Murder On Vancouver Island

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  “Hey, I was looking for you guys. I found a photo on Robbie’s Facebook,” he said.

  Gibson waited.

  “It’s Robbie with some guy. You decide.” He pulled a copy of the picture from his desk drawer and handed it over to Gibson. Scottie peeked over his arm.

  Robbie’s face was unmistakable. The other person had twisted away and was in motion causing the features to blur.

  “It might come in handy later. Thanks.” He pocketed the photo.

  Na bobbed his head one last time and placed his cell on the files strewn over the desk. He grinned, all fired up to report his news.

  “It makes sense that Ellen is in the will. Right?” Na said, getting straight into the nitty-gritty. “But get this, Jeff is too.”

  From the corner of the room, they could hear a printer churning out page after page. Na walked over and gathered the sheets together. He passed them all to Gibson.

  “Here’s a copy of the will.”

  Scottie slid her chair in closer to get a better look.

  “Really. Why would that be, I wonder?”

  “Back to Cadboro Bay?” Gibson stared at Scottie with upraised eyebrows. They hustled out of the office with a fast-paced strut in search of definitive answers.

  “How much money are we talking here?” Scottie muttered under her breath as they scampered down the stairs. An unexpected blast of cold air bombarded them when they opened the glass doors. Dark clouds high in the sky were rushing in from the Northeast. A change was coming sooner rather than later. Gibson tugged at his jacket to secure it against the squall and dashed to the truck.

  Scottie powered through Fairfield, down Foul Bay Road and skipped over a few streets to Henderson. This time Ellen responded to the summons of the buzzer. She was in her pyjamas, eyes swollen and red. Wearily she trudged down the hallway to the kitchen. Cheerfulness had permanently fled the home. No sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon infused the room. Lily sat in a highchair tossing cereal on the ground, unusually subdued. No running, jumping or dancing going on today. Not even the appearance of visitors swayed the little girl into action. Without question, she felt her mother’s sombre demeanour and some basic instinct kept her still.

  Gibson drew a chair away from the table and perched himself on the edge. Meanwhile, Scottie took her stand as sentinel inconspicuously against a wall. Ellen picked up Fruity O’s off the floor, her loss of interest showing on her face, until he asked about the will.

  “What about the will?” The darkness in her eyes spread over her face.

  “Why was Jeff in it?” Gibson asked again, not answering her concerns but intent on a response.

  “Hang on.” Ellen plucked Lily from her chair and left the kitchen with her child propped on her hip. A few minutes passed by and they could hear a cartoon playing in the living room. She returned empty handed. A crunch sounded under her slipper as she walked past the high chair. She cast her eyes around the disorder of her more often than not welcoming kitchen. The dishes had piled up by the sink, mostly mugs and soup bowls. Gibson could tell by the slow blinking of her eyelids that her thoughts tumbled in a frenzy. The wall clock ticked by slowly as they waited for her to find a way forward. She ran her fingers absently along the table top.

  “Robbie was a good man.” She stopped and looked up at him. “But we all do stupid things we regret. Don’t we?”

  Gibson nodded.

  “He cheated Jeff, but he was ashamed of it.”

  She clutched the edge of the table so tightly that Gibson could feel her hand vibrating through the wood. Scottie remained in the corner of the room, trying to be invisible.

  “Robbie and Jeff had the same mother who had promised both brothers would be taken care of after she died. But Robbie’s father didn’t feel the same. She passed away before him, and the estate went to his only real son, Robbie.” Her shoulders trembled, the tension in her muscles tightening more. She continued. “The dispute was bitter. Robbie felt the money belonged to him and told his half-brother to take a hike. He wouldn’t share.”

  Gibson nodded once more.

  “But remorse hit Robbie hard. It wasn’t in his DNA to be that mean. That’s why Jeff is in the will. He wanted to make up for his actions.”

  “Does Jeff know all this?” Gibson tilted forward.

  “Yeah, he does.”

  Gibson exchanged a look with Scottie.

  “What about your fights?”

  His cell rang.

  “Damn.” Gibson held up his hand and left the room. After a minute he returned.

  “Sorry. Go on. The fights.”

  “Somebody’s been telling tales out of school.” Ellen frowned. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was about the kids. Robbie had his own views on how things should work.” She stopped and tugged nervously at her greasy hair. “Sometimes it got out of hand. I don’t know why I went to the shop. That was my stupidity.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now he’s gone.” The worries of yesterday disappeared when the worries of tomorrow and the next day came to her mind. “What will I do?”

  “Do you want us to call someone for you?” He launched himself to his feet and indicated to Scottie it was time to go.

  She shook her head half-heartedly.

  “You take care.” There wasn’t much else Gibson could say. It was always the same. The grief would come in waves. Some would overwhelm and knock you down; some would be a comforting blanket. He peeked into the living room before leaving. Lily sat cross-legged in front of the blaring television. She looked at him with questioning eyes, the loss not reaching her young thoughts yet. She had her mom all to herself.

  “That was Officer Eddy Evans,” Gibson said as they ambled down the walkway.

  “I like him.”

  “One of the homeless guys got beaten up last night. We better check it out.”

  “Do you want to ask around the neighbourhood before we take off?” Scottie asked. She pointed to a particular house.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Neighbours can be nosy. Maybe someone saw something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Did Ellen go out early that morning?”

  “I don’t think...”

  “Probably not. But best to make sure.”

  “Okay. Then we’ll go to the camp.”

  * * *

  The house across the street had a large bay window, and most likely a clear view of the house opposite—Robbie and Ellen’s home. A short older lady answered the bell almost immediately as if she had been on Neighbourhood Watch.

  “Come in, come in.” She fluttered her hands in the air. The luminous skin was wrinkled and paper thin with blotches of brown. Her silver-grey hair was thinning in spots and revealed a bright pink scalp. The green and blue flowered dress was belted at the middle where her waist should have been.

  They showed her their badges, but this lady knew who they were.

  “Should I go over there?” She had heard about Robbie’s death on the radio and wasn’t sure what to do. Her eyes bugged out. Gibson guessed it was more from curiosity than from fear.

  “Yes. You should,” he said. “She’s pretty shaken up.”

  “No doubt Ellen will be very upset.”

  “Did you see her that morning?”

  “Yes, I’m an early riser. Ellen picks up the paper every morning. The paperboy tosses it up on the porch. Sometimes it doesn’t make it all the way. Terrible.”

  “What time would that be?”

  “Quarter after six.”

  “Did Ellen go out on Monday?”

  “Her car was in the driveway all morning,” she said and flushed with sudden embarrassment. “I notice things like that...” She trailed off.

  Probably because you are a nosy parker, Gibson thought. He looked out the window. The glass was spotless and in a direct line to the front door across the street.

  “So, do Robbie and Ellen get along?”

  The old lady narrowed her eyes and glared inten
tly at him with her hawkish look.

  “It’s none of my business, but I wasn’t aware of any trouble.” She puckered her lips. All the goodwill had disappeared from her face.

  They thanked her and left precipitously.

  “Yikes,” Scottie said. “Any reason to check other neighbours?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  They walked away from the house and hopped into the truck. Scottie fired up the engine and headed down Henderson. She took the university circle road to the homeless camp. As she drove, her fingers lightly skimmed the steering wheel.

  “It doesn’t seem like Ellen had anything to do with Robbie’s death.”

  “Without meaning to sound sexist, I don’t think this was a woman’s crime,” Gibson said. He blushed somewhat. “What can I say?” He shot her a sideways glance.

  Scottie grinned at his discomfort but conceded the killer was probably a man. It would take a strong person to swing that bat and produce that much harm, although she would be capable of just that.

  “Jeff is a hefty guy but on the short side.” Then after a moment she added, “Guess that wouldn’t matter. The ME said that Robbie may have been tying his shoelaces.”

  “There’s that.”

  “And he has a compelling motive. Money.”

  “Maybe so.”

  Scottie parked the truck on the street by the university, and they strolled across the expansive lawn. Although it was green, the autumn rains had made the ground soggy. As Gibson stepped around the waterlogged bits, he realized the light had dimmed considerably since morning. He peered up and saw the clouds had blackened and were closing in to create one ominous mass.

  An assortment of cans, empty cigarette packages and debris littered the path leading through the bushes. As they approached the clearing partially hidden by a large willow tree, they could see a circle of mates smoking and chatting. The men were seated on rotted stumps and makeshift chairs made from wooden boxes. The first rustle of branches pushed aside alerted them, and all talk ceased. The detectives stepped into the open space, two imposing figures with the air of authority swirling around them.

  “It’s okay. We’re not here to hassle anybody. Who got beat up last night?”

  No reply.

  “What’s it to you?” someone shouted in a gruff voice.

  “Was it Pete? We talked to him about the murder already.”

  “Yeah. But he’s missing,” a man in a tattered shirt answered.

  “Missing?”

  “Yeah. Gone,” another snickered.

  Gibson tugged at Scottie’s sleeve to signal the futility of talking to these guys. They wouldn’t be opening up any time soon to the police. They headed back to the vehicle.

  “Did the guy see something?”

  “Don’t know. Nobody’s telling,” Gibson answered, exasperated at the lack of cooperation from Pete’s buddies. His cell buzzed as they pulled up to Jeff’s driveway. “Okay. Yes.” He rang off.

  “Well. What?”

  “We got ID on the prints from the bat,” Gibson said. “Robbie, Tim, one unknown and our friend Jeff.”

  “Two strikes,” Scottie said. She pressed the bell, leaning into it hard.

  “What the hell?” Jeff appeared at the door dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair looked clean and combed today. He turned toward the living room, and they followed him. It was smoky as ever. Scottie clamped her mouth shut. They stood in a semi-circle prepared to spar.

  “Is the bat yours?” Gibson snapped, ready to strike the first blow.

  “Okay. You got me. It’s my bat. Those are my initials.” Jeff sneered.

  “Your prints are on it as well.” That was really a moot point.

  “So what! I lent it to Robbie last week.”

  “Why did you lie to us?”

  “I didn’t want to get involved.”

  “You know you’re in Robbie’s will to inherit a nice chunk of cash.”

  “Good. I’m broke.”

  “Ellen told us you already knew,” Gibson countered.

  Jeff looked back at him with narrowed eyes, not prepared to admit anything.

  “And you have no one to establish your whereabouts Monday morning?”

  “How could I? I live alone,” Jeff repeated. He backed away in quick jerky steps.

  “One, your bat. Two, get money. Three, no alibi.” Scottie numbered off on her fingers, staring squarely into Jeff’s eyes, one brown, one blue—heterochromia.

  Then they heard the rain hit the roof with a deafening outburst.

  Chapter 19

  The ride home couldn’t have been much more treacherous. Heavy rainfall and wind with gusts up to sixty kilometres blew against the windshield, making visibility almost non-existent. Scottie gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands, tilted forward toward the glass. Each swipe of the wipers cleared the view for only seconds. She peered ahead with eyes squinted, a large frown encasing her face. Gibson maintained a lookout for dashing pedestrians and bicycles fighting the storm. Soon they were on the freeway. Water surging down the hard surface made the roads slick. Several times they sped through puddles pooled in low spots, shooting a rooster tail tumbling over the vehicle behind them. They got nailed with a few themselves, offering a fleeting glimpse of driving underwater.

  “Thanks for running me around while my truck was getting repaired,” Gibson said when they arrived at the garage in Brentwood Bay.

  “No problem,” Scottie replied and drove off.

  After a brief chat with the mechanic, Gibson got into his F150 and motored on home. The sheets of rain had tamed down to a drizzle, and then stopped by the time he parked in his driveway. A pool of white light lapped around the lamp. He looked across the street. Sea smoke that develops when frigid air passes over warm water obscured the bay. The fog rested only ten metres above the surface, allowing the cell tower beacon on the Malahat to glow through. He watched, mesmerized by the swirls of mist dancing in the cove. Then he realized how late it was and tore from his trance.

  “Hello,” he shouted out for Katherine as he tripped into the house.

  She tiptoed out of the kitchen looking frazzled. He saw the characteristic display of panic. The ragged breathing, the black shadows beneath the eyes and the collapsed stance were all present.

  “How did the studying go today?”

  “Okay, I guess.” She rested against the doorframe with one foot planted on top of the other. Her hair tumbled forward partially covering her face.

  He reached over and placed his hand under her chin, lifting gently until their eyes engaged, her dark chocolate brown to his deep charcoal.

  “We’re meeting Andrew in an hour. The break will do you good,” he said.

  “Can’t we cancel? The final exam is just days away.”

  To Katherine, graduating seemed the only way to quell her fears—her attacks.

  Gibson saw the tension in her shoulders and her shallow breathing quicken.

  “I’m buying.” Just a tickle of silliness.

  A tiniest of smiles twitched at the corner of her mouth. She tried to suppress it with her hand. She pressed into him, lips brushed against his neck. He tightened his hold on her slender frame. They remained embraced for several minutes. He could sense her body release as her unease subsided. Her softness against the strength of his chest was intoxicating. They drew apart and gazed at each other. They dropped hands, and he stroked her hair.

  “Better get moving before I run into trouble.” Gibson lifted his eyebrows suggestively. ‘You know what I mean.’

  The grin that had begun at Katherine’s mouth reached upwards and created small creases in the outer corners of her eyes, making them sparkle.

  They touched fingertips one more time.

  “Should we get ready then?”

  They stepped out the front door and clambered into the F150. Dense clouds overshadowed the sky, giving only brief glimpses of the moon. It was still early evening and growing chilly. Katherine pulled her wooll
y coat firmly around her slim body. The traffic was thin as they cruised down the highway to Oak Bay. Soft music filled the cab, blending with the rhythmic percussion of the tires. Gibson parked on Beach Street, and they strode down the pavement holding hands.

  * * *

  The Cove Pub in the Ocean Tides Hotel was Andrew’s favourite inn—fish and chips, beer on tap and expansive vistas. Harris Island and the Chain Islets were easily viewed through the large windows. Andrew enjoyed it all while he sipped his brew and waited for the gang to arrive. From his booth, he could see the lighthouse beacon on Discovery Island. It swept a light at regular intervals across the ocean waters and marked the border between Canada and the United States. The Marine Provincial Park was on this isle. The adjacent islands were part of the ecological reserve that preserved the sensitive seabird nesting areas. Boaters paddled along the shoreline, respecting the biological diversity of the west coast. They were eager to capture a glimpse of seals, sea lions and bald eagles. He knew Gibson kayaked throughout here frequently.

  He spotted his sister as soon as she entered the room. Shiny cascades of coffee brown hair tumbled over a bronze scarf wrapped around the upturned collar and onto her shoulders. The dark pencil skirt and alligator shoes with tall, thin heels portrayed a strong, confident woman. But Katherine’s compressed lips betrayed her frailty, her uneasiness. He recognized this in her when most would not. He thought people would notice only her physical allure and the elegance of her spirit that radiated through her soulful eyes. She was damaged inside.

  Gibson placed his palm on Katherine’s elbow and guided them through the narrow aisles to the booth. He drew his fair share of attention too. The crisp white shirt under a baby blue cashmere sweater and tight black jeans spoke smart and easygoing. His bent nose and the quirky smile added to his mystique, noticeably to the fairer sex. They presented an image of the ideal couple.

  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.