“Could you and Gunner get out there and knock on some doors?”
“You bet,” he responded.
“And Na…”
The DC looked up, his penetrating brown eyes directed at Gibson.
“…keep your eye on the divers and report their progress to me right away. The murder weapon has to be found.” Gibson pictured the crime scene and added, “Go up on the pier, as well. Maybe a regular there saw something. Although, it would make more sense to visit later in the evening.”
“All right. We can do that.”
“Nobody was home at the Meadows’ place last night, so Scottie and I will head over there first.”
Gibson stood up.
“It was in the papers this morning,” Scottie said. “That’s not right. I hope they don’t read about it in the news before we get there.”
“How unfortunate,” Na said. “How did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. Someone with a big mouth must have recognized the victim when they transported her to the morgue,” Gibson said. “It was a large, late-night crowd for such a little town.”
Gunner snickered behind his hand. The inspector threw him a warning. The constable had had a wobbly beginning in the major crime unit owing to his shenanigans. Eventually, he had shifted gears and become a valuable member of the team. But every once in a while, the rascally behaviour surfaced. Gunner and Na vacated the room quickly, feeling slightly abashed.
“Well, we better get a move on,” Scottie said as she pushed away from the window.
They made their way out of the building to Scottie’s vehicle.
“Where to, boss?”
Gibson rambled off the address and sat back in his seat to reflect on his problem. His mobile phone rang almost immediately.
“Gibson.”
“I read about the murder,” Police Chief Rex Shafer said.
The inspector cringed and disregarded the jab.
The chief worked out of the RCMP detachment on Caledonia Street in Victoria. He had lots of opinions. For the most part, he left them alone to carry out their job, but he was a stickler for being kept in the loop. After all, he was the supervisor of the major crime unit above Gibson and had to deal with public sentiment. The boss was all political and didn’t relish the fact that the story had leaked to the papers.
“The victim was stabbed,” Gibson said.
“Any ideas yet who did this?”
“It’s too soon.”
“All right. Keep me posted.” Rex hung up.
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“Only if a street person did it,” Gibson said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because that means the townspeople will be fearful of the street?” Gibson raised an eyebrow.
Chapter 4
The north side of town consisted of narrower streets and smaller dwellings than the south end but had pleasant gardens. Scottie pulled up to the curb in front of an old split-level house. The roof was covered with moss, and the white stucco was stained with rusty streaks at the corners due to malfunctioning gutters. The curtains were pulled wide open, showing spotted windows. Dandelions had taken over a front lawn that had died to a brownish-yellow mass from lack of water. A newer pickup truck sat in a driveway that had the same moss finding a home in the cracks that ran in patterns along its length.
They stood on the porch to gather their wits. This was the most dreadful part of the job, having to deliver the bad news. It was extremely strenuous on Scottie when kids were involved. Her sister with her two adolescent daughters remained the only family she had left. Although they didn’t know if Dianne had any children, it was a real possibility. No matter what the circumstances were, the horror of murder hit the people left behind. Gibson gave a sideways glance to Scottie and rang the doorbell.
A gangly, slender man in his forties wearing polyester pants and a worn plaid shirt swung open the door. He had thick, dark hair, with a few flecks of grey on the crown, that he brushed forward to cover a pockmarked face. But what startled Scottie was the anger radiating from his eyes. She took a pace backward and automatically placed her hand on her gun.
“Did you forget your keys? Where the...” He paused. “Who the hell are you?” His lips curved into an ugly leer.
“Mr. Meadows?” Gibson said.
“Yeah. I’m Kevin Meadows.” He gave them a once over, his angry outburst abating when he realized who they might be. “You’re the police. Did my wife get into an accident or something?”
“I’m Inspector Gibson. This is my partner, Sergeant Cruickshank. May we come in for a moment?”
“You can tell me here,” he said, barring entrance into the home. His irritation had subsided, but was unrelinquished.
“Dad, is it Mom?” A teenage girl with long fair hair and a ring in her nose ran up behind her father and pushed him aside.
“I’m sorry, but we have some bad news. Your wife was found dead last night. She was murdered,” Gibson said. Straight out was usually the best way. “Sorry for your loss,” he added over the hysterical scream that had erupted from the daughter. She leaned awkwardly into her dad.
“My Dianne? Are you sure? It can’t be.” His mouth flapped open. The bluster had faded completely, along with his rosy complexion.
“We would like it if you could come down to identify her,” Gibson said.
The girl shrieked and burst into tears.
“Virginia. It’s okay.” He placed his arm around her shoulder and dragged her inside. Without a backward glance, he yelled out, “You better come in. And shut the door.”
The detectives followed Kevin down the hallway to a bright and pleasant room. Through a large window, they could see a pie-shaped backyard surrounded by a high fence. A massive table dominated the kitchen—definitely the focal point of life for this household. Its surface was scarred with nicks and dents from heavy use, but had the radiance of well-polished wood. Eight chairs set in place had flowered cushions on the seats that matched the drapes. Virginia sat down with a thump and continued to cry, big giant tears that made her eyes well up. She paused to suck in mouthfuls of air and wept some more. Her chin trembled like an adolescent child, not like the unruly teenager that she was. Kevin sat beside her and tucked her in close, rocking her in a gentle motion.
“I don’t understand. Who would want to harm Dianne?” Kevin glowered at one detective to the other with disbelief and choked out his next question. “Where?”
“By the Bevan Fishing Pier.”
“That’s one of her favourite spots. She goes down there all the time to watch the crabbers. Only she wouldn’t be there at night. I thought she was at a baby shower. What the hell is going on?” Kevin asked. An expression of bemusement crossed his face as if he had forgotten where he was or who he was.
Gibson waited to enable the man’s reality to catch up with his thoughts. After a time, he inquired, “Where was this party?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in Sidney,” he snapped. “It wouldn’t be on the pier.”
“Who could we ask?” Gibson waited for the man to settle down. It was something he had gotten used to. It started with denial and quickly moved to anger. The bargaining, depression, and acceptance were the parts of the framework that came after.
“Someone at her work would know,” he said. “Yeah, somebody there would know for sure. She’s the loan manager at the Canada Trust branch.”
Scottie wrote down everything in her notebook. She waited with a hand poised over the page for the next question she knew was coming.
“Where were you last night?” Gibson tried saying it without levelling an accusatory finger in Kevin’s direction. The man would be in anger mode for quite a while. It appeared as if he lived his life in a rage, so he wasn’t surprised at the response that came immediately.
“You, bastard. Coming in here and accusing me of murdering my wife,” he screamed. “In front of my kid. Can’t you see how this has distressed her? What is the matter with you?”
He hit his fist on the table.
Virginia seemed immune to his rage, so lost was she in her grief.
Gibson remained quiet while Kevin let off some steam. Scottie kept her head down and pretended she was busy writing something. The worst of the explosion would blow over. Give him a minute or two.
“I would never hurt my wife,” he said. “Are you sure it’s her?”
Gibson waited patiently as the man bounced back to denial.
“I work at the Swartz Bay ferry terminal in the maintenance section. That’s where I was last night.” His eyes narrowed into dark slits as suspicion of the detective’s motives whirled in his head. “My shift began at eight. I can prove it.”
“We only have a few more questions, and we’ll be on our way.”
“How did she die?” His voice came high-pitched and cold.
Gibson knew the question was imminent, but he didn’t want to describe the methods the killer had used, not with the young girl in the room. She was already in a tizzy. The details were quite shocking, even to the detectives. He lowered his head slowly.
“I asked you, how did Dianne die?” Kevin glared at the investigator. His voice had levelled, but a hint of aggression lay below the surface.
“She was stabbed with a knife.”
Virginia let out a deep gasp.
“God damn it. It was those punks. Wasn’t it? It’s been in all the papers.” He slammed his fist on the table more forcibly this time.
Gibson ignored the flare-up and continued, trying to gain the daughter’s attention. “Where were you last night? Nobody answered the door when the officers came to tell you what had happened.” He leaned toward her with a sympathetic expression on his face.
Virginia peered up with inflamed eyes that didn’t blink.
“Why didn’t you answer the door?” Kevin demanded.
The crying had eased into a measured quick intake of breath and a slow puff of air. “I guess I was asleep. I didn’t go out last night.” Her eyes darted around the room as if she had more to say. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut and stood up. Her face was a picture of devastation, but something flashed in her eyes. And as quickly, it retreated.
Gibson threw his partner a glance. Had she seen the hesitation? What did the girl know?
“We’ll keep in touch. We’re sorry for your loss,” Gibson said again as he stood up to leave.
“Find the person who did this to us,” Kevin snarled.
The detectives walked down the path to their vehicle.
“The girl knows something,” Gibson said.
“What? You think she’s in cahoots with her dad to kill her mother?” Scottie asked.
“It’s possible Virginia witnessed something,” Gibson replied.
“I suppose. If it was Kevin?”
Gibson did think it was Kevin. He didn’t like the guy. He had a temper that was scary. It wasn’t the first time the detective had seen this kind of behaviour. He thought back to a case he had dealt with a number of years ago—a missing woman that was eventually found cut into pieces. The husband had been on the cable networks pleading for the police to find her, to get the person responsible. He had the crocodile tears, and the breakdown in front of the camera over the loss of his wonderful wife. At the beginning, the family gathered round him in support. But in the end, he was outed as the monster that Gibson thought he was all along.
Chapter 5
The morgue was located at the rear entrance of Vic General Hospital. It was a place that you went to and left in a rush. It held no attraction for the detectives, especially for Scottie. As far as she was concerned, it never got any better regardless of the number of times she had been there. It even became worse as time passed by, knowing what to anticipate. So, she braced herself and followed Gibson into the bleak room with her body held tight.
Dr. Tilly Adler was seated on a stool, her stubby legs dangling in the air, peering down a microscope. She hopped to the ground, greeting them in a cordial manner. In a somewhat absent-minded way, she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. At that point, she moved over to a stainless table in the middle of the room.
“Right on time. There’s a lot to cover.”
The detectives stood across from the pathologist and studied Dianne’s exposed body. Scottie shivered.
“If you observe her neck on the left side, you can see where the knife entered. It hit her carotid artery,” Adler began. “Death would have been practically instantaneous. There are three more stab wounds in the chest. They were post-mortem as if the person struck her again right away.” She stole a glance toward Gibson, her eyes widened. “There was no need. She was already gone by then. Makes me think it was personal.”
“What caused that? Is it part of the stabbing?” Gibson pointed to some bruising along her breast.
“No. This lady has several areas of bruising in various stages of healing over her entire body. This one appears to be more recent like someone had punched her hard,” Adler said, pointing to a yellowish mark. “And she has received more than her fair share of fractured bones.”
“What are you implying?” Gibson asked.
“I’m telling you that these injuries are typical of a victim of domestic abuse. Her injuries are in places that are usually covered by clothing. That’s to hide the apparent signs of violence.”
“We’ve met the husband, so I’m not surprised,” Gibson said.
“That’s not for me to say.” Adler peered over her glasses and studied the detectives.
“But it sure is a reasonable place to start,” Gibson said. “Kevin was real quick to anger when we spoke with him earlier. In my mind, he appeared to be your classic abuser. We could use this information to pressure him more.”
“Oh. There’s one other matter,” Adler said.
“What’s that?”
“She was pregnant.”
“Oh, my God!” Scottie exclaimed. “That’s dreadful.”
“Thanks, Tilly.” Gibson said, keeping any thoughts of a baby to himself.
“No problem. I’ll write up my report and forward it over.”
The investigators left the morgue, but the chill followed them out of the doors. They walked down the sidewalk soaking in the warmth of the sun. The sounds of ordinary people setting about their business surrounded them.
“Well, there’s motive now. Maybe even opportunity.”
“I don’t know, Gibson. The guy was at work. He has an alibi.”
“He says he was at work, but he could be lying. We haven’t checked that out yet.”
“That’s right, we haven’t. I don’t think it’s a good idea to jump to conclusions.”
“For all we know, he has a girlfriend as well,” Gibson said.
“We need evidence before dragging him in. Just because he might have been beating his wife, doesn’t mean he killed her. And not just that, but I really think the bad-asses on the streets are the culprits. Don’t you?” Scottie glanced at him before she pulled away from the curb.
Gibson could tell she was ticked off with him for being so dogged. The exchange with his partner had flustered him. When did he get so narrow-minded? Why was he desperately anxious to accuse the husband?
A drop of rain hit the windshield. Within seconds, a torrential downpour started. It hammered on the roof like a hail of bullets and bouncing off in all directions.
“Where did that come from?” Scottie gawked at a gloomy cloud whistling across the sky.
“Let’s visit Dianne’s workplace and speak to her colleagues,” Gibson said. “Sorry, Scottie. I can be such an ass.”
“Forget it. I know that case a few years ago got under your skin. We have a long way to go before this gets solved.”
She leaned forward with her eyes squinted, trying to see through the wipers that whipped at warp speed. They were hardly a match for the quantity of rainfall. The tires hissed on the blackened roads as she drove back to Sidney. The rain fell steadily, and then disappeared as quickly as it had
started.
Chapter 6
The bank was on the corner of Beacon and Fifth Street. Every parking space along the street was occupied. Scottie had circled the block a few times before she noticed customer parking in the back of the bank building. The rainfall had left deep puddles that created obstacles for the detectives as they worked their way to the rear entrance. Gibson turned at the sound of a vehicle hitting a deep pool of water on the road and as a result, stepped into a puddle. The dampness leaked into his shoes immediately.
“Damn.”
Scottie just laughed it off.
The lobby had white marble floors, subdued lighting, large vases of fresh-cut blossoms, and a row of clocks on the back wall displaying local time around the globe. Gibson approached the receptionist at the front counter. The man’s black suit was tailor-made, fitting a trim physique. The crisp clean shirt was complemented by a silver and black tie. His hair was flawless, not a cowlick sticking up or a lock dangling into his grey eyes.
“How may I assist you?”
“May we have a moment with the manager? It’s official business.” Gibson produced his badge.
The man reached over, picked up the phone and punched in a number. The manicured nails with a French polish seemed entirely suitable for the job. After the receptionist hung up, he gestured to a line of chairs opposite. “He’ll be right out.”
“Thanks.” Gibson turned to sit but was distracted by a disturbance to his left. A well-dressed lady hurried from an office, scurried down a hallway and out of view.
“What was that all about?” Scottie asked.
“Who knows? Maybe she’s overdue for lunch.” Gibson shrugged and looked at one of the clocks. “An extremely late lunch.”
“Speaking of which, I’m famished. We didn’t get any lunch today.” Scottie placed her palm to her head and feigned being dizzy from lack of nutrition. “And I could use an extra-large coffee.”
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 36