Murder On Vancouver Island

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  He made his way to the faculty parking lot. Sitting on the tarmac was a new Mustang with a polish that reflected the grey sky. Somehow owning this beast and teaching philosophy clashed in the universe. Did he care? He opened the door and slid into the bucket seat. A motor whirred softly and moved the seat to its preset position. He ran his hand along the soft leather. No. He didn’t care. The engine roared to life with a throaty sound. He put it into first gear and took the boulevard road out of the university grounds to Cordova Bay Road.

  Within fifteen minutes, he was almost at the Sandy Beach Restaurant. It was on the main thoroughfare, so he cruised slowly, scouting for a safe place to park, hoping to avoid door dings. Finally he found the spot he wanted and pulled in. He looked at his watch and realized he was running late. Hurrying, he crossed the road to the restaurant and stepped inside. The panorama view overlooked a pristine bay and stretched on forever on sunny days. Fog hid the farthest landfall now. The beach was filled with logs, blown in by the many fall storms. The yellow sand was soft to walk on and rivalled any California seashore.

  Andrew spotted his sister and Heather at once, even in the late lunch crowd. Katherine waved him over. Her pale skin and pink cheeks were China doll beautiful, although all the makeup she had applied didn’t disguise her red eyes. Heather wore a plunging neckline dress that swept down her voluptuous figure and finished calf length at her three-inch heels. Her straight, black locks swished as she looked up.

  “Hello ladies.”

  Heather reached out for Andrew’s hand. For a moment their fingers touched. A charge of energy ruffled her inscrutable countenance. He remained unaffected and took a seat next to Katherine, looking at the empty chair.

  “Gibson’s late?”

  “He isn’t coming. Got called to work,” Katherine said. A pained expression crossed her face.

  “You’re stuck with us. To Rose,” Heather said as she raised her drink. No one else picked up a glass so she took a sip of her wine anyway.

  “Yes. To Rose,” Katherine echoed. She gazed at the floor, zoning in on the ridges and knots of the oak flooring.

  Andrew feared his sister was working her way into a lather. Her swollen eyes and harried appearance attested to the fact she was overwhelmed with emotions.

  “To Rose,” Andrew said. He lifted an empty glass and signalled to the waiter looking their way. The man came over to the table immediately.

  “Hi. How is everyone doing today?” he asked, bowing slightly and rubbing his hands together. Andrew saw his sister press her lips tightly as if to stop herself from screaming.

  “We’re good,” Andrew said. “Could I have a drink before we order?” He didn’t want to be rude, but the cheerful greeting could set Katherine into another panic attack. The server scurried to the bar.

  “I’m here for you. Hope you never forget,” Andrew said.

  “Me too,” piped up Heather. “I am without equal your best friend so let’s order. I’m famished.” She picked up a menu with a flourish of her hand.

  Katherine broke into a smile. It was almost futile to ward off Heather’s buoyant grit. The restaurant was renowned for serving local fish. The freshest halibut, lingcod and salmon caught off the west coast of British Columbia were used in exquisite dishes. Combined with local produce and herbs made it nearly impossible to order anything but the fish. And so all three of them did. Each ordered a different entrée so they could sample each other’s savoury plate.

  “My gallery showing is soon,” Heather said, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Tell us,” Katherine said, sliding her chair closer and leaning in, getting into the spirit.

  Heather gave them the details, barely able to hold in her enthusiasm.

  “So guys, I expect full compliance attending the show,” she said. “No exceptions. I need all the support I can muster.”

  “Come on. You’re famous on the peninsula. People love your work,” Andrew said. A few of the prints in his waiting room were original watercolours created by Heather. Three owls sitting together on a conifer branch was his favourite. Owls were solitary creatures but when grouped were called a parliament. They had been known for being wise of disposition. He thought the name was suitable and wonderful.

  “Still have to come.”

  The food arrived quickly. It was great service. They dug in, enjoying the delicious meal. Except Katherine who had slipped back into her bleak mood. She was pushing food around her plate mindlessly. Andrew babbled about his blog in between bites. Heather placed one elbow on the table with her hand under her chin, staring at him as he spoke. She found his clean-shaven face and clear voice irresistible. Not the stereotype at all. He was middle-aged and single. Why didn’t he ever ask her out?

  “Gibson is investigating a hate crime.” Katherine pushed her plate away.

  “Oh. What happened? Where?”

  “At the university. You didn’t hear about it this morning?”

  “What! Who got hurt?” Andrew asked.

  “Somebody was killed. I’m not sure exactly,” Katherine said. “But it was in the maintenance department.”

  “Oh my god.” Andrew’s face turned from its usual ruddy complexion to pale in seconds.

  “That’s all I know.”

  Heather sat back in her seat, a look of consternation washed over her face.

  “Do you need anything else?” The waiter approached the table, the same warm smile looking down on them.

  “No. I have to go. Put it on my tab.” Andrew bolted out of his chair.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” Katherine asked.

  “The university. I forgot. I have an appointment.”

  “Oh.” Then as an afterthought she asked, “Could you come for drinks tonight? Gibson feels bad he had to miss lunch.” She turned to her friend. “You too.”

  “Yes.” Andrew said. He blew his sister a kiss.

  “Of course.” A huge exhalation of breath escaped from Heather’s clamped mouth. She followed Andrew with her eyes as he dashed off and vanished out the door.

  Chapter 10

  Gibson turned away from the window and the dismal showers. It was only the beginning. The rainy days would stretch from now until March. On the positive side there would also be sunny times that would invite a lark around the bay in his kayak. He smirked at the prospect. A list of all the employees stared up at him. The names of those he had already interviewed had been crossed off. Tony had informed him that the safety meeting ran from five-thirty to six-thirty. That would cross out several more, assuming the murder window Rod gave him didn’t change. He put tick marks beside the crew members that had attended the session. That left Jason. Gibson headed down the stairs to expatiate things. There was still a lot of groundwork to cover today.

  “Scottie. Are you making out okay?”

  “All good.”

  “Hey. Can we leave yet?” AJ asked. “We’ve been hanging out all day.”

  “Who was at the meeting this morning?”

  “Me.” Everybody but Jason lifted their arm and called out.

  “So nobody heard or saw anything?” Gibson asked.

  “No. Nothing.” They all shook their heads. Tony stood silently with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He was breathing noisily through his mouth.

  “Okay. You can all go. I’ll chat with each of you alone over the next few days,” Gibson said and with a brandish of his hand motioned them to take off. As Jason turned toward the exit with the rest of the gang, Gibson stopped him and said, “Not you. Could you give me a minute?”

  Tony stomped out.

  “Any word from Na and Gunner?” he asked Scottie.

  “Nothing yet.”

  He turned to Jason and motioned toward the rear door. They headed up the stairs, Jason trailing behind. Gibson stepped over to the desk and sat down. He signalled to the chair in front. Reluctantly Jason sat, adjusting the seat so he faced the detective. He sat up straight, crossed one leg over the other and brought his arms tightly across
his chest. His foot jiggled. He had a pinched expression and unwittingly was gnawing the inside of his lip.

  “So, you’re the foreman here,” Gibson said and gestured to the diplomas on the wall.

  “Yeah. I worked my way up.”

  “Did you start as a maintenance guy?” Gibson asked, keeping the conversation light and pleasant.

  “No. I was somewhere else before.” The corners of his mouth shot up into a grin.

  Gibson wasn’t sure if it was a sincere smile.

  “You’re in charge of the ice rink?”

  “Yeah. The sports arena, too.”

  “What time do you start?”

  “Seven.”

  “You did the grilling at the party,” Gibson said. “Did you stay behind to clean up?”

  “Yup.”

  “Who else stayed?”

  “Tammy. My wife.”

  Gibson already knew that.

  “Anybody else stay?”

  “Nick locked up.” Jason crossed and uncrossed his arms, smile looking forced now.

  “And what about this morning? Did you come straight from home?”

  “I went to Best Of Coffee first.” After a short pause he added, “I do every morning.”

  “Someone can verify that?”

  “Sure,” Jason said.

  “Would you say Robbie was a well-liked guy?”

  “He got along with everyone. He organized events. We all got along.”

  “Except for the scrap last night?” Gibson squinted his eyes and peered into Jason’s flat grey eyes.

  “Things happen,” Jason said, breathing in deeply.

  “It wasn’t a homophobic thing then?” Gibson shot back. He liked to infuse some static into his interviews.

  “No. What would give you that idea?” Jason retorted defensively.

  “The condom.”

  That stopped Jason in his tracks. After a few minutes of stillness, he lifted his shoulders but made no comment. Gibson let that go.

  “Some of you guys bike together. What about baseball?”

  “I don’t play. Don’t know about anybody else.” Jason uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Never saw that bat before. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “That’s all for now. Thanks Jason.”

  “For now?”

  “We’ll have further questions as the investigation continues.”

  “Really? I don’t see how anyone of us could be involved.” He stood up and placed his palms flat on the desk.

  “We’re going to look around. In both buildings. Okay with you?” Gibson brushed lint from his sleeve.

  “Sure.”

  “Could you show me which locker is Robbie’s?”

  Jason headed to the lunchroom. Along one wall was a long row of lockers—some with banners and some with names. He tapped on a blue cabinet in the middle with a picture of a muscle car taped to the front and no lock. Gibson reached for the handle. A light jiggle upwards released the door, and it swung open effortlessly. Anybody could have a peek. Or take something. Even put something there. He gazed up and down the row. Only a few didn’t have locks.

  “I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

  Gibson nodded a thanks. He was already examining the contents and recording them in his notebook. The foreman hung around for a few moments, hovering close by. Then he turned and went back to his office, closing the door behind him.

  Gibson rooted through the locker, methodically inspecting each item. There was a coat and a pair of lined pants hanging on a large hook. On the top storage rack, there were several automobile magazines, a newspaper from a few days ago and some application forms from local colleges. There was a coffee mug that had known better times with a faded picture of a dog on the front. At the foot of the locker were steel-toed boots and a few stinky socks. Gibson found nothing of significance and placed his pad back in his pocket. He took a perfunctory glance around the room. There was the usual beat-up table and chairs expected in a workplace setting. On the countertop stood a stained coffee maker, a kettle and a microwave.

  He scrutinized a drawer that was loaded with a haphazard selection of flatware, an opener and several dull knives. The overhead cupboard had spotted glasses, cracked mugs and assorted plates. Two doors were closed on the far wall. He opened the first one to discover it was a closet with brooms, buckets and cleaning fluids. The other led to a grimy bathroom. The last person hadn’t flushed the toilet, giving off an acrid stench. Paper towels were scattered on the mud-covered floor. The sink was filthy. He guessed they didn’t use the provisions in the supply closet. All-in-all he found nothing he didn’t expect until he glanced in the garbage bin. Downstairs he encountered his partner rifling through the sideboards. She had walked around the area examining every nook and cranny. Lots of machinery, work gear and parkas filled the room.

  “Anything out of the ordinary?” Gibson asked.

  “No. You?”

  He held up an empty box.

  “Just this,” he said, the corners of his mouth upturned into a knowing sneer, his eyes sparkled.

  “Wow.” Scottie took the evidence bag, spinning it over several times to get a better look and handed it back. “Anything else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No porn, eh?” Scottie joked.

  “Was that a question or a remark?” Gibson asked stiffly, not one to tolerate any mockery.

  Scottie was a little flustered, “Didn’t mean to suggest it like that. Maybe just an inkling about Robbie.” Scottie hesitated. “You know his orientation.”

  “Yeah. I suppose you’re right,” Gibson admitted. He patted Scottie’s shoulder lightly. “But nothing there.”

  “Should we check the other building?”

  “Definitely.”

  They crossed the courtyard. Gibson turned at the door and saw Jason move away from the second-floor window. The workshop was an immense space with long workbenches on opposite sides. Tools and parts littered the countertops. Bulky jackets and pants were hung chaotically on hooks along the back wall. Tony’s office was tucked in the far corner. A cursory look into the washroom next to it revealed another dirty scene. Gibson puckered his mouth in disgust.

  “Time for a coffee.”

  “Good idea.”

  As they moved down the street, a vehicle crept into the maintenance yard. Andrew sat in his vehicle for a moment. The stillness was creepy—a murder had happened there this morning. What the hell was he doing here? He headed home, forgetting about his appointment at three.

  The foreman remained behind the blinds squinting at the visitor. What does he want? The Mustang pulled out. Jason went back to his desk.

  Chapter 11

  On the northeast side of the campus was a trendy café called the Ottiva. AJ had given Scottie a heads up on its popularity with the university crowd. The coffee was exceptional and the home-cooked food comforting. But its popularity meant it was jam-packed all day. Scottie pulled into a spot close to the restaurant, and they strode quickly down the sidewalk to avoid getting drowned by the rain now coming down in buckets. As soon as she swung the door open, they could smell the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastry and savoury spices. They found an unoccupied space by the entrance and sat down on the wooden chairs. The table wobbled when Gibson placed his elbow on top. Each time another customer arrived or left, they got a blast of bracing sea air. Despite the commotion, the fresh steaming cups of coffee made it all worthwhile. It was a pleasant atmosphere, unpretentious and friendly. They remained silent, each mulling over the day’s developments. After several minutes of congenial contemplation Scottie spoke up.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I know every workplace has its token bully, but this place is loaded with them,” Gibson said. Then he put his journal on the table and opened it to the first page. He thumbed through his observations and looked up at her. “Tim is the most obvious bully and Nick is his sidekick.” He paused and added, “Nick’s hiding something.”

>   “What about David?”

  “He’s a loner. I’m certain he knows more about what’s going on here.” Gibson stopped to consider. “Maybe he’s afraid to say something.”

  “Afraid of what?” Scottie gave him an incredulous eye.

  “I don’t know. Getting beaten up. Or worse.”

  “By whom. Tim?”

  “Probably. Maybe.” He shrugged. He tried not to dislike the individuals he met while working a murder crime. It clouded his impartiality. But he had Tim in his sights. He hated bullies more than anything. They pressured weaker people to do their bidding. It was an outrage that boiled his blood.

  “Jason is a cocky guy,” Scottie said.

  “Isn’t he? But he also wants to be everybody’s friend. He rides with the crew at the bike park.”

  “Oh, yeah. And the other boss too. What a piece of work. He has a malicious streak.”

  Gibson nodded in compliance. “Is this a hate crime?”

  “I’m not sure. The condom was planted so…” She lost her thought.

  “Someone wanted us to know that Robbie was gay.” Gibson picked up the trail.

  “Maybe.”

  “We can’t ignore the bully factor. And if Robbie was gay…”

  Gibson knew Scottie had a conflicting view from him and wasn’t ready to call this a hate crime. He could tell by how she squirmed in her chair. He couldn’t figure out why she hesitated because she had felt the effects of that kind of thinking herself—people judging her because she was a lesbian.

  “We still have to visit Robbie’s wife and break the news,” Gibson said. “I’ve asked the others to leave that to us.”

  “Okay.” A slight wavering of her voice was evident.

  That was another thing Gibson knew about Scottie. She hated this part of the job. It was always awkward and heartbreaking especially when kids were involved. It affected him too. Although Scottie didn’t have kids of her own, she was devoted to her nieces. If something happened to her sister there would be nothing left but a void, a swirling blackness. He prayed that would never happen. The coffee had renewed their energy. They were as prepared as they could be to break the news to Ellen. Outside the sun gleamed for brief moments, clouds quickly racing in to fill the blue patches.