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

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  Andrew watched as they approached the booth. His sagacity of human behaviour made him aware that we all had flaws. He wondered if Gibson’s veneer of serenity would break down. So far none had surfaced from his genial although solemn disposition.

  “Hello, my favourite people,” Andrew greeted them. The clean-shaven face didn’t betray his profession but the tweed jacket and wool trousers did. His thick, stocky build and chiselled chin emanated a power of position, but his cheery demeanour softened the harshness to one of trust.

  “Hello, my beloved brother,” Katherine said.

  They ordered fish and chips and drinks and settled into the plump cushions.

  “This is awesome,” Katherine said as she delved into the salted fries.

  Good food, good mood. Gibson wanted to hang onto this time, knowing her need to feel normal.

  Andrew squirmed in his seat. He had something to say but didn’t know how to. A tiny bead of perspiration rolled down the side of his face.

  “Anybody for dessert?” His courage had deserted him.

  Everyone refused. The conversation shifted to local events with Heather’s art show topping the list. Gibson scanned the room after ordering a coffee. Partly obscured behind a screen, he spotted his partner. Scottie and her companion were snuggled close, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “We have lovebirds,” Gibson said as he pointed toward the corner cubicle. “Are they trying to hide from us? Be right back.”

  Scottie was dressed in a green and black plaid flannel blouse and jeans. Her dainty girlfriend had on a royal blue turtleneck sweater with grey wool slacks. A delicate gold locket hung from a slim chain, highlighting her elfin features. Sherry shrieked with delight when he sat next to her. She tipped forward and pecked his cheek.

  Andrew thought this was his opportunity. He dreaded divulging his secrets to Gibson. Did he have the heart to encumber his sister with his problem? Would Katherine empathize with him or turn aside? Too late. Gibson strolled back.

  Chapter 20

  Not a speck of blue sky was visible through the cloud cover. A mass of whiteness hung low, covering the mountain range across the strait, leaving just snow-dusted tops peeking out. Wispy clouds swept down to the chilly ocean water, hovering feet above the continuous turbulent motion—the tide was pushing upstream. The dullness of the atmosphere made the morning seem like twilight, matching Gibson’s sullen mood as he stared out the window.

  “Hey,” Scottie greeted him as she wandered into the office. “You’re in early today.”

  Gibson turned around with a scowl planted solidly in place.

  “Sure is depressing,” he said and flung his hands up. “This time of year.”

  Scottie stayed and waited for him to speak further.

  “At least it’s not raining or snowing. Let’s find Tim.” His quirky smile made an appearance. “That will make me feel better.”

  “You bet.”

  She drove them through rush hour traffic with a proficiency that was impressive, showing up at the maintenance sheds in record time. She pulled to the curb with a jerk. They jumped out of the vehicle just as David rounded the corner of the building.

  David spotted them and spun around instantaneously, not skipping a beat. Gibson caught the motion at the edge of his vision.

  “Hey, David. Stop. Can we talk?”

  He halted mid-stride, turned and walked back.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” His body was rigid, lips forming a slash across his face. His eyes were hooded as if he was hiding from something.

  “You know more about Robbie than you’re letting on.” Gibson went with his instincts.

  “What do you mean?” David closed his hands by his side, creating tight fists.

  “That he was gay.”

  “No. But I can tell you that Robbie and Nick had a quarrel a few weeks ago.” He furrowed his eyebrows and made his decision. “It could have been a lover’s squabble.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “It just looked chummy. Ask Nick. I got to go.” He let out the deepest of sighs.

  “Thanks.” Gibson shifted his eyes to Scottie again.

  David scurried out of the courtyard with the detectives looking after him.

  “What was that?”

  “Who knows? Maybe something. Maybe nothing at all,” Gibson mumbled under his breath.

  They took an about turn and walked to the garage in silence. The place seemed deserted so they stomped up the stairs to check it out. Jason’s door was closed and the glass transom above it showed no light. They swung left into the lunchroom. Tim was at the table sipping a coffee and texting. He glimpsed slyly from the corner of his eye and grumbled.

  “You guys again.” Tim looked every bit the bully with his menacing look. His direct penetrating blue eyes were unnerving.

  Scottie remained static with her arms crossed over her chest, an intimidating smirk curling her lips. Gibson strolled to the centre of the room and halted, slamming his notebook on the counter. He stood hands on his hips, his large presence hovering over Tim.

  “What do you want?” Tim shoved his chair back, making it screech on the linoleum floor.

  “We want some answers.”

  “What?” Tim extended his legs and clasped both hands behind his neck.

  “That’s right. What are your prints doing on the bat?” Gibson asked sharply as he settled himself on a wobbly bench opposite him. He then continued, “The bat you know nothing about. Never seen it before.” He dragged out the final phrase.

  “I knew it. You’re trying to fix this on me.” He jumped to his feet.

  Gibson glanced over to Scottie blocking any escape. But as swiftly as Tim had surged up, he plunged back into his chair.

  “Look, you guys. I was just goofing around in the parking lot. Punching rocks into the hedge.” The bluster had taken a back seat.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Just for fun.”

  Gibson smelt a whiff of fear radiate from the bully.

  “Look. Robbie left it here. That’s all. I didn’t hit him.” He quit chatting and stared at the floor. “This is absurd.”

  Tension drove most people to reveal, so Gibson sat still and waited it out. Scottie was scribbling in her notebook, the scratching noise of pen on paper audible in the quietness. Tim fidgeted, shifting his weight and shuffling his feet under his chair. He coughed, licked his parched lips and said more.

  “I figure it’s his brother’s bat. Or I suppose Jeff’s his half-brother.” Tim exhaled anew, sweat popping up on his forehead. He swiped it off with his shirt sleeve. Anxiety kept him babbling. “I saw Jeff at the shop last week talking to Robbie. He was twirling a bat, and later he tossed it at the back of the shop. So I figured it was okay to use it. Robbie was at a conference. No big deal.”

  Gibson thought he had just said the same thing another way.

  “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on Monday morning?” Gibson asked, shifting gears.

  “Not really.” He screwed up his eyes. “The wife is in the hospital. So I’m on my own. I left at six thirty. Came straight here.”

  Gibson didn’t remark on that. They had already found out where his spouse was, and she wouldn’t be his alibi. It was ironic that a nice girl like her would marry a bully.

  Just as he was moving to pack it in, Gibson received a call from forensics.

  “Hey, Jocko. What have you got for me?” His expression changed from interested to concern. “Okay. Thanks.” After he hung up, he turned to Tim. “Where is Nick working?”

  “At the rink. Are we done here?”

  “Sure.”

  Gibson wanted to flip the creep a finger, but he held back. They raced down the stairs and out the door.

  “What did Jocko find?” She took a fleeting look over to him as they hurried across the yard.

  “A print on the condom box.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Yup. And the condom in question is the same brand as the box.
”

  “Guess somebody got careless.” Scottie raised her eyebrows. “Wiped the prints from the foil on the condom and forgot about the box. Good for us.” She waited for Gibson to say more.

  “They’re Nick’s prints.”

  “Holy shit!” Scottie exclaimed, surprise lighting up her face. They left the vehicle parked on the street and tramped across the boulevard and over the sprawling lawns to the arena. A side gate was unlocked so they stole their way into the building. They heard the rumble of a Zamboni. Nick was perched high in the seat, hanging onto the wheel tightly. He steered it through the corners with expert skill. The detectives lingered on the bleachers rubbing their palms together to keep warm. Nick spotted them and moaned. Then he held up an index finger to let them know he was nearly done. The Zamboni had shaved off the top ice, leaving behind a layer of fresh water. It made the surface look wet and shiny. After ten minutes he strolled up the aisle and sat down on a bleacher below them.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We found a condom box in the lunchroom garbage can. Your prints were on it.” He searched Nick for a reaction. Not a flinch.

  “Same brand as the one under Robbie,” Gibson said, so as to make it perfectly clear where he was going with this.

  Nick blanched but disclosed nothing, his eyes roving around the rink. A lengthy silence ensued as Gibson waited for a response. None materialized.

  “Can you explain that?”

  Still Nick scanned for an answer. He rested heavily in his seat causing the bench to creak with protest. Another long hush permeated the arena.

  “If you don’t tell us, we’ll bring you downtown—” Annoyance resonated through his words.

  “It’s personal.”

  “This is an investigation. So give it up.”

  “Oh god. I brought a lady upstairs after the party. You know…for sex.” Nick paused. “But nothing happened. I just chucked everything in the garbage. It was stupid.” He tapped his fingers on the back of the chair in a relentless rhythm.

  “What’s the woman’s name?” Gibson knew that Nick was the lockup guy that night—last man out.

  “Kim. I can’t remember her surname.”

  “You’re cheating on your spouse with a stranger?” Scottie asked. Her expression had changed from scepticism to incredulity as she listened to Nick’s explanation.

  “I didn’t cheat.”

  “We want confirmation on this, Nick,” Gibson said. “We need to speak to this Kim person. The sooner the better. Is that clear?”

  “Okay. I’ll get it. Don’t worry. I don’t understand how the condom landed up under Robbie. I didn’t put it there. I didn’t kill him.”

  “Are you involved somehow?” Gibson’s eyes had gone cold. Nick may or may not be the killer, but he might be mixed up in other ways.

  “No!” Nick protested, gripping the seat until his knuckles turned white.

  “Then tell us about the gay bashing.” The extent of Gibson’s exasperation showed in his dusty eyes, steeling to a deeper grey. “You allow yourself to be a dupe in Tim’s abuse. Do you honestly want to be complicit in a murder?”

  “No, no. I’m not involved in any murder.” Nick choked back his fears. He was quivering visibly now, his seat squeaking with the vibration. “It’s just that Robbie drove Tim nuts with his skimpy pants and wiggling his butt. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

  Scottie leaned forward about to confront Nick about the feud with Robbie. Possibly a lover’s feud. Gibson laid his hand on her arm realizing what she was going to say. He preferred to keep the quarrel under wraps for now. They had no confirmation—just David’s perception.

  Nick sat alone on the bleachers as the detectives made their way out of the cold arena. The anguish in his eyes looked real as he was likely sensing he was a suspect.

  “A print on a box is pretty useless for an arrest. We need prints on the condom wrap. Damn.” Gibson thought Nick would break if they confronted him. He had pushed as hard as he could. No such luck. Nick was scared, but he wasn’t going to confess to anything.

  They made their way through the mucky grass.

  “Tim is in the thick of it. I just know it,” Gibson said.

  Scottie had become silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She drove them into town to meet with Jason’s wife. On the way, Gibson phoned David’s spouse to confirm his alibi. He thought a phone call would suffice for the time being.

  “Hello.” Jackie answered on the third ring.

  Gibson spoke for a few minutes. She corroborated that David had gone to work at six thirty. He thanked her and said he would get in contact if he needed anything else.

  “Why the shortcut?” Scottie asked. She was stunned that Gibson didn’t want a personal interview.

  “David discovered the body. Not a wise move for a killer to make. He seems like a smart guy. We have his alibi for now anyway.”

  “Yeah. I can appreciate that.”

  Scottie found a spot on Broughton—not easy to find parking downtown—and they wandered over to Wharf Street for a natter with Tammy. Her work was next door to the Old Victoria Custom House. As they passed the building, Gibson noted it was designated a national historic site in the 1980s. He stopped to marvel at the three-storey red brick structure with its mansard roof. Its prime waterfront location overlooked the city harbour.

  They walked on and entered the foyer of Tammy’s office and looked for the directory. Victoria Real Estate was on the second floor. They took the stairs climbing two steps at a time to arrive at a wide corridor. All the organizations had glass fronts so the detectives could see inside to the reception areas of each business. As they paraded past, they saw workers tapping on laptops, clinging to phones and huddled in groups. Most likely gossiping. At the furthest office, Tammy was perched on a stool at the front counter. At the party she had worn a tall conical hat with shaggy black hair poking out. Her hair tied into a ponytail now was not much tidier. The smirk on her face with the corners of her mouth frozen upward was about the same as well. Her wrinkled flowered blouse was tucked into a creased brown shirt. She was frumpy looking for an agency environment.

  They presented themselves and accompanied her down a rear hallway, her hips swaying as she trotted to her destination. Tammy gestured to a cramped conference chamber with a huge oval table taking up the entire space. Cushy leather swivel chairs were negligently left where they had been shoved aside after the last meeting. As soon as they sat down Gibson got straight to the point.

  “You live near the university by Gyro Park. When does Jason leave in the morning?”

  “Same as me,” she said. “Although you can see I have further to travel.”

  “What about on Monday? Was that any different?”

  “Monday?” Tammy wavered as she thought it over. “Yeah. Our normal six fifteen.” She chewed at a nail.

  “Jason starts at seven,” Gibson said. He raised his eyebrows in question.

  “He stops for coffee,” Tammy answered. A snarky intonation had crept into her voice. The pasted smile hinted at contempt.

  “Where’s that?”

  “I suppose the Best Of Coffee around the corner from us.” She shrugged, backing down her scorn just a smidgen. “Sometimes he goes to Ottiva across the street from there.”

  Gibson looked over at Scottie. They rose at the same time.

  “Thanks, Tammy. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

  She gave an exaggerated pout, shifting the corners of her mouth down.

  They bounded down the steps to Wharf Street. As they ambled down the lane to their vehicle Scottie said, “What a b…”

  “Take it easy. Anyway we found out that Jason doesn’t have an alibi unless someone at the café can vouch for him.”

  “Feel like a coffee?”

  Chapter 21

  Gibson fell back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was paying little attention to the radio until he caught one word. It made him bolt upright and bark out a curse.

  �
��Damn. You’ve got to be kidding.” He gazed open-mouthed at Scottie. “Snow. A snowfall warning.”

  They stopped at the station to swap vehicles. Half-way down the passage to the lower level, he received a call from forensics so he changed directions and headed to the lab. Scottie went to the basement garage to fetch his vehicle. The four-wheel drive would get them through the worst blizzard in a heartbeat. With the press of a button, the engine fired up with a roar. She loved the power of the V8 engine even if it was an ecoboost. The tires grabbed the concrete and climbed the ramp in three seconds.

  The lab technician paced up and down the hall, kicking at the dust on the floor awaiting his fate. Gibson bounced off the last step and rounded the corner. A harried-looking Jocko stood still when he heard the rumbling off the stairs. His rumpled clothing hung from his thin frame, and his dull eyes hid the usual humorous intelligence. He darted toward the detective, apologizing for something.

  “Sorry. I screwed up.” His gaze boomeranged off the walls—the man was in a tizzy. “I lost a folder of prints.” He clutched at Gibson’s sleeve and then released it, stepping backward. “I discovered them this morning and ran them right away.”

  “What prints?”

  “The building maintenance guys. They got misplaced.” Jocko passed over a binder.

  Gibson took a brief look and cracked a smile.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Phew!” Jocko walked back to his lab, his stride buoyant and his heart lighter too. It was a rare occurrence for him to make such a mistake. He had felt foolish.

  Gibson hurried outside and scoured the street. The F150 was almost a block away, white smoke spewing out the tailpipe. The frosty air had slipped down from the north. He bounded down the road and hopped into the hot truck. Scottie could tell the news was favourable by the ear-to-ear grin. She hung on to every word as he explained about the print fiasco.

  “Let’s go to Cafe Ottiva first.”

  “All right.”

  The F150 tracked the wet roads as if the day was dry and balmy. Scottie found a spot close by and squeezed into the parking place. They hustled down the sidewalk, already feeling the dampness crystallizing to ice under their boots. The windows were steamed up. The great rush of frigid air contacting the hot, moist atmosphere at the single pane glass formed droplets of water. Little puddles on the sill had grown more prominent as the day advanced. They stepped into the humidity of the café. AJ sat alone at an oval table in the corner, a steaming mug of coffee warming his hands. He peered up when the door chime announced someone’s arrival. Scottie made a beeline to the breakfast counter. She strolled past AJ, pointing at him with her chin and a modest version of her Cheshire cat smile on her lips.