Murder On Vancouver Island

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  “Not surprised.”

  Scottie gave a gruff laugh. Gibson perceived there was further news.

  “We went to Jeff’s house. Liam thought it could be the truck he had seen.”

  “How confident was he?” Gibson asked.

  “Pretty sure.” She blew out a sigh.

  “Not good enough. The DA would howl at us.”

  “Yeah, it’s lame. But maybe it all adds up. With the bat. The money…” She hesitated.

  “Same with Nick. Something there but not. Probably nothing to do with us,” Gibson said.

  There was no feedback from Scottie.

  “Ah, shit. I forgot to ask him about Kim. Where’s my head these days?” Gibson said.

  Scottie grunted. Was she morphing into her boss with all the body noises?

  “I’m calling it a day. See you tomorrow.” All at once he felt exhausted.

  Chapter 28

  The sky was an unbroken sea of faded blue. Muted pinks and oranges piled on top of each other as the sun hit the horizon. Gibson was halfway up the island to Duncan. He had received an unexpected call about a missing girl. The Vancouver Island Integrated Major Crimes Unit’s jurisdiction extended as far north as Nanaimo. Any incident of kidnapping, lost children or other serious crime within these boundaries would reach down to Gibson and his squad for cooperation. They needed it now. He listened to the radio as he drove, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He shouldn’t be happy, but it was nice to leave his own case behind for a while. Scottie had several details to attend to so he took it upon himself to go. Well, the boss had suggested it. Traffic was substantial in the opposite direction with commuters heading into Victoria. His side of the highway was clear sailing. He hit two traffic lights on the way up. He pulled into the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) Department on Sheldon Avenue by eight o’clock. The ever-changing sky had darkened to a robin’s egg blue.

  The station was a modern low-slung building built of concrete with long, narrow windows every three metres inset deeply into the thick walls. The desk sergeant was missing from behind the reception counter. Just a couple of flags and a portrait stood guard. The sound of braying phones could be heard from somewhere within the building. Gibson followed the deafening chatter down a wide flight of stairs to a tight corridor, made even more constricted by the number of people milling around. The loudest noise was coming from a set of open double doors near the end. He made his way through the commotion and stood at the entrance of a large conference room. Inside, there was a flurry of activity.

  A huge map pinned to a wall was pierced with different coloured tacks. A sharpie divided the map into sections with notations beside each area. There were fewer crossed out spaces than checked marked ones. Makeshift tables and old school-like desks were shoved into the centre with people sitting at most of the spots. Their faces were stern and their heads pressed into phones, trying to hear over the din. The voices were flat and subdued, barely perceptible. Everything echoed against the walls. Each call answered was a chance—a possible crack in the case.

  At the centre of activity soaring above the assembly was Chief Superintendent Stu Kelly, authoritative and self-confident. He noticed Gibson’s arrival as soon as he stepped foot in the room. That awareness to detail had made scaling the corporate ladder a sure bet for Kelly. They were friends and had worked on several situations together, always amid a tragedy. The chief gave him a hearty handshake but lips compressed white told the truth of the situation. Without fuss Kelly provided him the grim details, and then pointed to one of the rickety desks for him to set up shop.

  The desk was too small for Gibson so he squeezed in as far as he could and let his legs stretch out. The little girl missing would be way more uncomfortable than him. He spent most of the day on the phone taking tips from the public. He consulted with the men who scoured the woodlands, the meadows and the abandoned buildings. When the phones stopped ringing so insistently, he joined the search outside. He became one of the guys rushing in and out of the building, marking where he had been and where he needed to go next. The circle on the map grew wider as the day grew longer. Back at his appointed desk inbetween the hunt, he guzzled copious amounts of coffee to sustain his energy level. But as time crawled on for the lost minor and flew by for the rescuers, Gibson—exhausted, depleted—felt bogged down in the quagmire. He glanced around at the haggard expressions, the distressed eyes and the slumped bodies. But it was the continual nervous tapping of fingers and pencils resonating through the room that conveyed despair the most. Time—it was all about time. He knew it and the faces surrounding him proved they perceived it too. The initial period was crucial if they were to locate the child. He plowed on.

  Finally someone brought in sandwiches causing a traffic jam at a table in the corridor. Hunger was rampant and they consumed trays of food within minutes—fear and anxiety creating a desire to replenish.

  Ten hours passed by, then twelve. The sun had left an hour ago, the black desolation of night closing in. As the sky deepened, the harvest moon cast luminous rays of silver onto the dark grounds. Nobody wanted to give up.

  Chief Kelly rubbed his forehead and sucked in some air. He stood up and called for everyone’s attention. Bleary eyes stared up at him.

  “Okay, everyone. It’s late. We’re all tired.”

  There was an audible sigh, but no one objected.

  “We’ll leave a skeleton crew for the phones.” Kelly pointed to a few men who had joined the rescue party later in the day. “The rest of you, go. Get some sleep.”

  Gibson followed the crowd out the door and headed to a motel. He didn’t want to talk to anybody—just Katherine. He kept it simple. He kept most of it to himself. But hearing her voice was enough.

  * * *

  Gibson was up early. The sun was just peeking over the hilltop. He squared his shoulders and put on a brave face. These cases were worse than murders. He wondered if Scottie was making any progress. She would only call if she actually had a killer in handcuffs. A child’s life was at stake here. He entered the hall and took his seat. The faces around him were grim—hope almost lost. He stayed at his station answering phones for hours—six, eight. All at once someone yelled and leaped upon a wooden bench. The man held up his fist for stillness. The throng paused what they were working on and turned toward the shout. Palms covered the mouthpieces of phones, pens stopped scribbling on notepads and chalk on blackboards froze mid-sentence. There was a collective intake of breath. Everyone stared at the individual who had barked out for attention. A phone was pressed to his ear. His hand remained paralyzed over his shoulder as he listened. A smile broke his sullen face. His lips curved up into a broad ear-to-ear grin. It was funny to see a grown man giggle. Slow drops of pent up moisture ran from his emotional and unblinking eyes. He hung up. A lungful of air rushed out his mouth in a whoosh.

  “We found Gracie!” he roared, then collapsed in his chair.

  It took a minute for the announcement to register.

  “Hurrah!” A harmony of voices bellowed out from the enthusiastic gathering. Bountiful tears spilled down cheeks. People gripped their neighbour in strong hugs with soundless sobs. Thin laughter and silent prayers spread across the town. Frequently the outcome was unsuccessful. Today the sun had shone on their efforts. How the child had survived the cold night alone Gibson didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It only mattered that she had.

  He joined in the celebration, drained and emotional. All the members of the force and volunteers were equally diminished. Chief Kelly patted him on the back as the men and women crowded close. Someone cracked open the whiskey. He slipped out and made the long drive home.

  * * *

  Scottie had spent an arduous time at the maintenance shed, chatting, interviewing and working over particulars. Na ran second shotgun—zilch. There was no agreement on anybody leaving the meeting. No one saw AJ’s attacker. What homeless man? Didn’t see a thing? Round and round they spun seeking the weak link, but
something sealed the men’s lips. There was nothing to be discovered. Who were they protecting? Or were they all innocent?

  After two days, Na was left exhausted by the experience. Scottie would never give up.

  Chapter 29

  It was a sunny day, cooler with a slight breeze from the Northeast. Gibson stood at the window when Scottie placed her grip on the door frame and snooped around the corner.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said in response to her partner’s quizzical expression.

  “It was dreadful. But they found the girl.” He ambled across the office and perched in his chair. He pulled out a lower drawer, planted his feet on top and leaned back into his seat. She gave him a progress report. His cell buzzed. He plucked up the receiver.

  “Gibson.”

  The chief was on the other end so he punched another button.

  “Give me an update,” he bellowed.

  “Scottie’s here too.” Letting the chief know he was on speaker phone. They gave him the latest.

  “Keep at it.” Rex muttered. “They need you in Duncan again.”

  Gibson frowned. How would they ever get their case solved? As soon as he put the phone in its cradle, a second call came in.

  “Got something I think would interest you,” Gunner said. “The dealership is repossessing Jeff’s new work vehicle.”

  Gunner had been diligent in his efforts to scout out more reasons to consider Jeff. They thanked him for his painstaking digging into the finances. The two detectives looked at each other. Scottie slapped the desk and crinkled her eyes. Finally something they could touch.

  “Let’s get our reports caught up today before I leave.” He checked his watch. “Two hours and I’ll head out.”

  “Sure. But I still haven’t caught up with the camp guys.”

  “Why don’t you go later this afternoon?” Gibson said.

  “You’re right. The men split before I get there in the morning.”

  “Put together all you can on Jeff. Go over everything Gunner has found out so far.”

  “Okay. He definitely seems suspicious,” Scottie replied.

  “We don’t have enough to do anything about it yet.”

  “I know.”

  Gibson was so exhausted from the missing child case that he almost fell asleep at his desk. He put down his paperwork and stretched out on the couch for a little nap.

  * * *

  Scottie slipped out late in the afternoon to scout out the camp. As she strolled over the soggy lawn, she could feel water seeping through her shoes. Damn. But that was okay because this time she got lucky. There was a ring of guys squatted on discarded crates and decayed logs. No one moved when she came into the clearing. An individual with black and yellow marks on his cheeks glared as she approached. The man remained still, a glower on his face and fury in his empty stare.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “What happened?”

  He rolled his swollen eyes in resentment, as reluctant to talk as his fellow campers were. His trembling chin and slouched shoulders relayed the hurt he had endured from the thumping.

  “I got beat up. What do you think?”

  Scottie halted, surprised that he had answered her at all. She waited to hear more.

  “Why do you care?” he asked angrily. Mumbles of discontent floated through the men.

  “Were you involved with the murder?” She was ready to snatch the guy if he attempted to do a runner, although he didn’t look like he could even walk that well. She relaxed.

  “He got beat up for carrying too much cash,” a man said and laughed gruffly.

  “He was with us when that person was murdered,” echoed another.

  They hollered in unison. Scottie escaped the circle and trotted back across the grass to her vehicle. Scratch out that one, she thought as she drove home.

  * * *

  Gibson got up and felt a little better. He looked into Scottie’s office, but she was gone. After a glance at his watch, he realized he should be on his way. He had slept longer than he had wanted to, and he had to head home first. Katherine was busy in the kitchen making him a snack to take on the road. He packed the few things he needed into a small black duffle bag. At the last moment, he tossed in the book he had left on the night stand—its page marked in the same spot for two days. Maybe he would get a chance to read a bit more. He heard the finches chirping so he headed to the dining room. His wife sat at the table with his snack in a paper bag on the table. Beside it rested an empty picture frame all shiny and new. The diploma that Katherine had earned and would receive in a pompous ceremony the following week, would find its place within the frame and be hung on the wall in the den. She smiled warmly and fingered the cool metal, happy in her own fashion. Her usual abandonment issues were tucked away in a closet somewhere for now.

  Gibson glanced at his watch for the hundredth time today.

  “Gotta go.” He grabbed the bag and hurried down the hallway, realizing the next ferry would be docking soon. That meant the highways would be crowded and the going slow. Every hour on the hour. It was always a matter of timing not to get stuck in the lines.

  “Ferry traffic.”

  “Okay. See you in two days.”

  Gibson watched as she blew a kiss through the window. He whipped out of the sleepy village to the busy highway. The trip to Duncan was boring, but he made it in pretty good time. He headed to the same RCMP station that he had been to not that many days ago.

  Everything seemed quieter when he entered the building. Chief Kelly sat at a computer at someone else’s desk. The printer behind him was churning out page after page. They made a crackling sound as they fell to the floor. The chief got up and gathered them into a nice neat pile.

  “Hey. Take a seat. Sorry we had to call for help so soon.”

  “Take’s okay.” Gibson said it, but he wasn’t sure he meant it. He had so much on his plate at home.

  Kelly gave him the gist of the problem he was up against. This time it was an attempted murder case. Thank god it wasn’t another child. He didn’t think he could handle another case like that so soon. This new case was anything but a slam dunk. The police knew who the perpetrator was, but they needed help with collecting evidence. And Gibson was good at that.

  “Could you give me two days?” Kelly handed him the neat pile of paper.

  “Okay.” The stack was three inches thick.

  “Pick any desk you want. At least the desks in here are adult size.” Kelly laughed.

  Gibson had a lot of reading to do before he could even think about what direction to take. He plugged away until his eyes were sore. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. He looked out the window to a yellowish light from the sodium lamps in the parking lot. Darkness had crept in quietly while he was immersed in the pages. He left the material with the desk sergeant and went to the same motel. It was midnight by the time he lay on the bed. His eyelids fluttered. He was buried in sleep with the book open on his lap at the same page.

  * * *

  The next morning Gibson went to the closest café for breakfast. He drank coffee until he felt the kick of the caffeine. He left the restaurant with an extra large to go. The sky was a clear blue with white and fluffy clouds making an escape to the east on a persistent breeze. That meant sunny weather coming soon. He walked over to the station, but Kelly wasn’t there. He slogged away at the files, making notations on a separate pad. Lunch time rolled around and the chief hadn’t made an appearance yet. He toiled on some more. His cell chirped several times during the day, but he ignored most of the calls. After the fourth buzz, he turned off his phone. It was hard enough to get through this stuff without all the interruptions. Scottie knew better than to harass him, but she had called him twice already. She would have to figure out whatever was bugging her on her own.

  He was getting a headache from squinting at the bright sheets of paper. He packed it in for the day without seeing anybody except for the sergeant. Most of the officers were on s
urveillance, hanging out from doorways and parked vehicles, waiting for their guy to make his first mistake. The setting sun exploded into a tangerine hue before the inky skies overtook it. The night air was chilly and the sky a million glimmers of light. At the motel, he didn’t bother to pick up his book, but stared at his phone. He fell asleep before calling his wife.

  The next morning Gibson walked down the street with a sun that warmed his body, but not his mood. White birds high in the sky glided on the thermals in long arcs. His cell vibrated in his pocket.

  “Gibson.”

  “Hello, it’s me. Have you forgotten?” Katherine asked.

  “I have not forgotten. I will be home tonight no matter what.”

  They chatted for a few minutes while he walked down the pavement. The contralto of her voice lifted his gloom. She sang as sweetly as her beloved finches. The last of the grey baleful clouds got chased away. Kelly was at the reception counter when he arrived at the station.

  “I have a few more things for you here.” He handed over a small folder. “I think something in here will click with something in the papers I gave you the other day.”

  “Okay.”

  “Has anything twigged at all?” Kelly grimaced. He didn’t want to push.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. There was something I want to look at again.” Gibson had that niggle in the back of his thoughts that often turned a blurry black and white picture into a high definition movie. “Give me a few hours.”

  He sat back down at the desk and decided to look in the binder first. Something caught his eye. Something that scratched that niggle. He worked at his desk for most of the morning, checking and double-checking his facts. He thought he was close. And then it came to him. He got the desk sergeant to call up Kelly. The chief arrived just after lunch. They went over everything and agreed that the thing he found would do it. It was so simple in the end. They found the incriminating evidence on the guy’s Facebook. What a laugh.