by Marraii. com
Homicide case. Agatha Rebecca Thompson, lived on Burrard Street in Vancouver. Sure, I'll wait."
Jack respectfully bowed his head a bit as Will and his assistant rolled the gurney out the door.
He covered the mouthpiece and said, "Thanks, Will. Talk to you later."
"I'll call you," Will said, and then he was gone.
Wilson looked at the room again. The blood on the carpet looked even more tragic, separated from the body it once sustained.
A voice on the phone broke his reverie. "Yes, I'm here." He listened and wrote more notes.
"Thanks. I'll give her the news myself."
Jack stood in the doorway and heaved a heavy sigh into the room "Such a needless waste, indeed," he muttered, and left.
Chapter 3 - Initial Suspicions
"Okay, Montgomery, brief me. What have you got from the interviews?" Wilson and his sergeant, Alan Montgomery, sat at a table in the guest lounge.
"Well, Sir, I first interviewed Susan Heaney, the housekeeper. She's the one who found the body." "Any suspicion her way?"
"I don't believe so, Sir. She's only here from around seven in the morning until around two in the afternoon. She adores the Bennetts, and is quite upset by the whole thing. Not just for her sake, but for them as well. She's been with them for almost ten years, and has stood by them, even to the point of bringing in her own cleaning supplies when they were out. She did not know the deceased, and had not even met her before finding her body. I believe she would not do anything to jeopardize herself or the Bennetts in any way."
Wilson made a few notes of his own. "Okay. Next?" "Larry Craig."
"I've already had the pleasure," Wilson said with a sarcastic half-grin. "What did he have to say for himself?"
"Says he knew the deceased quite well while they worked in Vancouver. Their offices were in the same building."
"He knew the victim 'quite well', you say?" "His words, Sir."
"Interesting." Wilson flipped a page and compared his earlier notes then raised an eyebrow and wrote some more.
"Go on."
"He claimed to know why the victim was here. Said she was hiding out from a vindictive ex-husband who may have been stalking her."
"Got a name?"
"Lee Thompson in Vancouver." "Anything else?"
Montgomery shook his head. "Not from Craig, but Mrs. Bennett told me an interesting story.
She says Mr. Bennett was running a little late from the market, and that she was outside gardening yesterday morning when she heard a scream from the victim's room. She ran to see if Mrs. Thompson needed anything, but that she denied screaming. Even claimed not to hear it herself. Said she didn't know what Mrs. Bennett was on about."
"What time was the scream?"
Montgomery checked his notes. "Around 8 a.m." "Anyone else hear it?"
"If they did, they're not saying."
"Montgomery, have you ever known everyone to tell the truth in a criminal investigation of any sort?" Wilson chuckled. "Not going to happen. Ever." He made his notes and pushed ahead.
"Okay, who's next?"
"Mr. Bennett. He was at the market when Mrs. Bennett heard the scream. He couldn't add anything else except to say that as he was heading to bed last night around 9 p.m., he heard someone or maybe more than one person making noises in the victim's room."
"Interesting." Wilson touched the tip of his pen to his tongue and wrote down some questions for himself and some leads to follow up on.
"Was anyone else here last night or this morning?" "That's it." Montgomery closed his notepad.
"I don't suppose anyone mentioned whether or not they play golf?" "Sir?"
"Probable murder weapon. You can cover it in the follow-up." Wilson checked his notes.
"I'm not convinced that the relationship between our Larry Craig and our victim is what he claimed in his statement. My gut tells me that Mr. Craig just might be involved in why the Thompsons divorced. And see if he plays golf."
"Yes, Sir."
"Good work, Montgomery. I've got some information to check out in Vancouver. Let me know if you see or hear anything else. I'm confident we can let Susan go home, but I'm not clearing this scene just yet."
"Yes, Sir." Montgomery stood and saluted.
Wilson drained his coffee cup and looked at his watch. "Ten-thirty. If I hurry, I can make the eleven o'clock ferry to Tsawwassen." He put the cup down and shoved his notepad in pocket.
"Hopefully I'll be back before sundown."
* * *
On the way to the dock, Wilson called George Devon, a colleague at the Vancouver precinct.
"Hi, George. I'm on my way to the city to do interviews on a case. Would you do a check for me? The name's Leonard “Lee" Thompson, last known address is in Vancouver. Thanks."
The ferry ride afforded Jack some quiet time to review his notes. Questions, answers, suspicions, all of them reached out from the pages, but the pieces didn't fit together. "I'm missing something important, or maybe I haven't come across it yet." He sighed with heavy shoulders and dialed home.
"Gwyneth, hi," Jack smiled at the sound of his wife's voice. "I suppose you've heard about what happened at Daniel and Maureen's. Yes, horrible. Would you feel up to going over and sitting with Maureen? I think she can use the support. Daniel is there, of course, but I think this has affected him in his own way. He's not quite himself. I mean, he's always been a bit on the shy side, so maybe this is just his normal reaction to a murder in his inn. That's not something anyone plans for. Thanks, love. I'll see you later, then."
Wilson called Montgomery to let him know that Gwyneth was on her way. As soon as he
hung up, it rang in his hand.
"Inspector Wilson," he said, and held his phone on his shoulder and pulled out his pen. "Go ahead." He listened to the voice on the other end and scratched out some quick notes. "Big surprise, eh?” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Drunk and Disorderly plus Domestic Abuse. Our Lee Thompson has a colorful record, then. Thanks, George."
Wilson put away his phone, his notepad, and his pen as the ferry pulled in to the Vancouver dock. "Let's go fill in some missing pieces," he said to himself, and prepared to disembark.
Chapter 4 - Ex Communication
Prince Albert Street was a narrow, two-lane residential way, and Wilson stopped in front of a blue house with white trim and shutters. He parked, got out of the car, straightened his tie and smoothed his waistband. He mentally rehearsed the lines he'd told many other families. He walked up the path that parted the deep green grass like the Red Sea, climbed the steps, took a deep breath, and knocked.
A petite brunette answered the door with a brush in her hand and her long hair hanging to her shoulders. She peeked around the door before opening it. She brushed her hair back and put it in a ponytail. "Yes?"
"Hello. I am Inspector Jack Wilson of the Graham Island precinct. Are you Gina Haston?"
"Yeah," she said while she twisted her hair into a low bun. She gave a nervous smile and said, "Why? Did I run too many red lights?"
"Mrs. Haston, I am sorry to inform you that your sister, Agatha Thompson, has passed away.
I'm afraid she was the victim of foul play, and I am leading the investigation into her murder."
Gina shook her head and backed away from the doorstep. "No. Come on. Are you sure it was her?" "Yes. I'm sorry for your loss." Wilson folded his hands in front of him. The mix of emotions washing over Gina Haston's face moved him, and he restrained himself from trying to comfort her. "May I please ask you a few questions about your sister?"
"Was it Lee?" She gritted her teeth and threw her hairbrush onto the sofa just inside the door.
"Well?" "Are you referring to Mr. Lee Thompson?"
"Who else?" She held on to the door handle and said, "I can't believe she's dead." "What can you tell me about his relationship with your sister?"
"He's a rotten good-for-nothing. Drinks all the time. Can't hold a job for more than a week."
She swa
llowed hard, and a tear escaped her eye and left a wet trail of grief down her cheek. "I don't understand why she married him. I swear, if he did this, I…" she trailed off, wiping her eyes.
"I understand your grief, Mrs. Haston. Did Mr. Thompson ever threaten your sister?"
"She ran here one night with a black eye and a swollen cheek. I'd say he did more than just threaten." "Were you close?"
"Me and Agatha?" Gina scoffed. "About as close as we could be, considering that our parents raised us to be doctors and lawyers, and she ran off to draw pictures for a living while I became a nurse. I suppose you can imagine how that went over at home. We never heard the end of it, so yeah, communications were a little strained. I mean, I love… loved my sister, but we maintained a comfortable space between us."
"My notes say that she was a graphic designer?" Wilson raised his notepad and looked for confirmation.
"Yeah, she made logos and ads and pictures and stuff." Gina looked at her watch. "Inspector, I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I have to be at work in fifteen minutes."
"Of course, Mrs. Haston. Just one more question. Do you play golf?" "What? Me? Yes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Haston. And again, I'm sorry for your—" "—Who gets the million dollars?" she interrupted.
"Sorry?"
"Her lottery ticket, who gets it?" Gina grabbed her keys and purse from the sofa.
"Ah," said Wilson. "That." He pretended to find that in his notes. "Yes. I need a little more information on that. Do you know when or where she bought the ticket?"
"I thought she got it the day before yesterday. She called me yesterday morning all excited about it." Gina closed the front door behind her and locked it. "I really do have to go, Inspector.
Thank you for letting me know about Agatha. I'm sure that part of your job gets rough."
"I truly am sorry for your loss. And I'll call you when we have any results from the investigation." "Thank you." She rushed to her car and just before she closed her door, she said,
"Go get LeeThompson." She slammed the door and roared out of the driveway.
Wilson slapped his notepad against his palm and hurried to his own car. "There i s a ticket.
That means there's a motive." He grinned and gunned the engine toward Lee Thompson's house.
* * *
The chipping paint and half-dead lawn matched the haggard look of the man sitting on the stoop. The man was barefoot and shirtless, wearing jeans that might have fit a year ago, but were maybe a size and a half too small. Wilson parked in front of the house and checked his notes.
"Well, this is it, all right."
Jack walked through the obstacle course of lawn tools, dog toys, and discarded beer cartons while the man called out, "Boozer!" A very large Doberman answered, and the man tied the dog’s collar to a patio post. Wilson approached and stood in front of the scowling man who looked him in the eye and chugged his can of beer.
"Hello. I'm Inspector Jack Wilson from —" "I know who you are, and why you're here."
"I see," Wilson said and made his notes. "What do you know about what has happened?"
"I know she's dead, and that's all I care about. All I've got to say is good riddance to bad rubbish. That woman was a thorn in my side, a real pain."
"Yes, Mr. Thompson, your ex-wife is, indeed, dead. She was murdered." Wilson watched him carefully for any reaction.
"I know, Angie told me that, too." Lee walked up the porch and grabbed another can from a cooler. Wilson raised an eyebrow and spelled out sister called victim's ex in big letters on his notepad. "Did Mrs. Haston tell you anything else?"
"What more is there to tell?" He scoffed and popped the top on his beer. "Mr. Thompson, where were you last night between ten and midnight?"
"Oh, no you don't. I ain't got nothing to do with this. I was on Bowen Island with some friends. They'll tell you. I'll even give you names."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll be sure to get those names. When did you return home?"
"I came back on the last ferry at eleven o'clock. Then there's that trip, and the drive home, so probably around midnight."
Jack handed Lee a piece of paper and a pen. "Here, write your friends' names and contact information. I'll check your statement."
Lee hunched over the paper and wrote the names. "By the way, Mr. Thompson, do you play golf?"
"Ha! Me?" His beer belly wobbled with his guffaws. "I would never stoop so low as to play anything that stupid." He stood up and handed Wilson the paper. "Here. Check me out. I dare you."
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson. We'll let you know if we have any further questions."
Lee sat back down and raised his beer high in the air. "Good riddance, Agatha Thompson!"
Wilson drove away as Lee chugged another beer.
* * *
"Well, Wilson," Jack talked to himself behind the wheel on the way to the Vancouver precinct, "you've got a dead woman, a winning lottery ticket that’s missing, a suspicious newspaperman who can't remember exactly how well he knew the victim, a sister who
apparently hates her ex brother in- law yet called him as soon as you left her house, an ex who has the passion motive, but probably also has the strongest alibi. Also, who's got the golf clubs?"
Wilson turned into the parking lot at the station. "The gut says Lee didn't do it. That leaves the sister and Craig." He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. "So what's the motive?"
He shut the car door a little too hard and entered the station. "Hey, George. Thanks for the help. I got my interview, but I also got a lot of frustration. This one's just not coming together yet."
"It goes like that sometimes. Anything we can do to help?"
"Yes. I'd like to borrow a CSI team. I need a room processed, but I also need a storage unit full of golf clubs tested for prints, blood or bleach."
"Sure. Let me check with Sam, and I'll be right back with you." George rose from his desk and walked toward the admin office.
Wilson called the Medical Examiner's office. "Will, it's Jack. How are the results coming along for the Thompson case?"
"Hi, Jack. I’m still working the internal exam, but I finished the external, and I can confirm that the victim was killed by a blow to the back of her head with a golf club – a driver, to be precise."
"That would do it," Wilson whistled. "Heavy thing, eh?"
"We can't narrow it down any further. There was no trace of any metals or a pattern that would identify any proprietary brand."
"Thanks, Will." Wilson hung up his phone just as George returned. "We've got four guys we can spare," he said.
"Great. And I just got word from Will at the ME's office that we're looking for a specific type of club, so that will reduce their task to something manageable, I hope."
George pointed over Jack's shoulder. "There are your men. Good luck."
"Thanks." He walked to the small group at the door and shook hands with them. "Inspector Wilson. Thanks for coming. Let's get this done before sundown, eh?"
They all got in Wilson's car and headed to the ferry.
Chapter 5 - Secrets are Surfacing
"Fingerprints, blood, bleach, hair, tissue, anything that ties one of these drivers to the crime or the victim. You know the routine." Wilson saluted the CSI team and said, "Thanks again, guys," and left all but one of them in the storage unit at the golf course.
On the way to the house, Wilson briefed the CSI officer. "Three of the four who were here this morning are still here. I'll need fingerprints from all of them for comparison and elimination, and maybe, in one case, incrimination.”
"Piece of cake."
"Don't wait for the others. Go ahead and catch the next ferry back and get those prints in the evidence room."
"Will do, Inspector."
Back at the main house, Sergeant Montgomery met them at the door. "You were right, Sir.
Craig and the victim had more than a casual relationship."
"Go ahead to the kitchen," he told the CSI. Take a left once you'
re through the door." The CSI hopped up the steps and disappeared into the house with his kit.
"What have you got, Montgomery?"
The sergeant pulled out his own notepad and read his notes to the Inspector. "The victim and Mr. Craig were lovers and planned to spend a romantic holiday together here before Mr. Craig left for Bermuda on a newspaper assignment."
Wilson grunted. "I bet he's still hiding more than he's telling."
"Oh, and Mr. Craig does play golf. Said he keeps his clubs in the storage unit at the golf course." "Good. I've got men in there right now going over every single driver." Wilson scratched his head.
"But what would be Mr. Craig's motive? The only real suspicion he's brought on himself has been from not being honest about his relationship. And then there's the sister." Wilson rubbed his eyes. "This has been a long day already. Where was I?"
Montgomery cocked his head to one side, and tried to keep up with the Inspector's thoughts.
"The sister," he repeated.
"Oh yes. The sister knew about the lottery ticket, plus she called the victim's ex husband, whom she appeared to strongly dislike. And she plays golf. The ex doesn't, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have used the sister's golf club if they were in cahoots." "Lottery ticket,"
Montgomery said and wrote in his notebook.
"That may be why Craig was in the room; he was searching for the ticket. If he and Mrs.
Thompson were intimate, she probably told him about it. And he plays golf. And he has no real alibi." Wilson stood up straight. "But why would he stay here if he had the ticket?” He paced in front of the door. “He didn't have the ticket! That's why he was in her room before I arrived.
"Come with me, Montgomery."
They hurried into the house.
* * *
Wilson stood eye to eye with Larry Craig in the kitchen. "Mr. Craig, would you consent to a search of your belongings for any evidence related to this case?"