding back a flock of spectators. As he worked his way down the pavement, his second in command greeted him.
“The pathologist is here.” Scottie pointed to the outcrop of rock farther down the shoreline. Pinpoints of light from battery pack spotlights were set in a circle around the victim. Flashes from a camera produced intermittent brilliant spots in the darkness.
“Is it Dr. Tilly Adler?”
“Yeah.”
“How did she get here so fast?”
“She lives nearby,” Scottie said. “And it’s a good thing she does.”
Gibson tilted his head, not getting it.
“The tide.”
“Right.” He swept his eyes towards the water. “Who discovered the body?”
“A young girl walking her dog. An officer escorted her home earlier,” Scottie said. “She was pretty rattled.”
They arrived near the water’s edge where Adler was waiting.
“How long has she been dead?” Gibson asked.
“Not more than a few hours. Now, that’s just an estimate until after the autopsy.”
“The carotid artery. She didn’t have a chance,” he murmured as he peered down at the body.
“No, she didn’t,” Adler agreed.
“What about those other cuts?”
“I will have more for you when we get her on the slab,” the pathologist said. “We have to transfer her now. The tide is coming in quickly.” She scrutinized Gibson with her enormous sky-blue eyes.
“That’s what Scottie said.”
“Come by in the morning, closer to noon. I should have everything done by then.”
She signalled to two technicians hanging around in the background. They lifted her body, put it on a stretcher and left with Adler trailing behind.
“Do we know who the victim is?” Gibson turned to Scottie. He knelt to gain a better look at where the torso had been lodged in the stones.
“Dianne Meadows. We found her handbag a few metres away.” Scottie flipped through her notebook. “She lives in Sidney. On the north side.”
“Have you dispatched an officer to the house to inform the family?”
“Yeah, but nobody was home.”
“What about the weapon? Was that recovered?”
“It’s probably in the drink.” Scottie pursed her lips.
“We’ll get a dive team out at first light,” Gibson said as he contemplated the challenge. “Was there a cell phone in her purse?”
“No, but it could easily have fallen out. There are lots of nooks and crannies in these rocks to get jammed into. I asked the crime team to come back in the morning when they could actually see something,” Scottie said as she stepped off the treacherous rocks. “Although it could be in the water with the knife.”
After they were both on firm ground, they walked back to their vehicles.
“This isn’t the first stabbing in Sidney,” Scottie said. “My friend in the local dispatch said there has been an uptick in street robberies by teenagers. Well, that and the other disreputable people. You know the snatch and run kind. And a few knifings thrown in here and there.”
“Is that right?” Gibson shook his head.
“But this is the first fatal stabbing. I hope it’s not a sign of more to come.” She studied her partner. “It’s not a sleepy town anymore.”
Gibson grunted something unintelligible. Seemingly he had other thoughts.
Chapter 3
“I was worried.” Katherine glimpsed up from the morning paper she was reading and gave her husband a look.
“I left you a…” Gibson paused and flashed a silly grin. “I forgot. Sorry. It was a late call for an incident in Sidney.”
“A murder by the pier.” Katherine tapped the newspaper. She still enjoyed the printed page.
“The vultures.”
“Do the public need to worry?” she asked.
“No.”
“So, it was the husband.” Katherine got up and refilled her coffee mug. She twisted around and smirked at him.
“Don’t try to weasel anything out of me. You know I can’t talk about it,” Gibson said and changed the topic. “Did you guys have fun last night?”
“Very much so, but I’m going to stay in and rest for the day.”
“That would be a sensible idea,” Gibson said. He stood up and rubbed her belly. “Take care of our little guy.”
Gibson touched his suit pocket with the damning letter tucked in deep. Should he mention something now? Was it a suitable time? As he wrestled with his thoughts, Katherine said something that halted him in his tracks.
“How exciting that your first child is on its way.” She offered him a peck on the cheek and sat back down. “My ankles are swollen.”
Gibson extended his fingers through his lush hair and decided to leave that skeleton in the closet.
“Don’t wait up for me,” he said. “And get lots of rest.”
“All right.” Her voice grew bubbly. Her skin glowed in that special way.
* * *
The inconspicuous building of the major crime unit, VIIMCU, was located on Dallas Road. The unit had its own forensic identification section where fingerprints, DNA, hair, fibres, and photographic evidence were processed. The front entrance had no signage to reveal its government designation. There were no interview rooms or cells to hold suspects, that was all done at either Victoria or Sidney RCMP detachments, depending on where the crime took place.
Gibson’s office was on the second floor with a great view of mountains and water from the large corner windows. The squad met for orientation in Gibson’s office after nine that morning. DC Blake Gunner and DC Danny Na were seated in front of the sizeable desk that dominated the room. Gibson sat across from the detective constables. Scottie leaned on the windowsill with her back to the ocean vista. She gazed at a photograph of the victim taken at the crime scene pinned to the incident board.
This was the first time the inspector had put up the board in his office. It was usually in the conference room down the hallway. But more often than not, the team ended up hanging out in his space. It was a comfortable room with good natural lighting, plenty of chairs, and a coffee machine on the sideboard where they could help themselves to a cappuccino or a sweet tea. So it was a sensible move to switch meetings to this office, and if nothing else G
ibson was a sensible man.
The inspector sat at his desk with a slim folder in front of him and a pen in his hand. He tapped the file sharply to draw their attention away from the small talk to the investigation at hand.
“Listen up, everybody. As you know, a body was found down by the fishing pier last night. Her name is Dianne Meadows, and she lives in Sidney, not all that far from the crime scene. The victim was stabbed several times and left to bleed out. We don’t have the murder weapon yet, but we believe it may have been tossed into the ocean. A dive team has been dispatched early this morning to comb the bay.”
Gibson paused to consider how to say the next thing on his mind without causing a rift with Scottie. She had made it clear last night that she thought the incident was brought about by a gang of teenagers on the prowl. It had maybe begun as a robbery, but swiftly turned into a fatal stabbing.
“Okay, here’s the deal. We all know that the husband is a prime suspect in a case like this.”
Gibson held up his hand to ward off the protest coming from Scottie. She threw him a meaningful glance, but kept her mouth shut. He adjusted his tie and continued.
“So, we will be looking at the husband thoroughly. No doubt about that. But to be fair, Scottie’s idea that the street kids may be involved is a valid point.” He turned to his sergeant. “Everything we find out will go on the incident board. The facts will lead us to the killer.”
Scottie pressed her lips into a suitable grin.
Gibson looked up from his notes satisfied that he had smoothed things out with his partner. They had worked together for several years now, and she knew more about him than even his wife. She knew about his first marriage and his trouble from his work trip back east last month. Many things that he didn’t share with anyone else; personal matters that he would prefer to keep private. Outside of the job, their friendship was important to him. He wanted to keep it that way.
“So, first things first. We need to round up some witnesses.” Gibson chortled to himself—as if you could just go out there and find someone who had seen the whole thing. It was never that easy. And how reliable were witnesses anyway? When one person would swear the guy was thin, the other person would insist that they were fat. Regardless, they had to follow protocol. Sometimes they got lucky. He turned back to face Na.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 35