He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back further into his chair. He was still puzzling over why Dianne had been at the pier. Why did she lie about going to the baby shower? Could it be she was meeting someone? Was that someone the father of her unborn child? Did Kevin ambush them? Were they both having affairs? So, which way was it? It was all conjecture and stabs in the dark. He lacked any facts.
Gibson lowered his feet to the floor and stood up. Not only was this case complicated, but thoughts of the evening ahead added to his muddled mind. It was simply too much. He gave up and headed home.
* * *
The aroma of spices filled the house. Gibson peeked into the dining room to see how things were going. Katherine had pulled out all the stops to make a favourable impression. She had dusted off the fine china, a wedding present from a steadfast friend. The silverware gleamed from a recent polish. A pair of candle holders flanked a large crystal vase in the centre of the table. The V-shaped container overflowed with pink roses and snow-white flowers Gibson didn’t recognize until a sweet scent, reminiscent of strawberries, floated up to his nostrils. Freesia. He poked his head into the kitchen and watched Katherine stir a simmering pot on the stovetop. With a flick of her fingers, she added a pinch of Cajun heat. She turned at the sound of his inhale.
“You like?”
“Very much.” Gibson grazed her cheek with his lips. “I’ll get changed. Anatoe will be here soon.”
Did he catch a flutter of uncertainty in her eyes? The sensation had come and died so fast he wasn’t certain.
* * *
Anatoe arrived with a bouquet of daisies, a bottle of expensive wine, and a twinkle in his eyes that reminded Gibson of his son’s mother. He had constructed scenarios in his mind of how the evening would go. Not all of them were good. The introductions had been awkward. Had his negative emotions brought it on? Instantly he felt his pulse throbbing in his temple. The two people he cared about the most stood motionless for longer than Gibson could handle. He sputtered some words of welcome and steered them into the living room. Almost as soon as Katherine sat, she sprung up from her chair.
“I have to check the food.” She fled to the back.
Gibson directed an uneasy glance after his wife. Anatoe didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s sit at the table. I’ll get the wine.” Gibson wanted to get the night over with quickly. Eat and run. Why had he supposed this was such a brilliant idea?
They both sank into their chairs. Gibson sat at the head of the table and Anatoe took a place beside him, capturing the view to the backyard. They chatted amicably, the alcohol smoothing the raw edges of Gibson’s nerves. Katherine entered with a big platter of steaming food and put it on a trivet. She sat opposite Anatoe and forced a weak grin.
“Enjoy.” The word defied her expression.
“Is everything okay?” Gibson asked. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I just want everything to be perfect.”
“It is. The food, you, my dad,” Anatoe said. He pressed his lips together, unable to say all that he felt. His chin trembled like a child, grateful for the love.
Katherine smiled warmly.
Gibson wished he wouldn’t always imagine things would go badly.
Time rolled by pleasantly as they exchanged stories. Most came from Anatoe. His upbringing. His passions. He had started out as a social worker. But his interest in cars had steered him in a different direction. And now, with the realization that he wanted to be part of something bigger, something meaningful, he had embarked on a novel venture. From the beginning, the support of his mother had encouraged him to walk the straight and narrow. He knew how fortunate he had been. Ryder hadn’t been so lucky.
Katherine sat forward in her chair, drawn into Anatoe’s enthusiasm. She promised to entice community leaders to support him. Jackson Parker from the bank was already on board.
As the hours passed by, nobody wanted the evening to end. Even the occasional silence was comfortable. But end it must. At the door, Anatoe reached out and hugged Katherine in a gesture of fondness and admiration.
Gibson stood there quietly. He wanted to remain lost in the moment a while longer. But the details of the case seeped back into his thoughts unwanted. People were afraid to go out at night, and the papers were spreading rumours that the town was sinking into chaos. Not unlike how Gibson was feeling. One minute, bobbing on top of the waves, and the next, falling away into the darkness. The more he doubted himself, the more troubled he felt. The separation between his personal life and his work had blurred. It was the second time he thought he should quit.
Chapter 24
Gibson couldn’t shake the gloomy feeling, not even on this bright summer day. A noise from the hallway made him turn from the window. The DCs lumbered into the room and sat down. Their clothes were wrinkled. Gunner had a coffee stain on the front of his shirt.
“Long night, boys?” Gibson returned to his desk and propped his feet on a lower drawer he had pulled out earlier. He waited with expectation for good news.
“Long and not productive,” Na said.
The inspector groaned. They needed a break in the case. Although Gibson figured surveillance at Kevin’s workplace was a waste of time, he wasn’t ready to give up. Well, not yet anyway. Gibson sensed that there was still something missing.
“One more night?”
“Okay. No problem.”
“Don’t forget to visit Scottie in the hospital before you head home. She would appreciate some company,” Gibson said. “Give her an update on what’s happening.”
“Is there anything happening?” Gunner asked. His mischievous grin bordered on mocking.
Gibson shook his head. He guessed Gunner would always have that little boy mentality. Most of the time he kept it under wraps. They were stressed by any lack of progress. Same as he was.
“We’re going there directly,” Na said. He yanked at his partner’s jacket. “Come on.”
The DCs walked out and went down the stairs, yapping about this and that. Gibson could hear their boisterous chatter until they rounded the corner. Then silence reigned once more. He sat at his desk, weighing his options. With his mind made up, he strolled to the laboratory to have a natter with Jocko. After some discussion, he left the station with an envelope tucked under his arm.
Gibson reckoned Kevin was one of those guys who might stop at the pub for a couple of drinks before heading home. But he thought he would take his chances and drive into Sidney with intentions of confronting him. Seeing the murder weapon might shock Kevin into opening up, even confessing. It would be a bonus if Virginia was there. She had more answers to his questions than she was letting on, he was sure. He pulled up to the house and stopped. No light shone through the drawn drapes. He knocked once on the door and waited.
A bleary-eyed Kevin answered. With barely a glance toward the detective, he turned and walked away. Gibson accompanied him down the hall to the kitchen. Virginia was slumped in a chair messing with her hair. A half-eaten slice of toast lay abandoned on the plate in front of her.
“What?” She rolled her eyes when he sat down opposite her.
Kevin poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “What can we do for you? Did you find the killer?” He snorted, an ugly sneer pulled a lip down at the corner.
Gibson remained silent, pulling the glossy photos out of the envelope and placing them on the table.
Virginia squeaked.
Kevin stared at the array of pictures. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His gaze met the detective’s hard steely stare. “That’s not mine.”
“But you know whose it is. Don’t you, Virginia?” He waited for a response, but she turned her head away.
“Is this the knife Ryder had?” he demanded once more. As far as Gibson was concerned, there was only one answer. After all, Ryder’s prints were on the handle and it would be too weird for there to be more than one knife. Would she tell him the truth?
&nb
sp; “Do I have to say?” She glanced over to her father.
“I think that would be a good idea at this point. You don’t want to be involved with this punk’s mess. Jesus Christ.” Kevin flopped into a chair and sighed.
Virginia reached over to a close-up shot and pointed to a mark on the handle. “Right there. Ryder scratched two ‘x’s, so he could prove it was his. You know. In case someone stole it.”
“Did somebody steal it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well?”
“We were making out on the couch.” She fidgeted and gawked at her father. “I suppose the knife fell out of his pack somehow. Actually, my mother found it. We fought.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Gibson held up his hand when Kevin started to speak. He suspected there was more to the story.
“Mom put it in the shed. After she died, and you came here...” She swallowed hard. “I looked. It was gone.”
“Did Ryder return to fetch it?”
“I don’t think so...” She paused. “No. How would he know it was here?”
“You didn’t tell him?”
She shook her head slowly.
“What about you?” Gibson turned to Kevin. “Did you find the weapon and kill your wife?”
“Piss off.” He leaped out of his chair and pointed a shaky finger at him. “Get out!”
Virginia ran from the room.
Gibson let himself out and hopped in his truck. Why hadn’t Dianne turned the knife into the cop shop? Maybe because the police hadn’t helped her the first time she went in with her concerns. So the question was, if Ryder hadn’t taken the knife, and he saw no reason why Dianne would have taken it with her to the pier, who did that leave? The husband. And that’s who he thought was the most likely suspect. Only he couldn’t arrest Kevin on a hunch or a premonition. It was like asking a psychic to find a missing person. There was nothing he could do without evidence. He was completely stymied.
With so many contradicting ideas clouding his thoughts, he drove around aimlessly. The town had undergone a tree beautification period twenty years earlier. Now trees stretched down each street, making dapples of light and shadow on the pavement. Gibson ran into a dead-end street lined with a row of shimmering grey-silvery poplars. He retraced his steps and turned at the next corner onto a familiar street. An older model car was parked in the driveway of a bungalow. The plethora of flowers out front waved in the air. He drew alongside the curb, walked through the small gate and rapped on the doorway. It was a few minutes before it was answered by Ryder’s mom, her curly hair now a mass of tangles. Paula stood with a hand holding onto the neck of her quilted housecoat. She stuck her head outside and swept her eyes down the street as if Ryder would be there.
“You’re alone.” There was a rawness to her voice as if she had been up all night crying.
Gibson nodded slightly.
“Come in. I’ll make us a fresh pot.”
Paula shuffled down the hallway in her floppy slippers. The detective closed the door and followed. The air in the kitchen was thick with the tang of burnt Java. She switched off the coffee maker and poured out the dregs from the bottom of the carafe. Her movements were robotic, indifferent to the day. After fussing with the mugs and cutlery, she sat across from Gibson.
“The murder weapon has Ryder’s prints on it.”
Paula gasped softly.
“It was his knife,” he said.
“He didn’t do it.”
“I don’t think so either.” Gibson was surprised at himself. As soon as he said it, he realized he didn’t think Ryder had anything to do with Dianne’s death. He was putting himself in a precarious position, but he didn’t give a shit.
“Really?” A slight twitch played at the corner of her mouth, revealing her fear. Gibson could see by the longing in her eyes that she wanted to believe him. But she possessed an inherent mistrust of the police. “You’re the only one that thinks that.”
“Have you heard from Ryder?”
Paula shook her head sadly.
“We really need to get him to come in. Just to talk to him.” Gibson paused. “Will you tell me the truth?”
“About what?”
“About Ryder’s father, Guy Simpson. I think Ryder might have run to him for help.”
“He wouldn’t go to Guy for anything.”
“Why’s that?”
“Guy is his stepfather. They never got along.”
“I see.”
“So, I guess now you’re going to ask me about his real dad?” Her eyes flared with anger. “Well. I’ll tell you anyway. I was raped so that’s a dead end. Isn’t it?” She sucked in a lungful of air and puffed it out. “Now you know everything.” She burst into tears. The drops ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her body heaved, broken by short pauses of recovering breaths. Before long, she was still.
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. It’s my fault Ryder went off. He overheard the conversation between me and his stepfather. Ryder wasn’t meant to know about the rape.” Paula was on the brink of crying.
Gibson pressed her fingers.
“Will you help us?” she pleaded.
“I’ll do my best.”
He had an idea. Maybe it would become a plan. He would keep it to himself for now.
After Gibson left Paula’s house, he felt wretched. He hoped he hadn’t promised too much, predicting a bright future that may not be there. He could be fooling himself. Scottie could very well be right. Everything pointed to Ryder at this point.
Chapter 25
The mountains in the distance were silhouetted against the baby blue sky. A flock of geese crossed low over the misty water. The birds were on the move to southern climes. Gibson stood in the front window and watched the first arbutus leaves drift down to the ground. Signs of the changing season were all around. The air smelt of the ocean, the salty sensation tickling his nostrils.
He polished off the remainder of his espresso and headed back to the kitchen. Katherine was still asleep, so he forewent breakfast. He didn’t want to wake her just yet. She was resting for two. There was always the café across the street from his office. Gibson closed the front door quietly and hopped into his truck. He drove down the highway, sorting his plans for the day. Scottie was still in the hospital and on his list for a visit. He had to call Na to see how things went at last night’s surveillance. It was probably nothing, another dead end.
He pulled into a space on Dallas Road and walked along the pavement to the coffee shop. After a full breakfast and a latte, Gibson strolled across the street. He fumbled with his card key to unlock the door to the building. The office was dark, so he flipped on a light. When he picked up the paperwork stacked on his desk, he moaned. Someone at the administrative centre had been busy. Then a thought popped into his mind. This was a job for Scottie. He smirked at the prospect of passing the buck. She wouldn’t be fully mobile for weeks and weeks, but she would be back in the office, broken leg or not, very soon. There wasn’t anything that would stop Scottie from pushing on. His phone pinged. He glimpsed at the screen and flopped into his chair.
“Gibson.”
“It’s Rex.” His rich baritone voice rumbled down the line. “Have you found that kid yet?”
“We have several leads we’re chasing,” he lied.
“All right. How’s Scottie?”
“She’s getting along fine.”
“What’s Gunner working on?” Rex asked.
“He’s on a stakeout. With Na.” Gibson stifled a laugh. Rex was constantly asking about his nephew.
“Good work. Keep me posted.”
“Always,” Gibson said.
The police chief hung up.
Gibson stared at the folders and sorted through them. It really was the very least he could do. Some were bulletins needing an initial, proving he had read them. Not the type of proof the courts needed, that was for certain. There were way too many to peruse, so he signed them all. After se
veral hours, he tipped backwards in his chair and stretched his cramped muscles. The office had been quiet all morning, so the hammering of feet on the stairs seemed thunderous. If he had to guess, it would be Gunner and Na with some good news.
The constables hurried down the hallway and stood in the doorway. Na was wheezing heavily.
“You’re out of shape, old man.” Gunner laughed.
“So, what’s the scoop? Anything?”
“Yeah. Kevin left the terminal halfway through his shift.”
“Really?” Gibson leaned forward. “Where did he go? Did you follow him?”
“Hang on, boss. He walked to the docks at Canoe Cove and got on a boat.”
“It was a yacht called Sea You Later, down on Dock G,” Na said. “It was immense. Megabucks.” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together to emphasize his point.
“How long did he stay?”
“Two hours. We think he was playing poker.”
“There was a great deal of whooping going on,” Na added.
“Did you talk to George, Kevin’s workmate?”
“No. We stuck with Kevin. By the time we returned to the workshop, George was nowhere to be found,” Na said.
Gibson sat back in his chair and mulled over what the constables had found. But he wasn’t sure how this news would help his case. He let his thoughts lead him forward. If Kevin had left the terminal to play poker and nobody noticed his absence, then it was conceivable that he could drive into Sidney, kill his wife and be back before anyone was the wiser. Yes. That fit into his theory. He would go to Canoe Cove and find the owner of the boat and ask the tough questions. Was there a game last Thursday? Was Kevin there? And what about George? It wouldn’t take long to wrap this up. He was closing in.
“When is George scheduled to work again?” Gibson asked.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 43