MURDER ON VANCOUVER ISLAND: Hatred, prejudice, or a heinous crime without motive?

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  “I’m okay. Let’s talk about the gourmet cook.”

  “Yes, this gourmet cook needs lessons on infusing herbs into her creations.” Heather blew out a giant exhalation of pent-up breath and took a sip of her cold tea.

  Katherine glanced up at the clock with its whimsical numbers daring her to decipher the correct time. An hour had slipped by. They had been delving into a variety of aromatic plants to use with beef, lamb or chicken. Rubbing the leaves of each different spice released a plethora of fragrance in the greenhouse.

  “How are your classes coming along?” Heather dared to ask.

  “Considering all, it’s going smoothly. The final is coming up fast though.” Another shudder shot up her spine.

  “Cool.”

  “You’re right. It is cool.” Katherine hesitated. “Imagine me getting a diploma.” She failed to stop herself from smiling.

  Heather lifted an eyebrow and pinched her friend’s arm playfully.

  “That’s better. It’s a dream come true!”

  * * *

  Jeff lived close to the university so it took the detectives only a few moments to get to the maintenance buildings. Scottie parked on the street. They stepped out of the vehicle and braced against the gale that had sprung up. The blustery Northeast gusts propelled dirt into their eyes. With their heads carried low, they approached the garage. Even with the howling, they could hear an acrimonious dispute emanating from within. Gibson walked over, stopping shy of the door. A lull in the wind allowed the crushing of gravel under his feet to become perceptible. Jason stopped yelling. He swung toward the intruder, leaned against the Zamboni and smiled contemptuously. David stood with his hands by his side and rocked in his boots, trying to dodge the rant.

  Tim exchanged a look with Gibson and beamed with satisfaction. He was obviously revelling in the aggressive onslaught directed at someone else. Disgusted, Gibson turned on an axis, grabbing Scottie’s arm as he reversed directions. They cut across the courtyard in a few strides and opened the shop door in pursuit of the supervisor. Tony was sitting on a stool, swivelling back and forth mindlessly, evidently accomplishing nothing. The crew was hanging about, perched on stools or leaned against the rear counter. AJ stood in front of a bench with a welded bracket. He was smoothing the rough edges and talking to a worker between strokes of the file. Shouldn’t they be out there working, Gibson thought. Or maybe it was an extended coffee break?

  “What now?” Tony asked in an exceedingly unpleasant tone. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “We would like to take everybody’s fingerprints,” Gibson said. “All present. Makes my job simpler.”

  “What for?” Tony demanded.

  “Just for elimination. Any objections?”

  Nobody objected but Tony ranted anyways.

  “As I previously explained we were in a safety meeting.” Tony made an ugly grin. “Did you find out whose bat it was?” he asked, curiosity kicking in. He stared at the detectives. Gibson ignored him.

  Scottie had arranged a fingerprinting kit on a worktable. After printing each man’s name on a separate card, she signalled to one of the crew. AJ strolled over and held his palms up as if in submission. The gang laughed at his shenanigans. She picked up AJ’s hand and rolled his finger in the ink to cover the entire tip. Then each finger was pushed onto the prepared card. After the procedure she gave him a moisture package to wash off the residue and a pen to sign the label. She moved through the list of names, stamping each person’s prints with care. When Scottie was finished, she deposited the completed sheets into evidence bags and planted them in the case. Gibson strolled over to the bench closest to Tony and leaned against it with his hip, setting his hand against the coarse surface.

  “So no one quit the meeting early?” A shuffling of feet caught his attention. He glanced up to see AJ with an idiotic grin on his face look down at his project.

  “No, and I resent all the insinuation,” Tony said.

  “What about the guys in the other shop? Do you want to alibi them as well?” Gibson asked. He was trying to control his annoyance.

  “I expect you’re barking up the wrong tree. Everyone gets along in Jason’s department,” Tony said. “He has loads of experience running a tight crew. All the guys like him.”

  “So, no conflict,” Gibson sneered. “Oh yeah, except there was that fight between Robbie and Tim.” He was determined to find out what had gone on.

  “Just a little fisticuffs. Boys will be boys.” Tony shifted his position on his stool.

  Gibson saw him throw a sly glance toward AJ. Was that a warning? What was up with the Band-Aid on AJ’s face? Did he get into a scuffle too? Tony turned back and presented his most honest face, holding back the sneer at the corner of his mouth. Not only had Gibson witnessed tension between Jason and the crew, but Tony’s attitude and body language defied his remarks. He stood up and folded his arms over his chest. Suspicion about Tony lingered. What was Tony hiding? Was it a part of this investigation? Or something else? He looked across the room at Scottie. The DS was standing with one hand on her hip and the other clutching the fingerprint case. They took off. Na and Gunner were leaning against the building when they stepped into the courtyard.

  “What’s up?”

  “We saw Scottie’s vehicle on the street,” Na said. “Figured we’d touch base.”

  Gibson waited.

  “We haven’t gotten any further so we’re headed to the office. We have statements to prepare. Gunner wants to check social media, too.” Na swung away with his partner following close behind.

  “What social media?”

  Na stopped abruptly. Gunner was looking at his feet and bumped into him.

  “Sorry.” Gunner collected himself. “Facebook. It’s amazing what people will post.”

  “Excellent idea. Could you guys hang out for a bit? I just need to get a few more prints. Would you be able to drop them off to Jocko?”

  “Sure. We’ll wait in the car if that’s okay,” Na said. A burst of cold air rattled the garage doors as he spoke.

  “Much appreciated.” Gibson chuckled and motioned with a toss of his hand.

  The tape from the crime scene was gone so they used the main entrance to get in the building. The stain on the wall hadn’t washed out entirely. A faint trail of blood still showed through. Gibson pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. Past one. He hoped these guys had an extended lunch hour too. He opened the door to the garage, but nobody was there so they plodded up the stairs to the lunchroom. Muted voices slipped through the half-closed door. When Gibson walked into the room, the talking ceased altogether. He locked eyes with Jason—grey on grey. The chair screeched on the linoleum as he dragged it away from the table and sat down next to Jason. The foreman wiggled in his seat, the hardness pressing into his spine. An offer of coffee from David broke a drawn-out silence. Gibson already had four coffees that morning which was definitely his limit. Not that his hands were shaking but his temper was on edge.

  Scottie stuck the fingerprint case on the counter as the crew watched.

  “What’s going on now?” Jason asked.

  “We would like everybody’s prints for elimination. If there are no objections,” Scottie said, not explaining further.

  Nobody objected, although there was some grumbling. Jason stared out the window. Without any hassle, they got the prints done and split down the stairs. David rushed down the steps after them.

  “I wanted to tell you about a conference that Robbie and I attended last week. We go every year.”

  “How will that help us?” Gibson asked.

  “One of Robbie’s best buddies was there,” he said. “He may know something. I should have told you earlier.”

  “Okay.” But it seemed doubtful that anything useful would come out of it.

  Chapter 16

  After handing off the fingerprint evidence to the constables, Gibson and Scottie stopped to have lunch at a greasy spoon—something they regretted later. They needed
to check alibis although everyone had said they had come straight to work at their regular times. Well, who would say otherwise? They would start with Nick. Scottie drove them north a few miles past Cordova Bay to Menawood Place. It was a pretty area with gardens and dense trees bordering the boulevard. The small green bungalow with white trim was tucked behind a towering evergreen hedge. On the paved driveway, someone had parked a black SUV in a haphazard manner as if they had been in a rush. Scottie placed her palm on the hood as they strolled past it.

  “It’s warm. Somebody’s home.” They walked down the curved sidewalk to the front door. There was a wooden portico over the stoop that protected people from the outdoor elements. Scottie rapped on a door decorated with carved leaves and flowers. A short woman with mousy brown hair answered. She was wearing a green jacket and brightly coloured scarf. Her makeup did not mask the dark circles under her eyes. Fortunate for them it wouldn’t be a wasted trip. Gibson never called ahead. He preferred to keep people on their toes.

  “Susan Jones”? Scottie asked, her pleasant grin radiating friendliness.

  “Is this about the murder?”

  Scottie acknowledged that was the case, a smile lingering on her mouth. She flipped a glance to her partner that silently asked, ‘How did we get spotted so easily?’

  “But Nick’s at work.”

  “We’d like to speak to you.”

  Susan’s gaze clouded as she glimpsed from one face to the other. She remained rooted in the doorway.

  “May we come in for a minute?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Susan showed them into the living room. It was overcrowded with furniture and knick-knacks but it was exceedingly tidy. Gibson waited for her to sit before selecting his seat. He chose an armchair opposite her and leaned back into the overstuffed chair. Scottie stood near the fireplace with pad and pen at the ready. He started with some general queries to make Susan feel at ease. Did she know the crew at Nick’s job? Yes. Did she go to workplace functions? Usually, but missed the celebration on Sunday. Her youngest was ill. Susan sat snugly in the chair with her legs crossed at the ankles. After an exchange of pleasantries, he leaned forward. Now it was time to ask the real questions.

  “How close were Nick and Robbie?”

  Susan let out a shaky giggle and thrust back into her seat. The question erased her smile. She stared straight ahead, her brown eyes wide open and her lips vanishing as she sucked them inward. She circumvented the question deftly.

  “Tim is his best friend at work.”

  “What time did Nick leave yesterday?” Gibson asked, as if the last answer had satisfied him.

  “The normal.”

  “When would that be?”

  “Around six.” She hesitated, twirling her wedding ring as she spoke, peering at the promise, ’til death do us part.’

  The two detectives glanced at each other.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Like I said, one kid was sick. I was up most the night. Nick was gone by the time I woke up.” Her shoulders sagged. “Sorry.”

  “Okay. We’ll be on our way,” Gibson said. He stood up to leave.

  “Is that all?” Her bewildered expression cut sharp lines on her forehead.

  “Yes. Thanks. You’ve been helpful.”

  She pulled at her lifeless hair, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

  Scottie put her notebook in a top pocket, and they said their goodbyes. Before the hedge concealed their view, Gibson glanced back to the large bay window. Susan stood behind the sheer drapes scarcely visible. She seemed smaller than when they had first arrived.

  “So, what do you think?” Gibson asked. “Nick said he left for work at six-thirty. A half an hour is a long time. Time enough to hit somebody over the head with a bat.”

  Scottie shrugged.

  “She looks worried about something. But about what is another question. Does she think that Nick has something to do with the murder?”

  “We should talk to Nick again,” Scottie suggested. They leaped into the vehicle and sped to the university.

  When they entered the maintenance yard, it looked deserted. Although there were a few cars in the parking lot, all the doors appeared locked. Gibson looked at his watch and realized the day had slipped away. A thundering noise broke the stillness. Nick rushed out the door and halted dead in his tracks.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” Scottie snarled. “Checking your alibi.”

  “Why?” Nick asked indignantly. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Scottie pulled out her famous notebook and flipped the sheets. She stared at a page and then scrolled further. She stopped and tapped her pen at a spot on the paper. “You say six-thirty.” Then she flicked to the end of her notes. “Your wife says six. Who’s lying?” Susan had actually said she thought it was six. But no matter because Nick appeared to be nervous about the question of time. A bead of sweat had formed on his upper lip, and he stood with his feet close together, bouncing from heel to toe. Scottie looked toward the road, and then swung her gaze back to Nick.

  “So, what time did you leave for work? Did you get here earlier than you’re saying and kill Robbie?”

  “No.” Nick looked up in alarm.

  “Did you see anybody on your way to work that could vouch for you?” Scottie asked. She scribbled in the notebook.

  Nick squirmed, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “What about Robbie’s wife? She’s always coming around the yard yelling and screaming about something,” he blurted out, seeking to turn the questioning away from him. He nodded his head in satisfaction. “She’s crazy enough to do anything. It gets violent.”

  “Are you saying there was domestic violence?” Gibson tossed a covert glimpse to Scottie.

  “Yeah. They’re always at odds. Even at our parties. Bickering and…” He paused mid-sentence and squared his shoulders. His feet wouldn’t stop bouncing.

  “Could one of the other guys verify that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they were breaking up,” he said, realizing maybe he had pushed it too far.

  “Who else is here?” Gibson switched gears.

  “Everybody’s gone for the day. Tim left early.” The clamour of a bolt slamming against the garage doors caused him to start. “Oh, I forgot about David. He’s on lockup duty this week.”

  “We’ll talk again,” Gibson said.

  Nick jogged toward the parking lot with his backpack bounding against his shoulder. Gibson watched as he threw the pack into the back seat and fired up the engine. Nick looked straight ahead as he drove past them, turned right and spun his tires to make a clean getaway. As a final squeal of rubber on asphalt faded, David darted out of the building. He issued a short yelp when he saw the detectives, not realizing anybody was there. He locked the door and rattled the knob to ensure it was secure.

  “Did you visit Robbie’s friend Aaron?” David asked, rolling his neck. They could hear a distinct crack. He grinned.

  “Not yet,” Gibson said. “Do you have time for a chat?”

  David glanced at the vacant parking lot.

  “I guess.” He flashed a smile. Small wrinkles appeared on the outer side of his eyes as he looked at the detectives. He made a decision to divulge all. So he told them; he told them everything he knew. He described Tim as a bully who made rude jokes, intimidated people by standing close and making inappropriate gestures. Tim’s favourite target was Robbie. He pestered and stalked him around the yard. He also tampered with Robbie’s belongings and equipment. But Sunday was the first quarrel that had become physical. David staggered back a step to lean against the wall and tilted his head into the structure. The two detectives remained still as they listened to this tale of bullying in the workplace.

  “So, what was different?” Gibson asked, although he had a good idea.

  “Well, it started when Tim called him Robin,” David faltered, maybe doubting giving it all up. But he was tired
of keeping it all in, always fearful of the repercussions. And maybe it was Tim who had killed him. So he continued.

  “Robbie was dressed as Robin from Batman.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, he didn’t take it this time and called Tim a homo.” David clenched his teeth as he went on. “Twink. Robbie screamed out Twink and then all hell broke loose.”

  Gibson had seen this before. The victim eventually stands up for himself and it turns into a brawl.

  “So I wasn’t lying. I don’t know if Robbie is gay or not.” He looked down at his boots and spread out his hands in surrender. “I really don’t know. He kept it to himself if he was. But like I told you before, his best friend would know.”

  “Thanks.” Gibson squeezed his shoulder in appreciation and sympathy.

  “Sure.” David shuffled his feet, his posture wilting. He walked away. Minutes later the jeep roared to life with a sputter and rattle. He waved to them as he pulled into the street, the exhaust rumbling loudly.

  “It’s been a long day. Let’s go home,” Gibson said.

  They settled in the truck and crawled across town. A growing number of vehicles swarmed around them as they inched their way closer to Brentwood Bay. He flopped back into his seat as Scottie took care of the rush hour traffic.

  “I wonder if Ellen realizes how much bullying Robbie put up with at work,” he murmured.

  A hint of a frown crossed Scottie’s face. She had been thinking the same thing.

  “This bears all the classic traits of bullies in the workplace. The offensive jokes, the insults, the intimidation. I could go on and on,” Gibson continued with his argument. “We really need to take a closer look at Tim.”

  Scottie didn’t comment. She thought the bully factor was there, but had it led to murder? No, she didn’t think so. But she let her partner ramble as much as he wanted to and turned up the volume on the radio. Gibson stared out the window. A few trees that still had foliage hanging on the tips of their branches were turning a golden hue. The rain-soaked leaves magnified the brilliance of the sun as it slunk lower in the sky. He realized Katherine hadn’t called all day. A tightness in his chest gripped him as his concern heightened. He reached into his back pocket, squirming in the seat to dig out his cell and dialed home, waiting patiently while it rang. After seven rings, he punched the hang-up button and clenched his fist into his mouth. She must be immersed in her studies for the final. He glanced skyward and emitted a long, slow breath.